Chapter Text
May 2016
It was weird, Clarke decided. Handing in her last final. Slipping the paper into her professor’s mailbox knowing that all that was left for her on the campus was one final walk across a stage and she was ‘sent off into the real world.’ Off to do whatever it was she was supposed to do.
Right. Whatever that was.
Four years, thousands of dollars, and innumerable paper cuts later, and she still felt like she was trying to figure out what she was supposed to be doing there. She looked around at the people scattered at the tables in the union, books thrown over tables and booths, and sighed gratefully at her release from the responsibility of academia.
Now she just had to deal with the responsibility of whatever it was that was supposed to come after academia.
Before she had too much time for the quiet of the union to sink in around her, force her to think of how it was probably the last time she was going to be walking through it, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.
Thankful for the respite from her quickly spiralling thoughts, she pulled it out of her pocket, frowning at the message.
Murphy: have you seen this??
She swiped her phone open and looked at his message, a small picture in the bubble below the text. Clicking on it, she watched the small bubble enlarge, the image of a house taking up her screen.
Then she felt her heart lurch.
Because it wasn’t just a house. It was one she’d mapped as well as she’d mapped as well as her own apartment, as well as her childhood home, as well as herself.
And it had a for sale sign in front of it.
She felt all the air rush out of her lungs and for just a moment she let herself be thankful she was still in the union, chairs scattered all around her, so she could sink into one without a thought as her knees gave out beneath her.
For sale. He was selling the house.
She couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be true. Murphy was being a dick, he was teasing her, trying to freak her out. Some sort of senior prank, played on only her.
Not even Murphy would do that. Not with this. He, of all people, knew what that house was. To her, to all of them. It was home, for years it was her home, even when it wasn’t. Even when she couldn’t bring herself to go over there, when too much had happened and too many silences filled too much space in that house, it was etched somewhere deep within her, burned there forever. It was all of theirs.
The room was spinning around her as she imagined someone else, another family, a new couple, a few kids, living in that house. Her house. Where she’d painted the walls and broken the smoke detector and stained the carpets and left her mark on every room. Every one of them had left their mark on every room. No one else should get to live there, not with all of that still floating around. Ghosts of the past four years--longer for the others--still seeping into the walls.
She imagined someone else moving into the basement. Bellamy’s stuff in boxes and then gone for good. Someone else waking up from the light leaking into that window at the top of the wall above the bed where she’d woken up so many times.
Someone else in that house where she’d met Raven and Wells and Monroe and Miller and Harper. Where she’d made friends and forged a family and fallen in love. Fallen back in love with art and music and people and herself and it was all in that house, built into those walls.
And Bellamy had put a for sale sign in front of it. Like anyone could take that house, anyone could call it home, like it didn’t already belong to them.
And he hadn’t even told her about it.
It was like a knife to the gut, twisting in an existing wound, realizing that if Murphy hadn’t texted her she might not have even found out until the house was sold . That she might have gone over there, knocked on the door and met a stranger on the other side.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes and she shook her head to will them away.
It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been there in weeks. It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t matter that things between them were weird or that everyone had moved out of that house but him. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t spoken to him alone in--she didn’t even know how long.
It didn’t matter.
When you’re planning on putting a piece of someone’s heart on the market, their home, the only place they’d had a clue what was going on in their life--you told them. No matter what. If you cared about them even a little bit, that’s what you did.
She sucked in a breath. He didn’t. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter what happened in those crucial moments, all those months throughout her first year, he didn’t care what had happened in the three years since. He didn’t think she had any claim on it apparently. Like she hadn’t left bits of herself in every wall. He didn’t care.
So she had to hear it from Murphy .
Well, fine. She opened her phone again, clicking on his contact info at the top of his message. It took a few rings for him to pick up.
“Clarke,” he said when he did.
“Hey,” she said. She let out a long breath. “Want to get super drunk?”
She heard him laugh on the other line a moment before his response came crackling through. “On my way to the Dropship now. Meet you there in twenty?”
“First round's on me,” she confirmed.
***
Murphy--Murphy could hold his liquor. She’d really thought he was bluffing, but six shots into the night and he was still sitting up straight, broody as ever, of course, but clear as day any time he opened his mouth.
Clarke, on the other hand, wasn’t looking quite as elegant.
“I just can’t believe it,” she said, leaning into him a bit. He had to hold out his hand to steady her, pressing against her shoulder to maneuver her back into place. “He wasn’t even going to tell me? He told you , and he didn’t even bother to tell me? Not even a phone call, or an email? ” She hiccuped. “I mean. No offense.”
“Trust me,” he said. “None taken. But he didn’t tell me. Monroe told me.”
“What?” She hiccuped again and Murphy waved over the bartender to ask for a couple glasses of water.
“Yeah,” he said, pushing one of the glasses toward her as he took a sip of his own. “She called me a few days ago. Said she was at the house, packing up her old things when she found a few of my old books and tshirts and stuff lying around the house.”
“So he told Monroe,” she said. “Probably Miller, too then. And Raven and Wells. In case they left stuff there too.”
There was a stone in her stomach and she wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting there. But it was growing heavier by the second. Every name they mentioned, every person Bellamy told about the house, everyone who found out before her, who was told, purposefully, made the rock double in size, and she wasn’t so sure she was going to be able to pull herself off of the stool to walk home with a stone that size in her gut.
“Probably,” Murphy agreed. “And Octavia. And Monroe means Harper.”
She wanted to throw up. She felt the bile rising, burning back at her esophagus as it fought to climb it’s way up her throat and she wasn’t sure if it was the six shots of tequila on an empty stomach, or the fact that she had been the only one who wasn’t told about the house.
She ordered another shot for each of them. Murphy raised his eyebrow as the bartender brought them over. She lifted hers in the air in salute.
“To moving on.” She shot it back and liked that at this point, it didn’t even burn anymore. “Apparently.”
***
August 2012
Clarke had barely seen her roommate the entire first week of school. She stopped in occasionally, changing and showering and napping. Grabbing books for class and booze for--whatever else it was that she did--but never anything more than that.
She was back in her dorm room on friday, after her classes, ready to slip into sweatpants and eat junk while she read, figuring she’d probably have the room to herself again. She eyed the roommate agreement sheets her RA, Anya, had dropped off when she’d moved in on Sunday, but she hadn’t touched them since.
Anya was the only other person on the floor that she knew and she’d only met her briefly, when she’d come in to give Clarke and Octavia the paperwork for living together.
“Where’s Octavia?” Anya asked, stepping into the doorway without so much as a courtesy knock.
Clarke shrugged. “Haven’t met her yet.”
Anya stepped into the room, walking over to where Clarke was sitting on her bed. She handed her the papers, glancing around the room. Clarke watched her eyes roll when she landed on the bottle of vodka sitting out on Octavia’s night stand.
“Tell her to at least put that in a drawer next time,” Anya said. She seemed to remember suddenly why she was there. “I’m your RA, Anya. Fill these sheets out with Octavia within the next week and bring them back to me. If you have any questions, I’ll be down the hall.”
And she hadn’t seen her since.
***
Clarke startled, in the middle of pulling her sweatpants on when Octavia barreled through the door, slamming it behind her.
“No way,” she said, and it took Clarke a moment to realize she was talking to her. “Take those things off. Put normal people clothes on.”
“Excuse me?”
Octavia dropped her bag by her desk and pulled out the bottle of vodka from her bottom drawer, where she’d stashed it after Clarke’s suggestion to move it. Unscrewing the cap she took a shot straight from the bottle, hissing when she pulled it away from her lips. Then, she put it back on the desk and moved to her stereo, turning it on loudly before answering Clarke.
“You’ve been in here all week,” she shouted over the music. She was rummaging through her drawers, not looking at Clarke. After a moment Clarke heard a soft a-ha! and watched as Octavia pulled out two shot glasses and set them on her desk. Then she stood facing Clarke, her hands on her hips. “Or at least, every time I’ve been in here in the past week you’ve been in here in pajamas or sweats, so it’s time for you to go out.”
She poured two shots and held one out to Clarke.
“There’s nothing wrong with relaxing after class,” Clarke grumbled taking the shot from her. She tipped it back, grimacing as the cheap vodka burned against her tongue and her throat. This couldn’t possibly be what people liked to drink.
“I didn’t say there was,” Octavia said. “But you’ve done it all week so now you’re going to go out and meet some new people.”
“Nobody likes to be pitied you know,” Clarke mumbled, finding a decent pair of black leggings to pull on instead of the sweatpants. She could see Octavia nod in approval out of the corner of her eye as she sifted through her own closet.
“This isn’t pity. You seem cool.”
Clarke snorted. There was no way for Octavia to have actually decided she was cool. They’d spoken, like, twice.
“Look,” Octavia said turning toward her. She was half dressed, tight black pants and a simple black bra on. Her hand was outstretched gesturing toward Clarke’s half of the room, the shirt clenched between her fist waving around with the movement. “We like the same music, from what I’ve heard you listen to. I like the shows you watch and the books you brought all seem pretty cool. You don’t seem too uptight or obsessed with school and you don’t bitch at me for coming in late. If tonight is totally awkward and we don’t get along, you don’t have to come out with me again, but it seems stupid to not even try to be friends with a roommate who likes the same crap as me.”
Octavia didn’t wait for Clarke to answer, just pulled her shirt on and continued getting ready.
“Okay.” She turned back to her closet and tried to find a half decent shirt. “You’re right. Might as well.”
She grinned as Octavia rolled her eyes at that, but took the second shot she offered her.
***
They were going to her brothers house, Octavia told her when they walked out of the dorm room. Octavia packed a backpack with sweats and a toothbrush and told Clarke to do the same.
“We might not stay the night,” she said, at Clarke’s questioning look. “But it’s always better to be prepared, right?”
“Just like the boy scouts,” Clarke nodded in agreement.
Octavia’s brother, Bellamy, had a house just a few minutes walk from campus.
“I was supposed to live there with him,” she said while they walked. There was a cool breeze swirling around them. Clarke loved the weather in late August, warm enough from summer still that she didn’t have to bundle up, but not so humid. Perfect to walk around in. “Save some money and all that. But Bell has so many roommates that it didn’t really matter. And I was ready for something else.”
Clarke nodded in understanding. She knew exactly what Octavia meant about wanting something new. That’s all college was for her. She didn’t really know what she actually wanted to study, she just knew she wanted to be away from how she grew up. In the same place for at least four years.
“Right of passage and all that,” she said in response.
“Exactly!” Octavia smiled.
It was about a ten minute walk to Bellamy’s place and when they got there, Clarke could hear the music blaring inside from the driveway.
The house was on the corner of the street, a small split level with bikes and chairs littered across the lawn. There were four cars parked in the driveway, a beat up station wagon in the garage, and a cooler sitting on the concrete just outside the front door. Octavia led her away from the walkway leading to the door, dragging her through the garage instead.
Without knocking, Octavia opened the door and ushered Clarke in. There was a pile of shoes and coats and bags right at the doorway that she nearly tripped on. She scrambled trying to find a bit of bare floor to step on but gave up after a few moments, kicking off her shoes and dropping her bag in the pile after Octavia.
“It’s a mess over here,” Octavia said in apology, “but it’s easier than having everyone carry their shit around or scattering it all around the house all night.”
Clarke nodded and followed her through the house, to the living room where there are far less people than she thought there would be. There were only four or five people scattered throughout, sitting on the couch and on the floor around a coffee table, music blasting like it was a huge house party.
Clarke startled when Anya walked by, waving at them. She held up a book.
“Had to grab this from Monroe,” she said, mostly to Octavia. Clarke had no idea who Monroe was. “Don’t wake up the whole hallway when you get back.” Then she was gone, walking past them to the shoe mountain and out the door again.
Clarke raised her eyebrows questioningly at Octavia, who shrugged.
“She grew up around here too. I’ve known her for years.”
Clarke continued to follow Octavia, who headed straight for the kitchen with hardly more than a wave to the people sitting scattered around the living room. She hesitated as they glanced over at her, some of them opening their mouths to make introductions, others just cocking their heads curiously, but after a moment's pause she hurried after Octavia without a word.
There were a couple other people in the kitchen, but they hardly noticed her when she walked in. A plate of about ten grilled cheese sandwiches sat next to the pair of them, one handsome boy, dressed in a sweatshirt from her and Octavia’s school, and a tall girl who, looking stoned out of her mind, was finishing off wrapping a loosely knit scarf around the boy's’ neck. The boy was standing over the stove grilling another sandwich as the girl beside him assembled more.
“Think you’ve got enough grilled cheese there Raven?” Octavia asked as she pulled the fridge open.
“Never!” the girl, Raven, cried, slapping another dry sandwich down into the pan, causing the boy next to her to swear.
“Dammit, Raven, you just ruined my other sandwich. It was going to be perfect .”
“Stop pouting, Wells.” Raven rolled her eyes. Then she glanced over at Clarke. “Who’s this?”
“Uh, Clarke,” she said. “I’m Clarke. Octavia’s roommate.”
“Cool.” Raven offered her a sandwich. “I’m Raven, this is Wells. We live with Octavia’s brother.” At that she turned back to Octavia. “Where is he, by the way? It was his turn to do the grocery shopping and he didn’t get the kind of cheese we like.”
“How should I know?” Octavia asked, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. “You’re the one who lives with him. Want a drink?”
The last question was directed at Clarke, who jumped, and Raven went back to talking to Wells. She heard mumbled bickering from the other side of the kitchen and watched as Octavia opened the cupboard next to the sink and pulled out two glasses.
“Um, sure,” Clarke said. “Whatever you’re having.”
“Okay,” Octavia said. She considered for a moment and then put the glasses back in the cupboard and took a couple beers from the fridge, twisting off the caps and handing one to Clarke. “If you want something stronger we can grab it later.” She took a sip from hers and tipped it toward Raven and Wells. “Raven and Wells are two of my brother’s roommates. Raven lives in my old room, Wells in Bellamy’s, and he lives in the basement now, because he’s not actually human enough to be on the same floor as other living people. There’s also Miller and Monroe, who you’ll meet. They share the giant master bedroom upstairs--they have the neatest and most anal retentive living habits, especially in the bathroom so they got the room with the attached bath.”
It was a lot of people in one house. She’d never lived with more than just her parents, she was having a weird enough time living with another person who was barely ever in their room she couldn’t imagine four roommates.
“Come on,” Octavia said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”
They meandered back into the living room where everyone else was. Octavia reached out to turn the knob on the stereo down before she called out to them.
“Everyone,” she said, “This is my roommate Clarke. We’re trying to socialize her.”
Clarke rolled her eyes at Octavia but gave a small wave to everyone around her. There was a girl with wild red hair, pulled back into some sort of intricate braid, sitting on the ground in front of the television, arms crossed in front of her on the coffee table. A blonde girl with a braid and a headband wrapped around her forehead, an arm looped through the right arm of the red haired girl. On the couch there was a sullen looking man in a beanie who gave Octavia a small nod when she plopped down next to him. Anya had been the only other one in the room when they’d first gotten there, but she’d left, so Clarke was left with those three.
“That’s Monroe,” Octavia said, pointing to the girl with the red hair. “Next to her is Harper, and this guy is Miller.”
“Hello, everyone,” Clarke said awkwardly. She looked around for a moment and then decided to slip in between Miller and Octavia on the couch.
There was a general grunt of hellos in response before Wells, carrying a plate of at least fifteen grilled cheese sandwiches, and Raven, with her arms piled with sodas and beers and chips, filed in behind them, dropping all the food all over the coffee table and sitting on either side of Harper and Monroe.
“I was promised a night of booze and trashy reality tv,” Raven said through a mouth full of cheetos. “Where the hell is my trashy tv?”
“Cables out.” It was Monroe who said it, reaching for a sandwich. “Miller forgot to pay the bill.”
“Then why the hell are we even here?” Harper asked. “I would’ve gone out tonight.”
“You want to pay eight dollars for a beer?” Miller raised his eyebrows at her, just as Monroe threw a grilled cheese at her face. Harper stuck her tongue out. “Didn’t think so.”
***
A few hours later found them in mostly the same spots, but deeper, her spine feeling like it had fused permanently with the back of the couch. Octavia had propped her feet up onto the table once the sandwiches were eaten and the beers were claimed one by one. Miller had stretched only slightly, his legs sticking out and his arm thrown haphazardly over the arm of the couch as he slid further and further down the cushions until his head was in line with Clarke’s belly.
They were all stretched out, sprawled all over eachother. Legs thrown over other legs, backs on laps, hands playing with other people’s hair. The room was full with only seven of them surrounding the table.
It was hard for Clarke to reconcile this--this relaxed melding of people all around her, including herself, this mellow party of grilled cheese and potato chips and beer, this way seven people could all melt into the same room and fill it through sheer force of will rather than mass itself--it was hard for her to reconcile it with the way she grew up, taking up exactly as much space as was allowed to her, never overlapping in anyone else’s, everyone sitting on exactly one cushion or chair, never stretched out over each other on the floor.
It was hard for her to make this group of friends make sense with what she knew of friends. She was moving, all the time, moving from city to city so she never got one of these. One of those houses where she and all her friends could hang out. Just sit around on a friday night with pizza and beer, or pizza and a movie or pizza and anything really. She had friends, of course, wherever she went, they weren’t hard to make.
They were just sort of hard to get past chatting in the hallway, giving help with homework phase.
Even then, squished in between Miller and Octavia, watching Monroe leaning into Harper, teasing Wells and poking Raven, she felt sealed off. Like she was behind some sort of wall, too careful to chime in with anything other than laughter. Part of her couldn’t help but feeling like she was already missing out. Sitting there on the sidelines, letting something slip through her fingers before she even knew it was happening.
It was pulling at her chest, telling her to say something, to melt into the people around her, but every time she opened her mouth her throat dried up and she imagined the sound of her voice croaking out between her lips, and she just sat back and felt her eyes move back and forth between whoever was talking. It felt too late to do anything about it anyway.
***
Octavia was dozing off on her shoulder and Harper and Wells were whisper arguing about which version of the Spiderman movies were better, while everyone else slept around them when Clarke heard the front door open.
She looked over and saw a man with dark curly hair, dressed in gym clothes with a bag slung over his shoulder, walk through the door. As he got closer Clarke felt her eyes roam up and down, his muscle tank showing off a generous bit of his torso, but snapped back to her hands folded on her lap before he could get too close.
“Cables out,” Monroe said, grumbling with her eyes still closed as she leaned on Harper.
“Oh hey Monroe, happy to see you too, my day was fine,” he said. He snorted as he glanced around the room, most of the people slumped over half asleep, still grunting in response to something Wells or Harper was saying, but no more than that. He paused when he got to Clarke.
“You’re a new one,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. “Bellamy, Octavia’s brother. Roommate to all, apparently.”
“Clarke,” she said. “Octavia’s roommate.”
He nodded, smiling at her. “Cool. I’ve got to go get changed, but it was nice meeting you. And I’m sorry for the behavior of my roommates.”
“We didn’t do anything!” Wells broke from his debate with Harper for a moment to interject.
“Sure, of course.” He winked.
Bellamy gave her another small smile and a wave before slipping into the kitchen where she heard a door open and shut quietly behind him.
She waited for the room to pick back up around her, but it seemed to sink further into silence, like they had been waiting for Bellamy to get home so they could finally give up on pretending not to want to go to sleep. She wanted to stretch her legs, her body stiff from staying in the same position all night, so she stood up, stretching her arms above her head and nodded toward the kitchen.
“Just gonna grab a glass of water,” she said.
“Glasses in the cupboard next to the sink!” Raven called softly behind her.
She waved a thank you and went into the kitchen, filling up the glass and downing it in just a few seconds before filling it back up again. She hoisted herself up on the counter, where Raven had been when she met her and let her head lean back against the hard wooden cupboard behind her.
“Rough day?” A voice startled her out of her thoughts, her eyes snapping open. It was Bellamy, grabbing a beer out of the fridge and then leaning against it, watching her.
He’d changed from his gym clothes into...what looked like just more comfortable gym clothes to Clarke. Sweatpants and a loose and cropped tank top, showing of a dark happy trail leading into the waistband of the sweats.
“No, not rough,” she sighed. “Just uneventful. The whole week honestly. Isn’t college supposed to be more exciting?”
“More exciting than sitting around a random stranger's living room listening to two other strangers argue about superhero movies?” He smirked. “Wouldn’t know. Never went.”
“Oh,” she said. Octavia hadn’t mentioned that. Not that she would, not that it would come up. But she wasn’t sure what to say to that. Bit of a theme for the night, really, she thought.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, catching on to her hesitation. “I just didn’t want to. I’ve got a job I like and I didn’t feel like paying thousands of dollars to delay my promotion four years.” He reached into the cupboard and dug out a box of cookies, holding it over to Clarke before taking one for himself.
“Sorry about them, by the way,” he nodded to the living room. “They forget how weird and incestuous our group is. Don’t realize it might be uncomfortable for new people to jump in without warning. Though I suspect that was mostly O’s doing, bringing you here?” He waited for her nod, which she gave, blushing, ducking her head. “Yeah, figures. She’s freakishly good at jumping in with other people like she belongs there. Doesn’t realize there’s another way to make friends.”
They stood in silence eating for a few moments before he continued.
“We’ve all known each other since we were kids, so we kind of forget how to be normal around people. Don’t let it scare you off.”
She straightened up a bit. “I’m not scared off.”
“Good,” Bellamy smiled. “You seem normal. Octavia could use a normal friend.”
She laughed, letting her legs swing back and forth, feeling a bit lighter than she had just twenty minutes ago. It was intoxicating, the house. The closeness they all had. She hadn’t jumped right in as well as she thought she would but she was glad it didn’t mean she wouldn’t get to.
Bellamy reached for another cookie and she met his eye. He opened his mouth to say something, and grimaced a bit, almost like an apology before he did.
“Okay, I’ve got to be the big brother for just a second,” he said quickly. He pulled out his phone and handed it to Clarke. “You’re Octavia’s roommate. Put your number in and I’ll text you mine. Just in case anything…”
He trailed off but she nodded, grabbing at his phone and punching her number in.
“Yeah, sure,” she said. “No problem.”
She was about to open her mouth to say something else--she wasn’t sure what but something, anything to kepe the only conversation that had been directed at her all night going, when there was a soft knock on the door to the garage. Whoever was only the other said waited a moment, but not for anyone to answer the door before slipping in.
It was a tall girl, with a round, smiling face, and curly hair, who walked into the kitchen beside Bellamy.
“Hey,” she said.
He looped an arm over her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, smiling warmly at the girl. “This is Clarke, Octavia’s roommate.”
“Oh,” the girl said. “Gina. Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too,” Clarke said.
Gina leaned into Bellamy a bit, and he took one last cookie before giving Clarke an awkward salute.
“Remember,” he said. The two of them were heading toward the door, the one Clarke figured must lead to the basement. “Don’t let them all scare you off.”
“Right,” she laughed, a little forcefully. “I won’t.”
***
May 2016
Clarke didn’t bother changing into pajamas when she got home from the bar with Murphy. Just pulled her pants off and tossed them into a pile in the corner of her room and flopped down in bed.
Her head was spinning and she was grateful Murphy had given her money for a cab, because no way would she have been able to walk home in her state.
She still felt the flush of embarrassment, the pang in her chest from his message and every time she glanced at her phone she felt it all over, like it was happening for the first time again.
She picked up the phone and clicked open the picture again. For sale. For sale for sale for sale. She still couldn’t believe it, it couldn’t be real.
Before she even knew what she was doing, her fingers were hovering over a number she hadn’t used in months. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d called it. It sat like an ugly reminder in her phone. A heavy, ugly reminder that weighed her pocket down every day. Without giving her head a second to stop herself, she pressed it.
Straight to voicemail, of course.
Hey, It’s Bellamy, leave a message.
“Bellamy?” Her voice sounded like a stranger to her. Cracked and rough and broken. “It’s Clarke. I, uh, I just found out about the house.” She broke off, an ugly laugh breaking out between her lips. “From Murphy. I just found out about the house from Murphy .
“Yeah, he uh, he texted me a picture of the for sale sign in front of it. Asked if I knew. Which, we both know, I didn’t!”
She hated how small she sounded. She hated that he would hear it, after all of it, everything that happened, and now the house, she was still the small one.
“I can’t believe you did this, Bellamy. I can’t believe you would do this. You’re selling the house. Our house. Where we--fuck, just how could you? And how could you not tell me? Couldn’t spend five second on a text? Send an email? You just--this is low. Even for you Bellamy. That house--you know what it was. What it is.”
She curled up, wrapping her hands around the phone as she pressed it and herself into the pillow. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the tears to go away. “I hate you for this, you know, “ she whispered.
She clicked the red end call button before she could say anything else.