Bloodshot Eyes

Her movements are stiff, and she is gingerly walking through the school. There’s still dried blood sticking to her thighs, her shoulder is on the verge of collapsing, and there’s welts on the entirety of her back and arms. But it’s not the worst she’s had, and Lexa prides herself in having a high threshold for pain, doesn’t want people to pity her. Even if she has to feel the harsh material of her clothes rubbing against her wounds.

The few students that are in school early avoid her like the plague. They know the drill, the schedule. The weekend is over and she will return with bloodshot eyes and some form of tremble in her step. They will blatantly ignore any injury that ‘might’ have happened, and she will pretend that everything is fine.

And at the end of the hallway she sees Raven, held up by what looks to be her brace - one that is utterly destroyed, barely hanging on at the hinges. Even from a distance she can see the bruise against the clammy skin of Raven’s neck, red and purple and yellow. If it weren’t for the smirk plastered on both their faces, they would probably have looked as though they were reuniting after a war.

It is a war, though.


“So, Woods, I bet you my lunch that I’ll have more bruises than you.”

“You’re going down Reyes.”


They settle in an empty classroom. There’s still a long way before classes even begin, but the earlier they leave for school the sooner their injuries can begin to heal.

Immediately after settling they begin remove the various layers of clothing covering their wounds, pointing out the fresher ones and occasionally jotting down notes and scores.


“See this here?” Raven gestures at the huge bruises blooming across her chest and collarbone, moving closer to Lexa to allow her to prod at it. She doesn’t even wince. “I got punched. Twice.” She smirks. “Beat that.”

But Lexa only snorts, immediately tugging off her jacket and jeans. Twin cuts run deep across her skin, and without the pressure her clothes have placed on it, blood begins to dribble out of the flayed flesh. “Got a knife and scissors thrown at me.”

“Lexa, I can’t top that, fuck!” Raven complains, indignant, before muttering, “not this time, anyway.”

The knock on the door pauses their little competition, and Lexa straightens, annoyed. “Enter!”

“Got room for one more?” Leaning heavily against the doorframe, Bellamy’s face is haggard and his hair is matted. Lexa looks around and she is worried.

“Where’s Octavia?”

She’s worried, Bellamy’s face does not give away anything. Even so, what if one of them actually did not manage to survive the weekend?

But then Octavia pops up from behind him, raising a weak hand in greeting, and the both of them shuffle into the classroom, finding a seat and immediately dozing off. It’s a common occurrence, the both of them finding time to sleep where they know they won’t be harm, and so Lexa and Raven leaves them be to continue their little competition. Still prodding at bruises and still keeping score.

Halfway through arguing over the number of points Raven should get over a broken brace, the door slams open, shocking everyone. Octavia tumbles off her chair in fright, and Bellamy is turned towards the door, glaring and afraid. But he softens when he sees Murphy slink in, followed by Clarke.

The atmosphere brightens considerably when Clarke enters. She scans the room, her smile warm, visibly soaking up the love their little group throws at her. And then her eyes meets Lexa, and other than the slight twitch on her face, she remains warm and soft.

Across the room Murphy has made himself at home, burrowing his way into Bellamy’s arms, snuggled and content.


Even though she wins the bet, Lexa still shares her lunch with Raven. She’s not hungry, not when she knows Raven and Finn have probably been picking leftover takeout from the trash of their foster home over the weekend. And with Raven barely able to stand, and Finn delirious with a fever, she doubts they had the time to sneak out.

Clarke, once again busying herself with her first aid kit, flutters about the table. She forces antibiotics into Finn, wipes his face with a cold wipe. She is tutting and her face is pinched, but she is still so gentle.

It’s moments like this that Lexa falls harder for her girlfriend. There’s a faint throbbing throughout her body, but even that ceases to exist when she watches Clarke move on to Raven - rummaging through her bag for ointment and painkillers.

Instead it makes her heart hurt, because Clarke is so selfless and so deserving of love and attention, but instead she gets nothing but blame and neglect and a group of misfits who are all fucked up in their own way.


“Fuck! Griff, a little gentler, will ya?” Raven’s words are harsh, jaw locked and holding her breath in an attempt to block out the pain.


Through the door she can hear his muffled voice, light and carefree, and it gives her a shudder. She has been at Clarke’s since school ended, and Lexa knows that her father is waiting, displeased.

The longer she can delay the inevitable the better.


If she takes too long in the shower he bursts in - sometimes tossing clothes at her to chase her out, but often times wielding some sort of object that he uses as a weapon. His favourites are the trophies and medals lining the hallway.


I probably should have warned you. You see, I am very fucked up and I destroy anything and everything I meet. You should leave before I corrupt you in one way or another. Believe me you’re better off not even knowing my name.
—  {g.j.t}
Just let me fucking feel. I need to feel something other than this numb, distant, empty, cold shit. I want rage and pain and adrenaline. But
I have nothing. I am nothing.
—  {g.j.t}
Oh darling, he never even loved you.
Oh darling, they never even liked you.
Oh darling, this is never going to mend.
So darling, down your pills and pray for the end.
—  {g.j.t}
You still love her, don’t you? I can tell by your bloodshot eyes and the way you keep pulling up your pants. I can tell you get jittery every now and then. You can’t hide your irregular heartbeats. I think we need to talk. Come … walk with me.
—  Michael Daaboul