Good Luck With Shooting The Moon

After the flares disappear and burn out above us, I let Finn lead me back to his tent—our tent.

It’s a haphazardly constructed thing, made up of the torn remnants of the dropship’s parachute and random branches from the woods that surround us. But according to Finn, even getting a tent is something reserved to those with sway among The 100, a position he most likely gained from his allegiance to Clarke.

I don’t sleep at all, even though Finn is out like a light in the space next to me. Instead, I think about Clarke. I think about Abby. I think about the Griffins.

I can’t even begin to understand Clarke and the way she carries herself. The silent expressions on her face that hint towards a million different ideas that I can’t even begin to understand. Yet she has this all-knowing air, like she’s lived ten lives before this one and therefore always knows best.

It’s not that I don’t like her—I have my own unfortunate know-it-all tendencies, even I can admit that. It’s just the way she assumes that she has it the worst. That she hates Bellamy the most. That she her strained relationship with her mother is unlike any paternal strife that has come before. That the burden she carries, as the seeming de-facto leader of 100 teenagers, is heavier than anyone else’s.

Perhaps I feel more of her scorn because of my connection with Abby. It’s clear they have history that I’m not privy to. But Abby loves her daughter and will risk anything for her. Why does Clarke dislike that I recognize that? I remember how she reacted when I told her that Abby loved her—why is that so hard for her to believe?

As I remain sleepless, my mind drifts to Finn, still snoring beside me. I think of his secret glances at Clarke and the unsaid words that exist between them. The secrets that they share. Sure, they’ve only been on the ground for two weeks, but two weeks of isolation is long enough that Finn might start to think that his actions no longer have consequences.

————-

Finn seems to have forgotten about consequences completely as he twists his head, his earlobe almost scrapping against the jagged piece of siding I’ve been using to cut his hair. He’s never been the type to keep his hair too presentable, and maybe I’ve always liked that about him. He lets it grow long, so far removed from the close shaven guard members and balding adults that I can pretend I’m the responsible one out of the two of us. But, of course, we both know that’s far from the truth.

Bellamy’s voice permeates the red tarp surrounding us and Finn looks back at me, his eyes pleading like he needs my permission to get up. I’m not done cutting, though, so I don’t give it.

“You want to lose an ear?” I ask, sensing the threads of annoyance that tug at his face. He scowls in response. “Can’t believe you let it get so long in lockup.”

I place the criticism carefully, my chiding the perfect bait. Something’s off with him, I’m certain of it. Some part of him has shifted in the two weeks we’ve been apart.

But instead of teasing me back, Finn just shakes his head. There’s no playful banter, like the type we’d regularly indulge in back on the Ark.

“Couldn’t this wait till morning?”

It absolutely could have—that’s the truth even if I refuse to admit it. There was no good reason for this impromptu haircut. But if he’s awake and if he’s with me, then he can’t be creating any more secrets. He can’t be living in worlds that I don’t yet understand. And sure, I didn’t have to insist upon finishing said impromptu haircut before Finn could leave camp, but I’ll wield what little power I have when given the opportunity.

“I was inspired…” That’s what I settle on. Not quite a full lie, but not quite the truth. Just a shade of gray that lies in between.

Finn sighs, the sound erupting from his lips like the act of waiting is causing him physical pain. He’s normally so patient with me, but maybe I used up all of his patience when he went to lock up. Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly so disconnected from me—from us. Perhaps he’s realized that he has more in common with his fellow delinquents than he does with me. If only the others knew the truth.

I bite my bottom lip. “Do you want to talk?” I ask. We haven’t been able to spare enough seconds to have a real conversation since visiting day a month ago. There has to be something he wants to say besides “I missed you”.

But Finn shrugs, rising from his spot on the ground. Whatever moment we were sharing dissipates as quickly as it arrived. “It can wait.”

So he does have something to talk about.

As he reaches for the opening in our tent, I make one last ditch effort to get him to stay, no matter how vain.

I grab his face, pulling him back towards me and forcing him to look me in my eyes. Eyes don’t lie, they don’t know how.

“Are you sure?”

“Get some rest, okay?” Finn says, the phrase a non-answer. But he doesn’t pull his face away.

I let my lips glance over his, kissing him hard and fast. “Okay.” I don’t know what option I have except to let him leave.

Bellamy beckons him again from the darkness outside and Finn steps backwards, propelling himself out of my orbit. When he disappears into the night, he doesn’t look back.

I’m only allowed to dwell in my solitude for a few moments before I hear shouts from outside. For a moment, I think that Bellamy’s sister has come back, but when the commotion doesn’t stop, I step through the red tarp and into the cold air.

It hisses through my lungs, the sharp feeling still slightly foreign to me, but I ignore it, instead looking at the streaks of blazing orange making their way across the sky. As the boy next to me mutters something about shooting stars, I swallow, hard. I know what this means. Whatever bliss I felt seeing Finn, whatever worries I had about haircuts and secrets, rush out of my mind as I stare at the death filling the sky.

“They didn’t work,” I murmur, unsure if I’m even saying the words aloud. “They didn’t see the flares.”

Bellamy appears by my side, a familiar smirk etched onto his lips. He cocks an eyebrow. “A meteor shower tells you that?”

It takes everything in me not to turn and slap him as Clarke explains the gravity of the situation. This is all his fault, doesn’t he understand that? Doesn’t he understand that the blood staining the sky was spilled by him?

I feel heat rise to my cheeks as I turn to Bellamy, the look on his face hovering between denial and disbelief. “This is all because of you.” I say it loud enough so that everyone else can hear.

“I helped you find the radio,” he spits, as if that absolves him of his crime.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Too little, too late.”

Bellamy shakes his head, his upper lip curling in disgust, like the words coming from my mouth are all lies. I hope I’m not the only one that finds irony in the fact that the man who killed hundreds of people without an ounce of guilt or responsibility seems hell bent on roping all of us into his quest to find his sister.

But Bellamy is a snake oil salesman, and he apparently has Finn under his spell—that much is apparent as he summons his troops and turns towards the woods.

Finn finds me again in the darkness, his hazy figure like a ghost shimmering in front of me.

“I gotta do this. I’ll be back soon, okay?”

I don’t think I have any say in this at all. He’s doing this for Clarke who is doing this for Bellamy for reasons that I might never understand.

“Fine.” I pause before adding, “I love you.”

Finn swallows, looking down as I plant another kiss on his cheek. He hesitates, and each second that passes makes my stomach sink further inside of me.

“Love you, too.”

________________

I find the answer to all of my questions—okay, maybe not all of them, but most of them—in a rusted old bunker that Clarke calls the “art supply store”.

It’s just sitting there on a small white table, staring up at me like it’s daring me to say something. But all I can do is reach for the chain around my neck and the folded bird that hangs from it. Finn’s bird. The one he made for me, that got me down to Earth.

The dots connect in my head even if I don’t want them to. Finn makes these things. He made the deer on the table, just like he made the raven around my neck. And if he made the raven because he cared about me, then this deer was for someone else. Someone who knows this bunker, hidden in the ground. Someone like Clarke.

“Finn made this.” It’s a fact, not a question, but Clarke takes it like one, and for a moment, she seems flustered.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” She clears her throat, her cheeks burning pink. “We saw this two-headed deer our first day on the ground. Welcome to paradise, right? Got it.” She’s rambling like she has something to hide. Probably because she does have something to hide. Her and Finn.

A few moments of uncomfortable silence pass as I look from the deer to Clarke and back to the deer. I feel a sliver of sadness snaking it’s way up my throat. If I don’t reel myself back in quickly, it might escape. So instead, I just offer Clarke a smile.

“Finn always does that. Finds the beauty in the unexpected.”

Clarke ignores the statement, “Good to go?” Rushing from her lips haphazardly. She gestures to the radio sitting on a nearby bunk bed, the thing we came here for in the first place. Of course she doesn’t want to talk about this. Do I even want to talk about this?

I watch as she struggles to keep emotion from crossing her face. I watch as she tries to hold it back.

“Hurry up and save the world, right?” I say.

Clarke nods and begins climbing up the ladder, away from me. Away from the deer. Away from this conversation.

As I emerge from the bunker and close the hatch, the deer disappears from my view, like it never existed at all.

–––––––––––

Clarke comes up to check on the radio after I’ve been left with my thoughts for too long. Long enough to let my anger fester inside of me and turn into something more noxious. As soon as I see her face and her bright eyes that she got from her mother, the question bursts out of me. Or no, not a question. A fact.

“Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me Finn didn't make it for you. Tell me you weren't screwing my boyfriend as I was risking my ass to come down here.”

Clarke pauses, still a few steps away from me and the radio, but no look of shock comes over her. No, she’s not surprised by this at all, which just confirms that I’m right.

I’m not sure what to be upset about—I’m not sure if I should be upset. Should I be upset with Clarke for doing what she did? Can I be angry knowing that she might not have even known that I existed? No. Maybe not.

But Finn. Finn who was supposed to care about me. Who was supposed to be waiting down on Earth, exactly the same as I was the last time I saw him. Finn who is my world. Was my world. Is my world. The hurt of betrayal stings worse than anything else.

“He made one for me, too. Just in case you thought you were special.” I taste acid in the back of my throat.

Clarke winces, like I’ve really hurt her, and a part of me feels badly. The only thing I can be mad at her for is not telling me about my unfaithful boyfriend. For not confessing Finn’s transgressions the moment she discovered who I was. But can I truly ask her to do that, especially considering all she’s seen and done in the past two weeks? Can I really expect her to care about things like that in a situation like this.

“Do you think I wanted this?” Clarke protests, the sound small but forceful. “I didn't even know you existed. Look, as far as he knew, Or you would have been soon enough. My mom, too, and everyone we ever knew on the Ark, And there was nothing we could do to stop it.”

No, it’s not Clarke that I’m angry with. It’s him. It’s Finn.

“He could've waited more than 10 days.” I reply. But then I remember earlier. Our goodbye before he disappeared into the woods with Bellamy. The way he hesitated. “Do you love him?” I ask.

Clarke laughs for a moment, before stopping herself. “I hardly know him.”

—————

When I see Finn again, I forget about the deer. The only thing I can think about is the pain etching its way across his face and the knife in his stomach.

“Oh my god.” It’s the only thing I can think to say as I wrap my shaking hands around his bicep and squeeze tight.

The action feels so helpless and I turn to Clarke, my eyes searching her for answers that she couldn’t possibly have.

“He’s alive,” she whispers, her words a small comfort even though I can feel the aftershocks of his pulse moving through his arm.

As Clarke barks orders, she sounds like her mother. Just like her, with that slight break at the edge of her voice like this is almost too much for her.

“Can you save him?” I ask, even though I’m not sure that I want to know the answer.

She hesitates, looking at the dark maroon seeping from Finn’s torso. I refuse to believe that it’s his blood. I refuse to believe that any of this is real at all. No, I need to focus.

“I need my mother,” Clarke replies. “Raven, fix the radio.”

She doesn’t bark this order. Instead, she states it carefully, knowing that I understand. Knowing that I understand what Finn means to her. Knowing that I’m the only one on this planet that cares as much about him as her. More than her.

So I go to fix the radio, as the image of the deer continues to fade into the darkest crevasses of my mind. I fix the radio for the Finn that I loved on the Ark. The one who loved me. Loves me. Loved me. He’s the one who needs me right now.