Author's Note: Hey everyone who cares to read the author's notes! I've recently become very passionate about this show (Not so much the book because it was kind of BAD) and decided "what the hell?" This story is definitely going to be Bellarke. Was there any doubt about it? It's also going to be modern day alternate universe set in Seattle. I've also made the fic rated M for a little ways down the road if you catch my drift ;) and mostly because I like to swear a lot in my writing.

This chapter doesn't feature a lot of the characters and not a lot of Bellarke scenes AND the chapter might be a little wiggity whack, but I'm trying something new. Also, you will see Jasper, but not Monty. Not yet, at least. I just wasn't able to include his lovely presence in the first chapter.

Like any of my other works, I'm always up for constructive criticism and being corrected in my grammar and spelling mistakes. Also, I'm always looking for new ideas when starting a new fic, so if you have any personal ideas YOU think would be awesome to incorporate into the story, feel free to let me know and I can do just that and give you full credit for your ideas. :)

The title of the chapter comes from one of my personal favorite songs as of late by Amy Winehouse (RIP). And the title of the story itself comes from a band entitled, "Godsmack." If you want, I highly recommend both songs. With that, enjoy the story and don't forget to review/favorite/follow and all that jazz. Keep it classy, folks. :)

Chapter 1: Back To Black

Clarke's POV:

I sat on the couch, impatiently tapping my foot on the plush carpet. It's amazing how life can be so materially fulfilling, but there can be some gap, some sliver of unhappiness. Well, we all know what happens with slivers; if it's not treated right away, it becomes lodged into the skin, irritating as hell.

So, yes. Materially, life is fulfilling. I mean, I'm living the life any young woman would die for. Currently, and for the last two years, my boyfriend and I have been living in this ever so lovely apartment. For an apartment, it was surprisingly spacious, allowing us to have an abundance of large furniture and knick knacks totaling up to the amount of one semester of student loans. But isn't that what Seattle is good for? You know, besides Starbucks and pricing their plastic and paper bags.

My foot continued its ceaseless tapping, almost as if it had a mind of its own, before I got up to wander around and ease my seemingly anxious nerves. I turned on some music and was thankful to hear the sultry voice of Amy Winehouse.

"He left no time to regret
Kept his dick wet
With his same old safe bet
Me and my head high
And my tears dry
Get on without my guy"

I walked through the living room, the kitchen, the dining area, the two bedrooms, and finally our bedroom. The bedroom where countless of memories- good and bad- were made. Sitting on the dresser that held the majority of my stingy wardrobe was a picture of Finn and me- smiling, of course. It was the first picture we ever took, on the first night we ever met.

"C'mon Octavia! I've been waiting here for two and a half hours and you're JUST NOW calling to tell me that you can't go because of your idiotic brother?" I yelled over the loud noise of cheap club music.

"I'm sorry Clarke! Really, I am, but someone needed to pick up DUMB ASS," she said extra loudly, "from the hospital."

"What'd Bellamy even do? Get a paper cut?" I asked, rhetorically.

"Oh hah hah, Princess," the cause of my present headache said. "Actually I broke my arm."

"And I'm on speaker phone. Glad we could get all that useless information out of the way," I said, wishing the conversation could just be over. Whoever liked to talk on phones anyway? Much less in a cacophonous club.

"Clarke, I'm sorry," Octavia said sincerely. "Maybe we can reschedule for later in the week?"

"Probably not. I just started working for the agency, I don't think I can get time off any time soon…" I said trailing off. There wasn't any use getting mad. "Alright, I should probably go. Can barely hear you as is."

"Well, I'll definitely be in touch tomorrow, have a good night Clarke!" She squeaked into the phone.

"Yeah, you too, O. Bellamy, sorry to hear about your arm… hope you feel better soon," I said with little enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Princess," he said with a huff.

With that, I hung up and decided that clubs weren't my thing- too loud, too tight. However, the night was still young and I wasn't drunk yet, so I decided to hit up a little tavern right along the pier. It was quaint, but comfortable, much like one would expect from a café. And quiet, man was it nice and quiet!

I walked through the door with the annoying little bell and was greeted by the friendly bartender's face. "Well, well, well! If it isn't Miss Workaholic herself! Ladies and gents, Clarke Griffin has entered the premises," Jasper Jordan shouted to the other three occupants who paid him no mind.

"Don't worry, Jas. My presence is sure to allure more customers, no doubt," I said with a little hair flip.

"Or send them runnin' for the mountains," he mumbled just loud enough for me to purposely hear.

"So, Jas, how's about something strong tonight… Rum-coke?" I asked.

"Livin' life on the wild side, I see," he replied while pouring my drink. "Hard day at work? You usually start out with something lighter. What is it you're doing now anyway?"

"It's kind of hard to describe, but along the lines of criminal psychologist for the police department. I get to sit down with the nastiest of fuckers they bring in and get to the root problem as to why they do what they do," I vaguely explained.

At that, he gave me a look as if I had two heads and poured more rum into the glass. "Sounds… fun?" He questioned.

I gave a curt laugh and said, "Yeah, it's definitely something."

Time passed by rather slowly that night as Jasper and I talked and people came and went as they pleased. Then, a disheveled looking fellow meandered in. He was wearing a nice button down shirt and jeans. Nothing too fancy, but he still managed to look riveting as I scorned myself for starring. His hair was in disarray, probably from the wind, and his eyes a chocolate brown, almost black color. The handsome stranger sat a few stools down from me and waited patiently for Jasper to come back from the back room, occasionally messing with his hair or rubbing his eyes. Even from my fleeting glances, I could tell the crease in his forehead was out of irritation or worry.

Feeling bold from the alcohol working its way through my system, I turned to the stranger and asked, "Everything alright?"

Almost as if surprised, he turned to me with wide eyes, giving me the 'deer caught in the headlights' look and then looked around, thinking I was talking to someone else. "Yeah, everything's fine I guess. The past just decided to finally catch up with me 's all."

"Well," I said while walking over to the seat next to him and plopping myself and my glass down. "I don't really know what your past looks like, but maybe- just maybe- we can sit here and drink to the future, eh?"

"Alright, yeah," he said with a jaw dropping smirk. "I can drink to that."

"The name's Clarke, Clarke Griffin," I said whole holding out my hand for him to shake.

The stranger engulfed it in his warm hand and replied, "Lovely to meet you, Clarke. I'm Finn Collins."

"You went back to what you knew
So far removed from all that we went through
And I tread a troubled track
My odds are stacked
I'll go back to black"

I smiled at the familiar song. "I love this song, she has such an amazing voice." He continued to smile at me as I further sang the tearful lyrics. "We only said goodbye with words, I died a hundred times. You go back to her. And I go back to...

I go back to us."

From there on out, we drank the night away and along the line, had someone take our picture for us, though I can never remember who.

Man, were those the good days! The innocent looks and touches that soon turned into lingering gazes and sensational touches. Some call it the 'honeymoon stage' in a relationship and I was naïve to think that it would last a lifetime. The happiness, the carefree sex, the honesty.

Slowly, but surely, the romance died down. Month after month, it got worse. He started drinking and partying heavily, but what could I do? He's a grown man; he can do whatever he damn well pleased. However, there was always this voice telling me that there was something more, that it was just hidden in plain sight.

I love you much
It's not enough
You love blow and I love puff
And life is like a pipe
And I'm a tiny penny rolling up the walls inside

I tried calling him, but that was no use and Seattle was so big, that he could be just about anywhere. All that was left to do now was worry. As it was, I ended up back on the couch, tapping my foot away. Two a.m. Finn, where are you?

As soon as the thought formed in my mind, I heard a thud at the door and the jingling of keys trying to turn the lock. Before he could get any further with his lock endeavors, I whipped the door open with a force I didn't know that I possessed. It scared myself even, but I was pissed.

"What the fuck, Finn? It's two in the goddamned morning! And you have work in a few hours! Why were you out so long?" I couldn't help, but sound like the overbearing girlfriend and the crazy mother all at once.

"God, Clarke. Calm down, won'tcha?" He tried to walk past me, but I grabbed his forearm before he could fully pass me.

I pulled as hard as I could to move him back to face me, but only succeeded in stopping him. At this, he got mad, defensive even. Grabbing my wrist rather painfully, he pushed me up against the wall and got unreasonably close to my face. I could see his eyes darken and his nostrils flare. I could feel his grip tightening, but as painful as it was, I couldn't get over the smell. The smell emitting from him was by the worst. My boyfriend of three years- my love, my life, my everything- had the stench of alcohol on his breath and cheap perfume over his clothing. Even on his white shirt was a poorly hidden lipstick stain.

In the moment of realization, my stature changed from horrifyingly angry to sullen. "No… Finn… Who were you with?" I asked in a small voice, unwilling to let the tears fall just yet. "Who were you with?!" I shouted.

"No one, baby, no one," he slurred on. "Babe, why would I do that to you?"

"I don't know, Finn! Why would you?" I asked, baffled. Was I really that bad of a person?

"Baby, just calm down, nothing happened. Alright? Nothing happened." He said, trying to go in for a kiss. I pushed him away, but he just couldn't get it through his thick skull.

"Finn, No! Get away from me!" I yelled as he attacked my mouth with his. It was nothing romantic; it was sloppy and unwanted. It took all my strength, but I managed to push him away. "Get out of my house!" I screamed at him.

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

I went about this somewhat calmly, but he didn't take it the same way. "What?!" He got in my face and yelled.

"Get your shit and. Get. Out," I challenged.

Vehemently, he whispered, "This is my place too, sweet cheeks."

I was reminded of the crime he committed by the ever-so-present odor of cheap perfume and the smell of alcohol wafting from his body. I tried to push him back, but he grabbed my wrists and pinned me against the wall between the door and the side table. Damn my pride for getting me into this!

I had never seen him act this way with such anger. A sadistic grin lit up his face and that's when I knew he was going to do something bad. "Baby, don't be like this," he said softly, but there was something hidden in his eyes. Desire? No, desire is too kind a word to be used. Lust, maybe? Just raw lust- not the kind I had witnessed so many times before tonight.

I tried to wriggle free, afraid of what he might do next, but in his drunken stupor, he took it the wrong way entirely and trapped my body further with his, now caressing my cheek with one of his hands. "Look at me, sweetheart," he said.

I didn't look at him, why would I? I was completely disgusted with him at the moment.

"I said, look at me!" He roughly grabbed my chin as I began to silently cry.

"Finn, please stop, you're hurting me," I said, trying to get some leverage over him.

If only he could loosen his hand, just a bit, I could get out of this "embrace." I didn't want to hurt him, but if it meant my safety on the line, I definitely wouldn't hold back. Also, he was hurting me, that part was definitely not a lie.

As if things couldn't get worse, he kissed me again! Raw and hard, not like how it used to be. I resisted, but he just wouldn't stop and I found my opening. Pfft, idiot.

I was able to quickly wriggle my right hand free and punch him in the stomach. He lurched back and bent over to grab his stomach, so I took the opportunity to hit him square in the face as well.

He fell to the floor with a thud and I feared the worst, but was mildly pleased to see the hardwood floor fog up with his breathe. "I gotta go," I said to myself.

I only spared him one last glance before rushing to our room gathering all my belongings and luggage together, glossing over pictures of me and him.

Once everything was packed, I began taking trips from here to the car, but I stopped mid in my tracks and sat down on the stairs on my second trip.

What do I do now?

Washington was a decent place to live, so long as you weren't in the heart of Seattle, but where would I go now?

Then it came to me as if it was always there, but just hidden. Why didn't I think of this before? I took out my phone and made a call to Octavia. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon. Pick up…" I said to myself.

On the fourth ring, she finally answered. "Hello?" She asked in a sleepy tone.

"Hey, it's Clarke," I spoke in a light tone.

"Oh, hey girl," she began. "You know I love you and shit, but this couldn't wait until morning?"

"Heads up, it is morning," I smugly said.

"Dude! Get to the point, I have work at some point in time tomorrow," she groaned.

"My bad," I giggled. "Still got that room up for rent?"

She paused before she spoke. "Yeah…?"

She sounded more confused than I would've thought. "Want a new roommate?" I asked, hopeful.

If this doesn't work, well, then I don't know what will.

"Ummm hell yeah!" She said happily, but I could still catch the yawn she gave over the phone. "You remember where it's at?"

"Clear as day," I confirmed, as I packed the last suitcase into my little honda.

"Okie dokie. E4. Ummmm I think the hallway light is on and key's under the mat. When you get in, go through the living room and to the right. Guest room's at the end of the hallway, right door. We'll talk in the morning, alright?"

Oh god. "Alright, yeah. Thank you so much, O," I said.

"Anytime chica. Oh, before I forget, Senor grumpy bear may or may not be home, so be quiet coming in, just in case," she yawned out.

"Alright, thanks for the warning," I said. "See ya tomorrow or something."

"Nighty, night," she said while hanging up the phone.

I went back into the apartment just to make sure I didn't forget anything important and sure enough, I didn't. Looking at the drunken idiot laying on the floor, I sighed. "I'm sorry it had to end this way," I mumbled.

Before making my final exit, I moved back into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of Captain Morgan rum. I'm gonna need this after tonight.

As I walked down the stairs, I reminisced about my past, cursed my present and distressed about my future, even though that all should've been far from my mind. Safety should've been my first priority, but it wasn't.

I got into my car and started her up, twisting the knob on the radio to find something fitting. Perfect timing, I couldn't help but think to myself.

We only said goodbye with words
I died a hundred times
You go back to her
And I go back to...

Black, black, black, black, black, black, black,
I go back to...
I go back to...

Instincts finally took over my body and within thirty minutes, I was at Octavia's apartment complex. I couldn't help but smile that I had such an amazing friend in my life, someone I could temporarily lean on and vise versa. After a couple of minutes of searching and accidentally going up the wrong set of stairs, I finally arrived at E4.

I unlocked the door as quietly as possible and attempted to open the door slowly and without a noise. Unfortunately, today was just not my day and the door squeaked in the dead silent room. Giving up, I opened the door just so much that I could slip in and locked it behind me.

Overnight bag in one hand and a full bottle of rum in the other I made my way to my room. Walking by the kitchen, a figure jumped out of nowhere with a knife in its hand. Well, it looked like a knife.

On instinct, I dropped the bag to the floor and made to block the knife from slashing out at me, but it got my hand and I let out an awfully girlish scream.

Upon inflicting pain, the person stopped and turned the light on. It took me a moment for my eyes to get adjusted, but when they did, I was pissed. "Look, I know you don't like me, but trying to kill me is kinda extreme for you, don'tcha think?" I challenged.

"Forgive me if I thought you were breaking and entering? Shit," He said, hostility laced in his voice.

"Breaking and entering… please! Why don't you guys try to be a little more creative and at least put the key somewhere less- oh I dunno- cliché?" I asked.

"What are you doing here, Princess?" He asked sternly.

"Obviously, I wanted to spend some quality time with you," I said with a sarcastic tone. I made to pinch his cheek, but stopped when my hand began to sting like no tomorrow. I made a hissing noise at the discomfort and looked at my hand. The cut was deep, but not deep enough for stitches. Thank God.

I looked back up at him and was genuinely surprised to see his features soften ever so slightly. "Wanna move, so I can wash this out, Bellamy?" I asked quietly. "By the way, don't call me Princess. Haven't we already been over this?"

He didn't say anything, just stepped aside as I made my into the kitchen. I set the bottle of rum down on the counter and walked over to the sink. Putting my hand under the water, I was surprised to find that it hurt more than I thought it would. Taking deep breaths, I tried to ease the pain by thinking of something else, but everything else I thought of just made something else hurt, entirely. God, please do not let everything sink in now. Just let me get a drink or two in first.

"Whoa, what're you drinking to tonight?" Bellamy said, letting out a low whistle at the bottle of rum. "Petite blonde like yourself gonna finish off this whole bottle?"

"'S mine, just didn't wanna leave it behind," I said quietly.

Don't give him fuel for the fire.

"Gimme your hand," he said.

"Why should I? You're kinda the one who put me in this position," I said menacingly. Good, replace the sadness with anger. That'll make things better!

"Don't pull that shit with me, just give me your fucking hand," he said in a tone that I just didn't want to disagree with. I wasn't scared, but I sure as hell wasn't in the mood for a fight. "So, why're you here?" He questioned, as he applied the peroxide.

I've been through a lot of painful experiences in life, but hydrogen peroxide was a whole other story on its own. I gripped the counter with my uninjured hand and tried not to make a noise, while thinking of what to say next. "Shit hit the fan pretty hard," I went with.

"Hmph," he said absentmindedly as he wrapped my hand in a bandage.

When he finished, I tried to break from his grasp, but he held on for an unknown reason. I looked at him and saw that his eye brows were furrowed and it looked like he was searching for something.

Or like he already found it. When he pressed down, I couldn't help, but gasp in pain. Looking down at my wrist, I was worried to see bruises, dark and purple, lining my once porcelain skin.

Finn, that bastard. I knew he was hurting me, but I didn't think it was that bad. Hallelujah to high pain tolerance, I guess.

"What happened?" He asked, eyes still locked on my ruined skin.

"Like I said before," I said and yanked my hand away from his gaze. "Shit hit the fan."

He took my rude behavior none too kindly, because who wouldn't? I wouldn't even want to take my shit right now. I was most definitely acting like Bellamy's definition of a princess.

"Whatever, just trying to help," Bellamy said.

Holding up my right, bandaged hand, I said, "Oh, you've been a big help tonight."

"You know what?" He began. "Watch. Me. Care."

"Didn't need your pity, anyway," I said while going to my new room with the bottle of rum and overnight bag.

Looking around, I saw how plain it was and realized that I would need to get a desk and a dresser, but for now, I was only interested in one thing. The bed.

Definitely too much drama for one night. I unscrewed the top of the bottle and took a long sip, regretting dearly that I didn't get a glass or anything.

A few minutes later, I heard a door close nearby and figured that it must've been Bellamy. I need to talk to him. If we're gonna live together, then it can't be like this.

I drank until a third of the bottle was gone and figured enough was enough when you couldn't feel your face as you flick it over and over again like an idiot.

Drifting off to sleep, I thought about many things and nothing at all. It was a weird thing to think about and chalked it up to being the effects of the overpowering emotion and the overestimation of rum I needed. So, what did I do in the silence of the morning? I sang.

"We only said goodbye with words

I died a hundred times

You go back to her

And I go back to black."