…he won’t kill himself, because some remnant of faith tells him that he has to drink this bitter cup to the last dregs, go on suffering this vile heartache, because this is the affliction he must die of.
A small little thing I wrote based on this post and getting some feels after seeing some of Skiretehfox’s freezerburn art. I am so weak. :3c
At the sixth time she snuck a look at her watch, people were
beginning to stare. The waitress which had walked by her table more than twice
was shooting her pitying looks, and seemed to hesitate between her table and
another’s; a blank notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Are you ready to
“No thank you. I’ll
order once my boyfriend gets here.”
Clarke carefully wedged her door open and peeked outside – the coast was clear and she opened the door wider, careful of the squeaking, old hinges. She winced when a particularly loud creak made Raven mumble something in her sleep and turn around, burrowing further into the blanket Clarke had thrown over her when she fell asleep on the couch.
Raven had too much of a great time last night when Clarke had explained to her the situation and between the two of them the bottle of whiskey they had in the cupboard was now empty. Raven drank for amusement while Clarke tried to drown the memories from the night.
She locked the dorm behind her and tried to chase the sleep away from her eyes – she should have never signed up for morning classes, never. Clarke never had been an early person and especially not after a night like the one she had.
Her ring got caught on a strand of her messy hair and Clarke untangled it gently, mumbling curses under her breath and glaring at the glint of red. So much for it being her lucky item, really; all it had done was get her engaged, fake engaged to a person she couldn’t stand to look at.