This is actually reminiscent of a modern Pride and Prejudice. Bellamy even has a little sister, Clarke started to dislike him based off his bad manners and countenance. His pride, her prejudice. I hope everything is okay in this chapter; it's not edited because I just wanted it finished today. Please review!

Heat flooded my cheeks and some foreign sensation danced up my nerves from where our legs touched, setting my skin on fire.

I blanched, as my mind flashed back to that conversation I'd had with Thalia, a lifetime ago, Finn at my side drinking Cherry Coke from a carton intended for milk. A talk of sparks and heat and melted sundaes.

No.

My brain was in overdrive and a feeling of unease had already started in my chest and was now seeping into the rest of me.

I kept my eyes on Bellamy, daring that feeling to continue. Daring my internal organs to betray me and continue their acrobatics.

They did.

So I left.

I quietly removed myself from the couch, careful not to jostle him. When I actually broke my gaze from his profile, my heart calmed enough that I could almost convince myself I'd imagined it, but I was so unsettled I wasn't comfortable with staying.

I pulled out a loose leaf of paper I found along with a pen and jotted down a note for him to find: Didn't want to wake you again. Thank you for last night. Wish me luck.

The words resonated a sense of bravery, but it was artificial. In reality, I was a coward.

I eased the door shut. Only when it was closed did I pick up my pace and practically run from the apartment. I nearly tripped on the stairs. I actually did trip on the threshold I crossed over. Goosebumps coated my arms, but the heat simmering in my stomach kept me a few degrees warmer.

I shook my head vigorously when I was seated behind the wheel of my car, staring out at the frozen dew clinging to the windshield like crystallized sugar.

My knuckles were white from the pressure I held the wheel with and I rested my head against it, wary not to set off the horn.

"You're just tired," I told myself in the solitude of my car. Right. That's what it had been. Just exhaustion. I was so overwhelmed, especially after the thing with my mom, that my neurons had started misfiring, creating—

Stop.

Like a switch, I shut off that way of thinking, chalking it up to exhaustion and nothing more. I had been in his place. Eating his dinner. Speaking to him about personal things. And then I'd woken up to find him right there, and it had taken me off guard.

That's all it was. That's all it could be.

It didn't console me, however, as I drove back the way I'd come. It just felt as if someone had just given me another problem to solve when I already had one at home, waiting for me. Maybe it was impossible to ever be problem-free, but that didn't stop me from wishing I could be. Just for a little while.

There were a few things I expected to find when I pulled up to the house. Ludicrous things. I pictured Marcus's car in the driveway, even though I didn't know what kind of car he owned. I pictured a black Sedan, and professional like him.

I imagined a pair of discarded shoes by the front door, because Marcus Kane was so clearly not the type to walk in with them on. The welcome sign seemed to glare back at me.

Mom was waiting for me inside.

The moment I opened the door and turned, I heard her on the stairs, pace synchronized. Very doctor.

Her brown hair was frayed in its ponytail, like she'd run her hands over it one-too many times. She still wore her scrubs and I wondered if she'd just gotten home or had been waiting up for me, and just hadn't changed yet.

Shadows colored the skin under her eyes as she looked at me, gaze filled with relief and soon-to-be fury. She wore no shoes.

A piece of guilt fluttered around inside me and I quickly squandered it. I would feel bad for not telling her where I'd gone to. I'd feel bad for that, and nothing more.

Before I could blink, I was in her arms. She hugged me too her and pulled back a second later, scanning me from head to toe for bodily injuries. When she found none, that fury made its debut.

"Where have you been?" she asked, each word spoken slowly. Deliberately.

I refused to buckle under her anger and raised my head. I was just a fraction of an inch taller but my mom's presence had a way of dissolving that and making me feel small. But not today.

"I was at a friend's," I said, even-toned. It surprised me.

My mom crossed her arms over her chest. "Would you mind telling me which friend you're referring to? Because I called Thalia, and she said the two of you haven't spoken in weeks."

I clenched my jaw. "I have other friends besides her, Mom." Technically, I had two, both related.

"I'm sure you do. But the only thing I'm interested in right now is learning which one you were with all night," she said, that barb so clear in her voice. "And I want the truth."

I stared at her in disbelief, suddenly wanting to laugh. I thought a trace of it actually escaped from my lips. "You? You want the truth? What about me?" I asked, the smoothness in my tone going rocky. "I wasn't under the impression that truth was a one-way street."

The fury diminished just enough for her to look perplexed. "What are you talking about?"

If I could fold my arms and blink like Genie, I would make myself vanish just to avoid this. But I couldn't. I was wading in it now.

"Are you sure you don't have anything to tell me?" I asked. I didn't know why, but I was actually giving her a chance. I didn't know whether or not I wanted her to take it, but it would've been nice to know she'd at least been planning to tell me. To not continue keeping me in the dark.

"We're talking about you, Clarke."

Or maybe, it would've made no difference at all.

"How long?" I asked, so, so softly, the image of her dissipating like a mirage as my eyes glazed over.

Another chance. Another loss. "How long, what?"

"How long have you been seeing Marcus Kane?"

Her face blanched. I watched the color fade like her cheeks had been coated in white-out. "What?"

"I know," I said quietly, voice jaded. "I know everything, unless I somehow misinterpreted the dinner between you two. The phone calls. That's why you sent me to him, isn't it?"

Mom dropped her crossed arms and took a step forward. I took a step back. Then she let that hand drop, too. "I was going to tell you."

I scoffed. "When?"

"Soon," she deflected. "Once I thought you were ready."

"And this? Is this your definition of ready?" I asked, my tone returning to that unsettling calm, taking it all in with maddening clarity.

"I didn't want it to happen like this," she said, pleading.

"No. I imagine not."

"Clarke"—

"You still haven't answered my question," I said, resisting the instinct to back up more. To run to my room and stay there. To leave this house completely. "How long?"

I thought a couple months. Three at worst. Because it couldn't possibly have been more. Dad had only been gone for little over a year. She couldn't have—

"June," she breathed. "June was . . . when it started."

That carousal started up again as her admission spun around me, making me dizzy. Christmas was just around the corner, which meant that she and Marcus had been together nearly six months.

The floor threatened to snap from under me.

"No," I breathed, my voice stripped to a whisper. "No, because . . . you wouldn't do that." I couldn't have been living in lies for that long. I would've known. I would have known.

But then it struck me. How could I? I'd still been trying to navigate the ways of the world without my dad, only to lose Finn along the way, to really see anything beyond my own pain. Grief had been my constant companion these last fifteen months and I'd made the assumption that it was my mother's too.

And perhaps it was. But at some point within that time, she'd learned those ways herself and had started to move on. Ahead of me. Without me.

"Six months," I repeated, more to myself than to her, and I wanted to drag the words back into my mouth. They tasted of something burnt and bitter.

Was it really possible to move on so quickly? I thought about all the kisses and embraces my parents exchanged. All the smiles and handholding and covert whispering. Secrets not meant for me. And it was then, against my will, that I started questioning the one thing I had always been certain of: The love between my parents.

"I have to go to school," I said, picking up my bag from the floor and turning on my heel. I was never more thankful for a Friday. Never more thankful for hours spent in class if it gave me an escape.

She called after me, of course, insisting that we talk about it.

But I didn't want to talk and I let the closing of the door behind me be my answer.

I wish I'd never found out the truth. I wish I was still in the dark. Ignorance really was bliss. But you never knew it was bliss until after its spell was broken.

*******

I didn't care that I was late. I didn't care that principal Jaha would call me into his office again and give me double's worth of detention. I didn't care. My goal for today was to avoid home for as long as possible, along with a certain freckled someone. I needed a time out just to catch my breath and after the lunch bell tolled and the principal did indeed give me that detention, I ducked into the girls' bathroom.

My breathing was irregular and I leaned against the wall, letting the coolness of it seep into my back. Too much. This was too much to absorb in one day. I felt like I was on the verge of exploding. Or crying. And felt weak for feeling either. In result, I just stared at the mirror, letting the reflection of my eyes bore into themselves. It was odd how I seemed so put together, so whole, for someone so broken on the inside.

I stayed like that until someone entered and I withdrew from the wall. The girl gave me a weird look as I turned away and left the bathroom.

In the hall, I was just about to head to my next class early when a jacketed figure snagged my attention. The person I'd reverted back to my old routine, by trying to avoid him.

Nothing was in my favor today as Bellamy's eyes met mine.

My heart shuddered, and I couldn't tell if that was the same as its earlier choreography or because of my being taken off-guard by being caught.

It didn't matter. I felt myself nearing that edge, wanting to shout just to rattle my own ears. And since I'd already owned the title of coward once today, I saw little harm in claiming it again.

So I promptly dropped my gaze in the hopes he'd think I hadn't seen him.

It was a stupid hope, proven a few seconds later when a hand landed on my shoulder and I jolted back. Turning around, I found him standing there, backpack slung on one arm and an unreadable expression on his face. "Didn't mean to scare you," he said.

It was made clear that things were not in my favor today.

"I got your note," he started, a bit awkwardly, and maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I caught a hard edge to his voice. But that was hardly unusual. He cast a glance around and dropped his voice, leaning slightly forward. "You couldn't bother to wait?"

I leaned backwards and sighed, running a hand through my hair. It was knotted and my finger caught. "I wanted to get that thing with my mom over with," I emphasized. It was a half-truth at least.

He simpered, brows knitting together. "How'd that go?"

I swallowed, overly aware of his proximity, like there was something improper about it. "Not . . . great," I admitted.

"Why? Other than the obvious."

My emotions were still running high and this wasn't helping. Or perhaps this was the crash. The crash I was becoming so intimate with. "I think my problems have imposed on you long enough."

He slung his backpack higher. "Let me be the judge of that. Your problems"—

"I know," I interrupted, more brusque than intended. "You're under no obligation to anything with another person's problems, I remember."

Bellamy pulled back slightly. "What's your problem today?"

"I told you; it didn't go over well with my mom."

"Right. Your mom. You were the one who decided to crash at my place. So why am I the one you're snapping at?"

I didn't realize I was. Didn't realize those emotions along with the confusion from this morning were coming undone, escaping into my words, my voice. But I couldn't stop it. I was overflowing, unable to dam the water so shortly after the flood.

"Why do you assume you're the only one with the license to get angry?" I said. "As I recall, you've gotten mad at other people undeserving of it, so why can't I? Why can't I get pissed off at the crappy things in my life without feeling weak or pathetic or sheltered, like what I've dealt with is somehow insufficient to you?" I shook my head. "Every time I feel myself moving just a fraction forward, something else gets in the way. And I'm tired of it. Maybe I should just resolve to be angry at the world. It seems to work for some people." I took in a breath, only then registering my own words. Heat flooded my cheeks and I suddenly felt mortified. I was grateful that I hadn't least started shouting in the middle of the hall.

But that didn't seem to make any difference to Bellamy. I watched as his face hardened and I wished I could take them back. Wished with as much force as I'd been wishing for a lot of things lately. "Bellamy, I'm"—

He came a step closer, not quite getting in my face, for how tall he was, but close enough to make some of our classmates glance over in interest. I ignored them.

"Anger," Bellamy told me, "does you no good if you don't have a motive to put it into. You're pissed. Fine. Then do something about it, Clarke. Get pissed off and then take whatever control you can manage to get a hold of in this world and change something."

My anger was gone, replaced by a tiredness I felt down to my bones. I just wanted some reprieve. To get somewhere without fearing that place was two steps back. "Like what?"

He shrugged a shoulder, not bothering to soften his voice. "For starters? Like picking up a textbook and deigning to try." He shook his head and though I knew he must still be mad, there was an understanding in his eyes. A challenge. "Quit playing the coward, Clarke," he told me as he stepped away. "It doesn't suit you."

*********

My mom was, miraculously, not home when I returned there. It was a small relief, but I honestly didn't think I could take another confrontation with her today. What I craved the most was my own room and my own bed and I barely remembered to change before I dropped onto it and fell back, staring up at my ceiling.

Bellamy's words rang back to me and I was uncomfortable with how close he was to truth. Or maybe it was the truth, and my excuses had just made it look bigger and more complicated than it really was.

People were delusional to believe that they could control every aspect of their own lives. There were too many variables at play, like navigating a high beam. One wrong turn, one mistake, and you'd lose your balance and fall. That's what life was. Interminable. Terrifyingly unpredictable.

I knew that about as much as anyone probably could; was reminded of it daily, by such simple and insignificant things it was a wonder I hadn't raised my voice to Bellamy earlier.

I turned my head, just enough to see the stack of books piled in my room. The medical ones I'd discarded—and dismembered—but the ones for school still remained intact.

"Get pissed off and then take whatever control you can manage to get a hold of in this world and change something."

I was pissed off. At my mom for dating, at Marcus for being the man she was dating. At Finn and my dad for dying. At myself, for staying still as my mom and the rest of the world kept going.

Maybe my decision to not become a doctor was legitimate. Maybe I hated the title Arkadia had given me. But if I wanted out, away from the reminders, I needed another place to go, and a drop in my GPA would ensure I stayed exactly where I was.

It was just studying. Just a foot in some direction, yet I still felt hesitant, like it was something monumental. Maybe in its own way, it was.

Slowly, I pulled myself into a sitting position. I leaned over and picked up my English textbook from the pile at the foot of my bed, weighing it in my palms.

"Quit playing the coward, Clarke."

I flipped open the cover.