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In the early hours of the morning, when the sky was just beginning to turn from pitch darkness into light, Lexa pulled her girlfriend closer to her in her sleep. This position was common for the two: both girls on their sides, Clarke’s back pressed flush against Lexa, who wrapped her arms around the warm body in front of her. It was the way the two normally slept, and it was the way they awoke.
The alarm went off on Clarke’s bedside table, rousing the two girls. With squinted eyes and a halfhearted yawn, Clarke threw her hand over the edge of the bed and hit the off button. Sleepily, Lexa, who had been woken, too, at the sudden noise, laughed softly into Clarke’s ear. “Good morning,” she whispered, moving her head down ever so slightly to press a soft kiss to Clarke’s pale shoulder.
“Morning,” Clarke responded, a tiny smile on her lips. Neither of the girls were particularly morning people, but neither could deny the best way to start the otherwise awful morning was in each other’s embrace.
Lexa let her hand trail from Clarke’s bare stomach up her side, fingertips ghosting over the soft skin. “Today’s Saturday,” she mumbled, lips still against translucent skin. “You should’ve turned off your alarm, we don’t have classes,” a yawn followed.
Clarke sighed. “You know I always forget.”
“Yeah,” Lexa laughed, kissing across from Clarke’s shoulder to the nape of her neck. “You do.”
Silence fell. The only noise in the otherwise still bedroom was the chinking of the fan above, its whirring a soothing lullaby to lure the two girls back to sleep.
Lazily, Lexa’s hand moved its way down once more, ticking down Clarke’s ribs, landing on her thigh. “We can go back to sleep,” she whispered, craning her head ever so slightly so her lips hovered over Clarke’s ears, “or, since we’re both up…we can take a nap later,”
Clarke turned her body, facing her girlfriend. “You’re incorrigible,” she whispered back, but her eyes shone sleepily. Wrapping an arm around the tan girl in front of her, Clarke tilted her head up, pressing a kiss to the tip of Lexa’s nose. Her hand moved across the plane of Lexa’s back, tracing the all too familiar tattoo which she had ingrained in her memory. Lexa let her eyes flutter closed; she absolutely loved when Clarke adored her tattoos, something the latter knew very well, and used much to her advantage.
Lexa’s hand tensed around soft flesh. Dull nails dipped into the smooth skin of Clarke’s outer thigh, relishing in the feeling of Clarke’s fingertips tracing the design on her spine. “You’re just as bad,” Lexa retorted, smiling lazily at the girl pressed up against her.
“I never said I wasn’t,” Clarke returned her smile, pressing her lips against the column of Lexa’s throat.
It was moments like this that the two loved the most. The lazy morning kisses, the languid, relaxed touches, the sleepiness and the arousal mixed into one. Morning cuddles, or even more, were not foreign to the two girls; it worked much better than a cup of coffee to get them ready for the day ahead.
Lexa let her head tilt back, giving Clarke a wider canvas to paint on with her tongue. Teeth nipped at the base of Lexa’s throat, across the side of her neck, and landed on the collarbone. Hues of reds and purples, tiny specks on the otherwise neutral background, popped up along sensitive flesh. Hands gripping at the small of Lexa’s back, Clarke turned again, ever so slightly, so as to move the girl from her side onto her back, so she could pin Lexa beneath her. Lexa responded with a hum, a breathy sigh to indicate her tired-induced pleasure. Clarke ran her hands up the sides of Lexa’s stomach, which the girl beneath mimicked. Clarke bent her neck again to once more pepper kisses up her lover’s neck, nipping every once in a while, in a patter only she understood. Throat, neck, collarbone, ear; Clarke splashed her kisses across Lexa’s flesh.
Letting her hands move from Clarke’s sides, Lexa rested them on Clarke’s stomach, right below the soft skin of her breasts. Clarke let out a small gasp as Lexa’s fingertips rested right beneath her sensitive skin, pressing in the crease between chest and stomach. With a laugh, Lexa moved her hands higher, brushing the very tops of her fingers along the sides of Clarke’s breasts. A catch in the breath caught Lexa’s attention; Clarke seemed rather sensitive this morning. Moving her hands to Clarke’s back, Lexa pulled the girl above her up higher, so her face rested below the valley of Clarke’s breasts. With ease, she craned her neck upwards, pressing a butterfly light kiss to the sternum. From above, Clarke’s hands wound themselves in Lexa’s curly mane, legs straddling the stomach beneath her. Lexa moved her head to the right, kissing the soft skin under one side of Clarke’s chest, then back to the sternum again. Clarke sighed, positioning herself to where she wanted Lexa’s lips. With a small chuckle, Lexa obliged, hands returning from the expanse of Clarke’s back, once again to her ribs.
Three soft kisses were pressed up the breastbone, before Lexa moved her mouth tenderly against the pink flesh. Clarke keened; she arched her back ever so slightly, pushing her chest further into the girl’s mouth. Lexa let her tongue swipe across the hardening flesh once, before tenderly kissing the skin. Opening her mouth ever so slightly, Lexa let her front teeth gently scrape over the sensitive flesh, causing Clarke to buck her hips against Lexa’s stomach. Warm hands moved from ribs to the sides of Clarke’s breasts, cradling them as Lexa moved her tongue in slow, languid motions across the flesh. “You’re so soft,” she mumbled against the fullness in her palms. “I love you. I love every inch of your skin. Especially,” she whispered, sultrily, looking up into Clarke’s blue eyes, “your chest.” Clarke moaned above her, mind going haywire with the adorations coming from Lexa’s swollen, plump lips. Lips, which, once they wrapped themselves around peaked flesh once more, drove Clarke crazy.
Releasing the skin with one last swipe of the tongue, Lexa pressed a feather light kiss to the pinkened skin, kissing across the small expanse of the flat flesh between breasts. She nipped at the top of the other pale breast, suckling on pale skin until an angry red mark appeared. With a slow, sensual stroke of her tongue, Lexa soothed the prickling flesh. Clarke, above, ground her hips down onto Lexa’s stomach, heat pooling between her thighs. Lexa couldn’t help but smile through the sleepiness; she knew Clarke’s body like the back of her hand, and knew just how to kiss her to make her as aroused as she already was.
Lexa’s hands squeezed the sensitive flesh, relishing in their fullness. Her fingertips began to massage the bottom of Clarke’s heavy, full chest, when Lexa paused.
“Lex? You okay?”
Lexa remained silent. Pressing her fingers tenderly against the skin again, she moved her forefinger and her middle finger in a small circle. Finally, her voice cracked, eyes coming up to meet Clarke’s.
“There’s a lump.”
Clarke froze. Lexa moved, gently repositioning the woman above her off of her stomach and onto her thighs as she sat upright. “What?” Clarke asked, ears ringing in the deafening silence that followed.
Holding Clarke’s back with one hand, Lexa moved the other back onto the swollen skin. In the same spot as before, she moved her fingers again. A rounded, hard bump protruded from the otherwise soft flesh in that area. “Feel,” she said after what felt like an eternity. Clarke brought her hand up where Lexa’s sat, moving her fingers in the same circular motion.
“It could just be a cyst,” she said, mumbling more to herself than to her girlfriend.
Lexa gently pushed Clarke’s fingers away, moving her own fingers across the underside of Clarke’s chest once more. “I hope so. We’ll go to the clinic today.”
Clarke nodded, feeling her head buzz.
-
The clinic was empty when it first opened.
-
“Most likely, it’s something small. You’re only twenty two, after all; most women don’t get breast cancer until they’re about forty. Many, even older. Regardless, we’ll do some screening to make sure.”
-
“I’m sorry, Miss Griffin. The results show that you have stage two breast cancer.”
-
“What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry, mom.” Clarke whispered, tears falling onto the phone on the coffee table, emitting her mother’s voice on speaker.
“Don’t be sorry for something you can’t…oh God, Clarke. My baby. You’re going to be okay. It’s still early enough.”
-
“What do you like most about me, Lexa?”
Lexa paused, smiling at her girlfriend as they lay in bed one night, facing one another.
“I like your smile.”
Pink lips turned upwards.
“Yeah, that one. Your sleepy smile. The one you give me when we wake up, and right before we go to sleep.”
-
“We have a couple of treatment options. We can do chemotherapy for a while; see if we have any progress with that. If the treatment is successful in decreasing the size, we may be able to save your breasts and proceed with breast conserving surgery.”
Clarke nodded at the doctor, hands wringing together nervously.
A squeeze on her thigh did nothing to calm her.
Green eyes, which were normally her solace, only brought her confliction.
“What else?” She asked, voice cracking.
“It’s recommended for women with stage two to undergo systematic therapy. Which is chemotherapy or hormone therapy. But, if you’d like, we could still do a mastectomy. The cancer hasn’t spread anywhere but both of your breasts thus far, so, completely getting rid of them would give you the best chance of getting rid of the cancer completely. Of course, unfortunately, nothing with cancer is certain; the cancer could still come back in the chest walls, but it’s highly unlikely. Mammograms and self-checks will still be important even if you get this procedure done.”
“A double mastectomy?” Lexa asked from Clarke’s side.
The doctor nodded. “It’s begun to spread to the left breast, too. Barely. But it is there.”
-
The chemotherapy was tiring.
Clarke slept most days; the past four weeks of treatment had left her exhausted.
Lexa brushed the hair out of her girlfriend’s face as she curled into her pillow.
Clarke awoke when hot tears that were not her own fell on her cheek, but she did not move, nor open her eyes.
She was too tired.
-
She was constantly cold.
Clarke hadn’t realized that when chemotherapy meant hair loss, it wasn’t just to the head.
Her arms, her legs, her scalp; everywhere was hairless.
Sweaters and head scarves, worn in the late spring.
The only time she was ever truly warm was when Lexa held her close.
-
“What do you like most about me, Lexa?”
With a chuckle, Lexa kissed Clarke’s forehead as she lay next to Clarke, half-asleep on her back. “I already told you.”
“No, like, physically. My lips? My legs? …My chest?”
“I don’t know. All of you; you’re beautiful. I love your softness. You’re beautiful, Clarke,”
-
Clarke was weak.
She could hardly keep up the strength to sit up straight for long periods of time without getting dizzy.
Her class work, of course, had been excused; she’d determined to finish her semester in a full year, and graduate a year late. Giving herself time to heal.
But as the days passed on more and more, Clarke found it harder to imagine a healing.
-
“Clarke, the chemotherapy isn’t working as well as we hoped.” Her doctor spoke.
Fingers curled around her own.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that we need to think of an alternative method. Quickly. Before it spreads past the breasts.”
“Then, I guess there’s only one option.”
“No, there are more. But there is one that has a better chance than the rest, yes.”
-
Lexa sat outside the operating room for what felt like days.
Her head in her hands, she stared at the ground.
She loved Clarke too much to let her go.
-
Clarke was still in the hospital the day Lexa graduated.
-
Months passed before Clarke was fully healed, physically, from the surgery.
In those months, she’d not once let Lexa make love to her.
Lexa understood.
Clarke was unhappy.
-
The procedures left changes in Clarke’s once curvy body.
Her hips had narrowed; her stomach had flattened; her thighs were smaller. It was like seeing a stranger.
“They’re so flat,” she mumbled, looking forlornly in the mirror as she tried on a bathing suit. It was hard enough to find one that covered the marks she wanted to hide; it was even harder to find one that fit her now. She was out of proportion; months of chemotherapy, of hardly eating, of not working out, left her feeling like a stranger in her own body.
Tears welling in frustration, Clarke pulled the strings of the bathing suit, and wiggled the fabric down her body.
Staring in the dressing room mirror, she saw exactly what she wanted to keep Lexa from seeing.
Minutes later, with puffy eyes, her scarf around her head once more, and her sweater back in place, Clarke came out of the stall, quickly walking past her patient girlfriend.
Lexa smiled at her. “Find one you like?”
Clarke kept her face away from Lexa. “No. I’m not really feeling up to the beach anymore. You go on ahead with Lincoln and Octavia.”
Lexa frowned. “It’s summer break; we've planned this, the four of us—”
Clarke walked away, throwing the bathing suits in the cart to be re hung up by the salespeople.
-
Lexa did not go to the beach.
She stayed at home with Clarke, sitting on their couch and watching old movies.
“You should’ve gone.” Clarke said, sometime after The Wizard of Oz and before The Sound of Music.
“And leave you?”
Clarke nodded.
“Never.”
-
Autumn came around, and Clarke began to leave the house by herself more.
Small steps.
Places like the grocery store, the local bookshop, where she could get in and out quickly.
She hated the stares she got in public for wearing her damn scarves.
She hated the pity she got when she didn’t.
-
Lexa had begun law school.
Her time with Clarke was limited.
Clarke pretended not to mind.
She spent her days mostly with her mother who, once Clarke had started therapy, had uprooted from DC and moved to New York to be in proximity to her daughter.
“I’m scared, Mom,” she admitted one day.
Abby frowned. “Why?”
“I’m scared for the day when Lexa sees.”
Her mother’s heart fell. “She hasn’t…?”
“No.”
“Why, Clarke?”
“I hate myself, right now.” She said, rubbing at her eyes. “My whole life, I cared so much about how I looked. I’ve always taken care of myself, and now—I look like death, Mom. I can’t gain weight. My hair isn’t growing back fast. I miss—I miss my curves. Lexa loved my curves. I look like someone else.”
Abby wrapped her hand around her daughter’s.
“Lexa loves you. She isn’t shallow, Clarke. You will get stronger over time. It will take a while; you were killing mass parts of your cells for months, Clarke. You don’t bounce back right away.” She flattened the fuzzy hair on her daughter’s head with a smile. “Curves or not, Lexa won’t care. Most people would’ve run for the hills if their girlfriend of only four months got cancer. But she stayed.”
“But what about the scars? Mom, they’re so ugly—I can’t even look in the mirror without crying. They’re so bad,”
Abby shrugged. “She’s no stranger to scars, Clarke. She has her own. Everyone does. I promise you, she will love you no matter what.”
-
A similar conversation happened between herself, and her friend.
“What would you do?” Clarke asked.
Bellamy tilted his head, questioning what the girl across from him in the booth meant.
“If Raven…if she got a mastectomy. What would you do?”
Bellamy gave her a sad smile. “I would still love her.”
Clarke looked down at her uneaten soup.
“Are you worried about what Lexa will think?”
She nodded.
Bellamy sighed then, pulling the napkin off of his lap and placing it on the table.
“She will still find you attractive, Clarke.”
“But I’m not.”
“Don’t say—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Bellamy.” Clarke said, looking back up at him. Angry tears were in her eyes. “Look at me. I’m doing everything I can. I can’t gain back my weight. I can’t exercise without getting winded in five minutes. I can’t even grow my fucking hair back!”
Bellamy took her hand in his own, cradling it gently. “Your body is confused, Clarke. I know you don’t want to hear this, but you could have died. Your body had been working so very hard to keep that from happening, and it’s tired. And you being stressed about your girlfriend and depressed about these changes in your body isn’t helping. You can’t exercise because you’re depressed, Clarke. Your sadness is keeping you from being in the best shape you can be. Not to mention, for months, all you did was sleep and get chemo. Your body will decline because of that.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are. Octavia went through the same thing when she—when she suffered anorexia. You remember, when she was fourteen. She managed to get help in time before it got serious, but after…you remember how depressed she was. She’d realized she’d only hurt her body, she hated it more. She tried gaining back the weight—her body couldn’t handle it, and she was frustrated. I know what you’re feeling. My baby sister felt it too. Please, at least go talk to somebody.”
“Fine.”
“Good. I can come with you, if you want.”
“No.”
Bellamy relented, returning to his half-cold soup as they awaited their main course.
“I just…I hate people seeing me like this. I look so weak.”
“You look like a survivor.”
-
In the next month, Clarke had done as Bellamy asked.
She had been depressed.
When Lexa had rummaged through their medicine cabinet looking for Advil, she came across a bottle of Prozac. Inspecting it, she saw her girlfriend’s name.
She frowned. Since when did Clarke take a serotonin inhibitor?
Walking out into the bedroom with it in hand, she held it up to Clarke. “When were you going to tell me?” She asked, voice light.
Clarke’s eyes widened. “I just—”
“You’ve been so distant lately, Clarke.” Lexa said, eyes swelling with hot tears.
“I’m sorry, Lexa—”
“I’ve been here this whole time, Clarke. I haven’t left your side but to go to class and to pick up food. And you haven’t said but two sentences a day to me in months, Clarke.”
Clarke stood. “Lexa, please—”
“No,” she said, holding her hands up. “I love you, Clarke. I’ve loved you since the day you tripped over your own two feet and you spilled your coffee down my white blouse. I knew what I was getting into when we found out about your cancer,” her voice broke. “And I chose to stay. And you, you’ve been so closed off. And I get that, Clarke, I do. But do you know what it’s like to get calls from your girlfriend’s mom telling you that your girlfriend cried to her for hours because of how I’d react? Or when your girlfriend’s best friend talks to you about her feeling like I won’t love her anymore because she doesn’t have fucking boobs anymore? And on top of that, not once did you ever voice these concerns to me?” Lexa said, pointing to herself.
“I’ve tried, I have—”
“Bullshit, Clarke Griffin. You won’t let me touch you. You recoil from kisses, you never change in front of me, you never tell me how you’re feeling. I understand, Clarke, I do, I promise you, that’s why I let it go, that’s why I gave you your space. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt and feel but, God, Clarke, I’ve been here this whole time and you won’t let me do anything! All I want is to hold you, and tell you that you’re going to be okay, to kiss you and love you because, fuck, Clarke, I care that you’re going through this, I just want to be there for you.
“But depression? Clarke, do you have any idea how shitty I feel? I could’ve—fuck, I could’ve helped you. God, I’m such an idiot! I should’ve seen this—I mean, I just thought you wanted space, I just thought you needed time—” Lexa squeezed the pill bottle in her hand. “I miss you, Clarke. I just want my girlfriend back.”
“Well, she’s gone,” Clarke muttered, looking down at the floor.
Lexa moved towards Clarke, tossing the pills onto the bed. “No, she’s right here. And I want to hold her, and kiss her, and love her.”
“I’m not—I’m different, Lexa,” Clarke said, feeling her eyes prickle. “Physically. You—you always said how you loved my curves, my breasts—they’re gone. I’m so thin, I don’t have any—”
“Do you really think I care?” She asked, hands going to Clarke’s face, cradling it. “Do you really think that little of me? That I’ll turn away because your breasts are gone? Because you’ve lost weight?”
Clarke grit her teeth, staring at Lexa’s face. “I can’t help but think that, Lexa. I look in the mirror and I hate what I see. I used to be so, so full and round. And now, I’m just a plank. I look like a hairless cat, Lexa!”
Lexa laughed out, her tears rolling down her cheeks. “Then you’re the most beautiful hairless cat in the world, Clarke Griffin.”
Clarke laughed too, then, for the first time in months.
“I promise you, Clarke, no matter how you look, I will never, ever not love you.”
-
It still took time before Clarke could open up, physically, to Lexa again.
She stayed on her medication for a long time.
-
On one cold December day, Clarke let Lexa pull her sweater overhead.
Lexa stepped back, looking at the pale skin for the first time in months.
“Can I?” She asked, hesitantly, gesturing to Clarke’s scarred chest.
With a shaky breath, Clarke nodded.
Lexa slowly let her hand fall onto Clarke’s sternum. Her skin was cold.
Lexa’s fingers traces over the first long scar, tears rolling down her cheeks. “You’re so brave, Clarke,” she said, looking up at her love.
“It’s so ugly, I know, you can say it,” Clarke said, looking anywhere but at Lexa.
Lexa fixed this, hands coming to either side of Clarke’s face, looking her in the eyes.
“You’re tired of people lying to you, aren’t you?” She asked.
Clarke swallowed, and then nodded once.
“They aren’t pretty.”
It felt like Lexa had stabbed her in the heart.
“Scars never are. They’re marred skin. Pretty is your eyes; pretty is your face. But they are beautiful, Clarke. Your scars—they’re your marks. Proof that you’ve lived your life, and you’ve won. They aren’t adorned with glitter, they aren’t your full breasts you had—it’s not aesthetically appealing, no.”
“Say how you really feel,”
Lexa shushed her. “But,” she continued, pulling up her own shirt overhead. “You never said anything about my scars.”
Clarke frowned. “Those are different.”
“Yeah,” Lexa agreed. “Mine are superficial. Stitches, accidents, cuts. They’re just markings on my skin. They’re not pretty to look at. But they’re beautiful because they show that I’ve survived, and I don’t plan on giving up any time soon.”
Lexa reached out to touch Clarke’s scars once more. “Your scars are beautiful. You bear the mark of a warrior, of a survivor. You’ve touched the edge of death and you’ve come back victorious. Wear your scars proudly, Clarke. I love them. They’re proof of how strong you are.”
-
A few days later, Clarke took her scarf off from her head. Her hair fell in little ringlets now, down to a little past her ears.
Lexa grinned, taking a rubber hair tie and pulling all of her hair up at the top.
“I look like a toddler,” Clarke laughed.
Lexa shrugged, wrapping her arms around Clarke from behind as she looked in the mirror. “You know what I see?”
Clarke shook her head.
“I see the most beautiful woman in the world healing.”
-
As winter went on, Clarke ate more and more.
She decided to push back her schooling one more semester, to Lexa and her mother’s delight; it gave her more time to heal before launching herself into work.
Her medication had been helping.
Talking to Lexa about her fears had been helping.
Cancer was physical; the aftermath, the healing, was all mental.
Slowly, but surely, her weight came back little by little. Her features thickened slightly; her face had more shape.
Most importantly, she became healthier.
Lexa worked with her in the wee spare time law school gave her. They set up a home gym, for Clarke still preferred to stay inside. Together, they slowly built up Clarke’s muscles, until they were at an average functioning level again.
When Clarke’s muscle mass had come back, that’s when she began to look in the mirror and smile instead of frown.
She realized, then, that had body would never be quite the same again. Unless she got implants, she would never have her full chest; her body had undergone serious change when not eating and sleeping for the months during her chemotherapy.
She realized she would probably never quite look the same again, and she was in the beginning phases of learning to be okay with that.
-
On that Valentine’s Day, a couple months after her exercise and well being increased, Clarke left the apartment.
She picked up a dozen roses, among an assortment of other Valentine’s Day goods.
When she got home, she placed them in a vase, tidying up the house as Lexa had her classes.
When Lexa finally returned home, well past dinner time, she was surprised.
“You’re so sweet,” Lexa had said, kissing Clarke softly on the lips. “I love you,”
“I love you, too,” Clarke responded. Grabbing the girl’s hand, she led her back to their little bedroom.
“What, more surprises? The flowers were enough,” Lexa said, chuckling as Clarke closed the door behind them.
She took a deep breath, a shaky one.
Lexa paused, fear striking her. “Clarke, what’s wrong?”
Clarke let go of Lexa’s hand. “I was terrified to do this, you know.”
“Do what?”
With a strong inhale, Clarke closed her eyes. In a swift motion, she pulled the sweater she’d been wearing overhead.
Lexa stared, eyes going wide. “You—”
Clarke nodded. “It was horrible. I’m an A cup, Lexa. Barely. I’m flat. But, I mean, I still wanted to—”
Lexa hugged her girlfriend, squeezing her tightly. “I’m so proud of you, I know how adjusting to your new sizes is hard for you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of Clarke’s head. She pulled away from the blonde, admiring the contrast of the black lace against the white skin. “You look lovely, Clarke. Scars and all. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you.”
-
It took a while longer for Clarke to let Lexa touch her, intimately, as she had once before.
It was a warm day, in the beginning of spring, when Lexa was on break, when it happened.
Clarke’s hair had grown a little more, down to the middle of her neck.
She had bought a new dress, one she knew Lexa would like—a black, long dress, with an open back.
Before, having such a large chest, she never could wear these things; she figured not everything was so bad now that she was rather flat chested. She could wear backless things, she could go braless, she could even wear those cute lacy bralettes she’d been so jealous of Octavia always buying.
These thoughts made Clarke pause; she realized, for the first time, she was some semblance of happy with her body. Most unusually, her rather small chest.
So, she wasn’t curvy like before, but Lexa hadn’t stopped loving her.
So, she had short hair, but Lexa still played with it, even though there wasn’t much to do.
So, she missed her breasts, something she prided herself on, but now the world of fashion was much more open to her.
So, she had scars, but now she could say she was a survivor.
The thoughts had her so giddy that she’d almost forgotten to pay for the sun dress as she hurried out of the store and sped home.
She found Lexa on the couch, reading, and she beamed at her girlfriend.
Lexa gazed at her, confused. “What?”
Clarke smiled wide. “I realized something today,”
Lexa grinned back, though lost. “Okay?” She asked, eyebrows scrunched.
“I look different. But when I looked in the mirror in this dress,” she held up her bag, “I thought I looked…pretty.”
Lexa stood. “Clarke,” she said, eyes softening. “You are pretty. You are the most gorgeous, beautiful, sexy woman on the planet. I’m happy you’re starting to see that.”
Clarke sighed, dropping her bag and hugging Lexa. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For staying. For taking care of me. For not leaving even when I ignored you, or when I was so depressed. For loving me enough for the both of us while I hated myself.”
Lexa hugged Clarke tighter. “Nothing in this world could stop me from loving you.”
Eventually, Clarke pulled back. Swallowing, she stared into Lexa’s eyes, assessing what she wanted to do.
Finally, she broke. “Kiss me,”
And Lexa did.
-
In the evening, when the sun was setting, and Lexa had been given a particularly nice show of all the beautiful, lacy bralettes Clarke had bought, the two lay side by side in bed, nothing but the sheets covering their bodies.
Lexa dipped her head low, kissing up Clarke’s scars.
“What do you love most about me, Lexa?”
Lexa’s lips ghosted over Clarke’s heart.
“I love your strength, Clarke Griffin.”