AnansiAnansi

Apparently I'm on a roll; here's the next bit of this story.

Chapter 4: At work

What the hell had she been thinking? 

In fact, a better question would have been whether she had been thinking at all. Puffing her cheeks out, Lexa tried to focus on the page before her; it was useless; she had been off kilter all morning. Tossing the briefing notes aside, she marched to the windows in the corner of her room, finally giving in to the turmoil within. Consumed in part by surreality, in part by dread and somehow floating through it on what felt like a life raft of adrenaline and a tincture of excitement, Lexa rested her head on the cool glass, exhaling her chagrin at the mess she had gotten herself into.

What the fuck was she thinking?

Clarke Griffin was a goddamn heartwrecker; and instead of ignoring her for what had at once felt like eternity and not nearly enough time to catch her breath, instead of telling Clarke Griffin, Hollywood superstar extraordinaire and the most selfish coward in existence, to fuck right off, she, Lexa Woods, idiot of seven lifetimes, had gone and let that same Clarke Griffin, still the goddamn keeper of her eviscerated heart, talk her into dinner tomorrow night.

She took one more deep, steadying breath; even at the height of one of the highest floors of the hotel, she could hear the commotion outside, muffled by the sealed glass and the quiet whoosh of the air-conditioning. The group of about fifty onlookers when she had returned to her room had now swelled in size to what looked like at least a few hundred. Everywhere, arms with phones extended and contracted, and cut-outs of Clarke’s discombobulated head, with the expressions from smiles to surprise to seriousness, floated above the crowds like maddening, incessant beacons drawing her in to sure shipwreck. Lexa knew all those faces of Clarke intimately, could tell the thoughts behind them by memory, just like she had a repertoire of Clarke Griffins stored away for her alone - all of them culminating into the woman that no one but her had seen fully and loved so desperately once. 

Three years ago, I decided to write a fic that mirrored the Clexaweek2021 prompts. Time flies, etc. etc. and I've decided to finish this story up.

Fic summary: By all accounts, Clarke Griffin, Hollywood's most bankable superstar, has made it. Except a decision, and a sacrifice to get there has haunted her for years.

Chapter 1 (Accidental Love Confession) is here; Chapter 2 (Wanna Bet?) is here.

Chapter 3: Reunited

“Just look at this.” Niylah tossed a newspaper down on the marble tabletop; it skidded to a halt before Clarke, who was sitting cross legged on the velvet lounger, her silk bathrobed-self framed by the brilliance of another perfectly rising day in the wall of windows behind her. Without raising her head, Clarke cast an eye over the front of the tabloid. “Hmmm.” She slurped a particularly loud sip of her green-powered smoothie, alternating with it a bite of her avocado-laden slice of toast.

Niylah sighed, crossing her arms. In spite of her annoyance, she studied Clarke’s nonchalant pose carefully; then, moving quickly, she pulled out her phone, snapping a series of photo bursts, the miniscule differences between them - in the shift of Clarke’s shoulders, of her lips pursed slightly more appealingly in one over the other - being the decisive factor for the winning contender that would make it to Clarke’s Instagram, just in time for morning cereal with a side of fawning for her millions of followers. That would be what Niylah’s coffee break would be for. For now, there was a much larger fire to put out. 

“Clarke! It’s all over the news. Here. And here.” Niylah laid out the remaining papers deliberately, making sure each headline was clearly visible. ‘It’s ‘show’time!’; ‘Who is Clarke’s dirty little secret?’; ‘Clarke G bets her a** and her heart!’; ‘Clarke’s Charity is Jaha’s Jackpot.’

Still, Clarke said nothing, but her eyes lingered over the last, blaring front page at the very corner of the table. ‘Is Finn In….or Clarke Out?” She made a note to at least skim over that one later; the editorial team had a penchant for particularly vicious, mostly wildly inaccurate spins on her life. Mostly.

“And I haven’t even checked the online news alerts yet.” Niylah ranted on, sinking down in her chair, running her hands across her face. It wasn’t even seven AM, and she was exhausted. “This is an unmitigated disaster. You’ve put yourself between a bullet and a target.”

Clarke snorted, finally looking up at her publicist, sarcasm painted across her face. “So what you’re saying is that nothing’s changed.” She raised an arm to the back of her neck, massaging it gently, trying to ease the crick that seemed to have ossified there in the last three days. “Relax, Niylah. They can work themselves up over nothing, as usual. I’ve got this.”

“How? Just how have you “got this”? It’s chaos...chaos, outside. I don’t even know how we’re going to get you out of here today.” Niylah reached for an empty mug, helping herself to the freshly brewed coffee on the table; Clarke didn’t touch the stuff, but still had a pot sent up every day. In the mad rush before the Oscars, Niylah had spent more time in Clarke’s hotel suite than at her own, tiny apartment across town. “They’re going to be on you like hyenas. Why did you do it, anyway?”

“Because I fucking wanted to. Doesn’t that count for anything any more?” Clarke snapped, brow furrowing as she felt the first prickle of annoyance of the day.

I can't believe I'm typing this, but here we go - we have a new chapter up:

Chapter 85: Come away with me

The next morning, Lexa woke Clarke with the softest, most unhurried kisses. One at a time, she etched promises on Clarke’s skin, choosing the place of each with care; one sheltered under her left ear, another at the very corner of her mouth, one more on the mole just above that, then a sunshower across her chest - each a small fragment leading to her destination with certainty. As she felt Clarke stirring under her hands and her mouth, Lexa thought that these moments of solitude, these pearls of thievery and solace, were the closest thing to faith, a little glimpse of the divine in these everyday moments of what some would consider mundanity. And as blue eyes fluttered open, soft and full of stories of the places Clarke had traveled in her sleep, Lexa thought the same thing she every morning since their love confessions all those months ago - how could she not worship this goddess she was lucky to call her own?

As if reading her thoughts, a rosy hue overtook Clarke’s chest, and when the accompanying shy smile stretched the corner of her lips, Lexa couldn’t help herself anymore; she leaned in, kissing Clarke with the slow unhurriedness of two lovers in an impenetrable world of their own. When they parted, finally, Clarke’s voice was a husky, and a little breathless. “Come here; I still owe you from yesterday.” But Lexa caught her arm halfway, letting Clarke’s fingers trace her skin as she left petalsoft kisses on her wrist, an idea forming in her mind, even as she squirmed a bit, her own body responding to Clarke. “Maybe you should tease me for a bit longer.”