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Day three was always the worst.
Her whole body seemed to throb and ache, and her pelvis was cramped so bad that she just wanted to curl up in a little ball and never move ever again. Some months, she wouldn't even leave the house on the third day of her period unless she was called into work. Otherwise she would burrow herself into her and Raven's crappy, 70s-patterned sofa and binge watch Game of Thrones or whatever other show Clarke was into at the time.
Raven would swap between shooting her pitying and amused looks, but Clarke always ignored them. It was Clarke's Ultimate "I-feel-like-shit-because-I'm-menstruating" Ritual, and she was sticking to it.
But of course Clarke forgot to restock her tampons last month. Of course she scurried to the Mini Mart two blocks down from her apartment in her rattiest, paint-stained sweats with her dirty hair thrown up in a haphazard bun that stuck out in every which direction, barely containing her blonde curls. And of fucking course the one day of the month she looked her worst, the hottest guy in the world would get in line right behind her.
Seriously. This jackass must've been put on this planet to make poor, unsuspecting girls like Clarke suddenly realize they had a thing for freckles. And tanned skin. And broad, muscled shoulders. And beautiful, chocolate brown eyes, and adorable curly black hair—
Red flag! Abort, abort! Abandon ship!
Clarke snapped her eyes forward, hoping the man behind her hadn't seen her staring. From the tiny twitch in the corners of his lips she could see out of the corner of her eye, he totally caught her red-handed. She felt her face heat up.
Great. Not only was she wearing her crappiest outfit ever, she probably also looked like a mutant tomato.
Why hadn't she just held out until Raven got home from Wick's? It would have been, well, uncomfortable to say the least, and the other girl would have complained and demanded favors, but at least Clarke wouldn't have to suffer the... the indignity of standing in front of an infuriatingly handsome guy while looking like a hobo, clutching the biggest box of Tampax Pearls she could find.
(Clarke tried not to care, and maybe any other week in the month she wouldn't, but this was the week, and her emotions were running a gauntlet in her brain.)
The line inched forward, and Clarke silently implored the lone checker to step up her game. She just wanted to get out of here, but based on the bored, despondent look on the brunette cashier's face, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. So Clarke resigned herself to awkwardly shuffling in place while she waited, just like everyone else.
With nothing to do (or look at, really) Clarke snuck a glance at the man behind her again. Luckily, he was focused on the various candies on the rack next to the check stand, so she had a second to watch him. He was holding a basket with a carton of milk, Oreo Cookies, and a pre-made deli sandwich. Maybe he was on a lunch break? It seemed like an odd assortment for a late-night grocery run. Then again, maybe he was just seriously craving a sandwich and some Oreos. She could definitely sympathize. Clarke had been eyeing the Starbursts like a madwoman before the man walked up behind her.
He glanced up at her, and with her face lit up like a damn furnace, there was no hiding that she was watching him this time.
"She sure is taking her time, eh?" He whispered with a smirk, leaning in close so Clarke could hear. She caught a whiff of his warm, minty-fresh breath.
"Huh?" Wow, Clarke. Real intelligent. You did graduate kindergarten, right?
The man nodded toward the cashier. "I was just saying we could be here for a while."
"Oh. Right. Uh, yeah." Words, Griffin! Use your words!
The freckled man just smiled, flashing dazzling, straight white teeth, and held out his free hand.
"I'm Bellamy, by the way."
Clarke eyed his hand, increasingly aware that she was gripping a box of tampons to her chest like they were the holy grail in front of a decidedly attractive person. Though, to his credit, he had yet to glance anywhere but her face. That meant something, right? That should mean something in the grand scheme of things.
(Oh god, she wasn't even wearing any foundation, and he was staring at her face. Her skin probably looked like a scrapped Van Gogh painting. Jeez.)
"Do I get your name, or do I just have to call you Princess?"
Wait, what?
"Princess?"
But apparently she didn't phrase it enough like a question, because his eyes widened, and he actually snorted through his nose (god damn, that was cute). "Wait, you actually want me to call you Princess, because I definitely will—"
"No, no," Clarke said in a rush, fighting down the flush in her cheeks. "I was wondering where you got that name. Why would you call me Princess?"
Now it was his turn to squirm. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, and Clarke tried really hard not to notice the way it showed off his impressive biceps. (Really, she did try. It wasn't her fault this Bellamy guy quite obviously took care of his muscles!) His dark eyes darted around the tiny store, looking anywhere but right at her.
"Uh, your sweat pants," Bellamy coughed awkwardly, and Clarke cocked an eyebrow. "On the back?"
It took her a moment of what the hell is he talking about before she realized—
"Oh my God!" Clarke sputtered. If her face wasn't on fire before, it certainly was now because of course her comfiest, rattiest, paint-stained sweat pants also happened to be a gag gift from Raven, a light pink pair with a fucking giant, sparkly crown right on the ass!
I'm going to kill her. I'm going to murder her for giving me both the coziest, most embarrassing pants of all time. Holy shit, why would I ever wear these in public? Fuck my damn life!
Hey wait a second.
"Were you checking out my ass?" Clarke asked, blunt.
Bellamy stuttered like a middle school boy caught peeking at the pretty high school girl. It was hard to see it through his tanned, freckled skin, but a small, very distinct blush rose onto those sharp cheekbones. Clarke nearly giggled. Giggled! She never giggled. This guy was doing things to her. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so flustered around a guy. Even around boyfriends, she had never felt this... giddy. What did that say about her, when she didn't even know his last name?
"No, I wasn't! I mean, yeah, I sort of was, but not like that, I'm not some weird perv, or something," Bellamy said, floundering with his hands, holding them up like Clarke was pointing a gun at his head. Then he bunched his eyebrows when she started to laugh. "Well, I mean, a sparkly fucking crown is pretty hard to miss. If you don't want someone to look—"
"Relax! Oh my gosh, you should see your face."
Bellamy scowled as Clarke doubled over, but he couldn't quite hide the small twitch in his lips, like he was holding back a chuckle of his own. "Ha, ha. Just for that, I don't even want to know your real name. You will henceforth be known as the Princess of the Mini Mart, your highness."
She huffed an exaggerated sigh, wiping a mirthful tear from the corner of her eye. "Well, at least it has a nice ring to it."
This time she was rewarded with a bright, real smile, and the insane wattage of it nearly knocked her to her knees.
"It's Clarke," she said (not the least bit breathless, at all) once she felt like her head stopped spinning. He just shook his head.
"Nope. It's definitely Princess."
Clarke rolled her eyes at his smirk, trying to pretend she wasn't really pleased with the idea of the handsome stranger giving her a nickname.
Finally it was Clarke's turn to check out, and with a smile she still couldn't wipe from her face, she plunked her box of feminine products onto the counter, digging in her pocket for her credit card. When she went to swipe it through the card machine, it beeped and asked her to swipe again. She did, and once again it just asked her to re-swipe. Clarke looked questioningly at the pretty clerk behind the register with a bright yellow nametag reading, Roma.
"Is your card machine down?"
The brunette cashier just took a glance at Clarke's card as she held it out and shook her head.
"Sorry. We don't take American Express."
"Huh? But I just used this card here a few days ago—"
Roma shrugged, and Clarke restrained herself from reaching over the counter and grabbing the brat's collar to shake some sense (and maybe a little common courtesy) into her. Clarke knew for a fact that she used this card here before with no problem. She was tempted to ask for a manager, but the line behind her had been waiting long enough. Instead, Clarke took a deep breath, and dug into her wallet to look for cash.
And came up three dollars short.
Fuck me. Can this day get any worse?
Face still red—this time from a mix of shame and embarrassment—Clarke looked imploringly at the girl. Surely, a fellow female would sympathize with a woman buying a single box of tampons in the middle of the night with a ridiculously charming, stupidly attractive guy standing right behind her. "Are you sure you can't try to run the card through the machine? I think that worked last time."
But Clarke had no such luck. Roma just gave her a considerably insulting smile. "I'm sorry, but I can't. There's a debit machine down the street."
Clarke felt the rage rise up in her chest. I'll take that fucking debit machine and shove it up your—
"It's alright," Bellamy put a big, warm hand on Clarke's shoulder, effectively rendering her a useless zombie. He stepped past her up to the counter. "Just add it to my order." He leaned over to his right a snatched the packet of Starbursts Clarke had been ogling earlier. "This too."
The two women just blinked, staring stupidly. Roma recovered first, and simpered up at him, giving him a sweet smile, and not-so-subtly tugged down the front of her v-neck. Though it pissed her off, Clarke couldn't exactly blame the girl. Really, Bellamy just seemed to have that affect. There should be a law. The 'You Are Not Allowed To Be This Attractive Around Innocent, Unsuspecting Women' clause. Seriously, it seemed like a hazard to girls' hearts everywhere.
"Of course, sir!" Roma chirped. The girl tried to take her time scanning Bellamy's meager number of items leaning unnaturally too far forward to show off her cleavage. But the line of people behind them must have been scowling at the wait because Roma counted Bellamy's change quickly and sent them on their way. Once outside, Bellamy dug into the two bags Roma had given them, and put Clarke's tampons and the pack of Starbursts into one bag and handed it to her.
Clarke looked down at their feet as she accepted the bag, unable to meet his dark gaze. He seriously noticed her looking at those Starbursts? That was... well, a little weird. But also incredibly sweet, somehow.
"Um. Thank you. You didn't have to," she peeked up at him, suddenly shy for some reason. "I can pay you back."
Bellamy just chuckled, already shaking his head before she could finish her sentence.
"I've got a little sister. She probably would have kicked my ass if she found out I didn't do something to help you out back there."
Clarke raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Do you always rescue strange girls in desperate need of tampons?"
"Only the really cute ones with crowns on their butts."
Clarke slapped a palm to her face as she groaned. "I almost forgot about that."
"Sorry, I won't be letting that one go for a while, Princess."
For a while? Did that mean he wanted to... Ah, screw it!
"How about this," Clarke said, squaring her shoulders. "I won't pay you back, but a coffee costs about the same amount as you spent on me. So how about I buy you one, and we call it even. Deal?"
"Well, I don't know about that," Bellamy grinned, the soft light from the street lamps casting some strange magic to soften his eyes, bringing out the tiny flecks of gold in them, and Clarke felt her heart stutter. "You see, coffee is really expensive in this town. What if I wind up owing you?"
This time, Clarke stepped in close, leaned up until their lips nearly brushed, and she heard his breath catch—
"Then I guess we'll have to keep settling our debts, won't we?"
(Later, when Bellamy would stumble into his apartment with red, swollen lips and a huge, stupid grin on his face, he would look down at his hand to see the words Princess of Mini Mart scrawled in messy handwriting, with her highness's phone number just below them.)