Avalon
Good news: I didn’t vomit in the shower like I thought I would.
Luckily, Clarke had already left the bathroom by the time the rest of what was in my stomach decided to make an appearance. Throwing up in the entrance was humiliating enough—I didn’t need to clog the shower drain with whatever I’d eaten.
By the time I was clean and mostly sober, Clarke had left a pair of shorts and a shirt outside the door. I slipped them on, wrapped my wet hair in a towel, and stepped out into the small kitchen.
She sat on a stool at the counter, two steaming mugs of coffee in front of her. Her fingers curled around one of them, but she hadn’t taken a sip—like she was holding it for comfort rather than warmth.
“Hey,” I said softly. “Is that for me?”
Clarke looked up, offering a small half-smile. “I wasn’t sure how you liked it, so I left it black.” She nodded toward the mini fridge. “There’s creamer in there, but it’s probably expired. And hazelnut flavored.”
I chuckled, taking the seat beside her. “Black is fine. Thank you.”
I didn’t drink coffee often — energy drinks were more my thing — but I appreciated the gesture. And I needed something to ground me.
The floor near the entrance had been cleaned. Shame crawled up my spine.
“I’m really sorry about… that.” I nodded toward the door, hiding behind the steam of my mug.
Clarke shrugged, stirring her coffee with a tiny silver spoon. “It’s nothing. I’ve cleaned enough of Colt and Ethan’s vomit for it to barely register.”
She laughed, but her eyes didn’t meet mine.
“I don’t even know what came over me,” I lied. “I haven’t been that drunk or aggressive since…”
Since the paparazzi incident.
Since the night I was assaulted.
I’d been drunk when he touched me. Drunker afterward, trying to erase the feeling of his hands. My parents hadn’t believed me—not when I told them, not ever.
You were wasted.
You probably imagined it.
You were asking for it.
Their excuses rang in my head every time I got close to blacking out.
If my own family didn’t believe me, why should I?
“Ethan told me what happened… with Arabella.” Clarke’s voice was soft, but her eyes were sharp — searching me, peeling back layers I didn’t want exposed. “Thank you.”
I shrugged, looking away. Clarke’s eyes were too much — too bright, too blue, too honest. Like the sky over the ocean.
If I stared too long, I’d drown.
“She deserved it,” I muttered. “I don’t care what anyone says. And I think I might’ve declared war on the Finch family. Her mom is also a major bitch, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Clarke laughed — a real one — and the tension in my shoulders eased.
“Oh, you definitely said ‘this means war’ to Arabella. I wish I’d been there to see it.”
She sighed, almost wistfully.
Her fingers tapped the counter, rings glinting in the low light. She looked like she wanted to say something — something important.
Say it. Ask me anything. I’ll answer. But the words stayed trapped in my throat.
“Ethan told me you told him to stay behind with me,” I said quietly. “Thank you.”
Clarke’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, yes. I just wanted to make sure you made it home—back, made it back…safe.”
“Alone, you mean.”
Her face drained of color. She grabbed her mug like a shield. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
I shrugged, sipping my coffee now that it had cooled. “I don’t know. I just feel like… even you have to admit there’s something here.”
“Here?” Clarke raised her brows, taking a long sip. “I think you’re still drunk, Avalon. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
I scoffed. Even after everything — the looks, the tension, the way she’d stared at me at Rorie’s — she still wanted to pretend.
“You can deny it all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that this—”
I motioned between us.
“—is still here. Can’t you feel it?”
Clarke’s cheeks flushed a soft apple-pink. She ran a hand through her blonde waves, jaw tightening like she was fighting herself.
“Okay,” she said finally, voice unsteady. “Even if — if — there was something here…”
She laughed weakly, chin resting in her palm.
“Let’s say there was something between us. What are we supposed to do about it, Avalon?”
You could kiss me. You could try. You could stop pretending you don’t feel it too.
When she looked at me again, there was a half-smile on her lips.
“And before you say anything,” she added, “we’ve already tried. And clearly, it seems like you’ve already given up.”
I sat back, incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about?”