Chapter 21
When I was sixteen, I dated a guy just a year older than me. At first I really thought it was love, the way you usually do with first real relationships. It turned into living hell pretty darn quickly, but I still didn't want to see that, not in the entire time we were together. Misery most of the time is never what a relationship should be like, but it was for me.
His name was Cole and he fucking sucked.
John hated him. He didn't exactly say it outright, but he didn't have to. And though he probably wanted Cole out of my life at the speed of light, he didn't even talk to me much about it. Usually, John Murphy has a lot to say about pretty much everything, but when it came to me, he always respected my choices and my judgement. And when they were wrong, he was there to help me get through them. He would have probably rather cut off his own hand back then than told me to break up with the dog, and that's why I always loved John so much. He believed in me. Certainly more than I believed in myself at the time.
Truth be told, I'm not sure how I even managed to fit a relationship into my life back then, not to mention the added misery of a crappy one. I'd had enough on my plate already, and yet it was like I'd been brainwashed. For months I wasn't letting that shit go; for months I thought it was me that had to change, to fix things, like it was all up to me. Cole would emotionally abuse me for hours on end. He'd spend whatever's left of me. And I still wouldn't see.
When I cried for hours, John was the only one that knew. He didn't say much then either; he was just there for me. Over and over again. Most of the time I was too embarrassed to go to him, I admit that. But sometimes I just needed him, needed someone.
And then one day, John smashed Cole's face in.
I thought it was a miracle that John wasn't detained that day, but it wasn't. John proved as smart as I always thought him to be. He knew the right place, and the right time. A dead angle, with no Guards around, and not a soul to witness. That, and he threatened the living shit out of Cole. The older boy wouldn't even consider reporting him after that.
I didn't see it, but I can imagine it. In the face of John Murphy, Cole wasn't so big and mighty. The boy who abused me constantly was suddenly a small mouse shaking with fear on the inside at the prospect of my best friend somehow floating him. Only authorities could float you, but Cole probably thought John Murphy was psycho enough to find a way.
Murphy had played his crazy eyes card, I know - that look he gives you that makes you pretty damn sure the boy's capable of slitting your throat in your sleep if you cross him. I knew better. I knew him, and his bluff. The card he played was the one he often used at the face of adversity - for some people, kindness opened doors; for John Murphy it was the fear he was able to instill.
I was angry at him after that, for fighting my battles. In reality, I was angry at myself, for allowing any and all of it to happen. I was so damn angry I'd allowed someone like Cole to make me weak - which was something I'd never been, before, or after. I was so damn angry we all risked the Skybox, and for what? I was so angry for so long.
We broke up some days after, me and Cole. Even after all that, and the hurtful things he said to me in that time, a part of me still considered mending this situation, doubting myself. He is a piece of shit, I am going to break up with him - but what if it really is me? What if I'm making a mistake? What if this is it?
What a child I was. I didn't know anything. Someone should have taught me better.
''Look at your knuckles,'' I'd told John a few days after it all, as we made our way to my room. He was going through so much on his own - changing so much - he didn't need to share my burdens too. It was time for me to be there for him, not the other way around. The least I could do was give him a temporary escape from his life, hiding in my room and going through my dad's music collection. It didn't seem to work much, but I still tried - tried to be his escape.
''Never fight my battles again, John,'' I'd said, ''I mean it.''
''I've seen him pull you around before. He never even cared that other people could see,'' he'd said, ''You should have beat him up yourself.''
''Yeah, well, he's gone now. It's done,'' I'd told him, ''And I do mean it. Never again.''
''I can't promise you that,'' John had replied with what I remember as the smallest hints of a smile, ''Come here.''
I climbed my bed where he sat, and snuggled up the way I so often did. His arm went around me, almost protectively, but now when I think about it, I wonder if I was his shield. It didn't matter though, not in that moment. Along with his steady breathing, his closeness calmed me, comforted me. The arm around me made me feel at home. Everything seemed okay, even if it wasn't.
This time it was John that picked out an album to play. And we just stayed like that, until the very last song, completely sheltered from the rest of the world. Until that last song was finished, nothing could harm us.
*
Everyone at camp is preparing for the inevitable coming of the Grounders. Everyone has a task, but our highest hopes are in the hands of our brightest. Raven is setting up the minefield, and Jasper is trying to squeeze out some more bullets. It might just be what saves us.
I am on guard duty, as usual, except everything's different now, with the absolute certainty of a reckoning. I don't mind sitting and watching or patrolling the perimeter, but the waiting might just drive me crazy. I'm ready to jump out of my skin, and I almost wish they'd come already. Better sooner than later, when we're all already out of our wits. Nathan smuggles some moonshine every once in a while, for our nerves. It doesn't help much.
I look to Bellamy on the other side of camp, discussing something with Raven as she sets up the mines. Those kisses and the entire reconciliation that happened between us seem hardly real now, like I dreamed it all up. I still feel a pang of something akin to jealousy as I watch them, even knowing full well they're discussing nothing but battle strategy. It's irrational. They've been arguing too, Bell insisting on no one leaving camp and Raven insisting on searching for our people.
I can't completely pick a side on that matter. Neither of them are wrong, but a wrong move might be the end of us all. Everything in me is screaming to go after Monty, but right now, Bellamy's reasoning is outweighing Raven's. Something tells me we need to sit tight and stick together until we ride this out. We have to live to help our friends.
A gunshot tears me away from my thoughts. Instinctively, I jump on my feet instantly, with an eye on the night vision scope. I scan the woods quickly, with a breath stuck halfway between my lungs and my throat.
... Nothing.
''Whoa! What the hell was that?'' someone shouts across the panicked crowd.
''Hey!'' Bellamy seems to have found the culprit, ''What the hell is the matter with you?!''
''I'm sorry, man. I fell asleep,'' the poor boy replies, ''I've been on watch all day.''
''We've all been on watch all day!'' Bellamy shouts, ''That bullet was one less dead grounder!''
''Bell, you're scaring people,'' Octavia says, trying to calm him down.
''They should be scared!'' he shouts instead, ''The bomb on the bridge bought us some time to prepare, but that time is up! The Grounders are out there right now, waiting for us to leave and picking us off one by one when we do! Clarke, Finn, and Monty are gone, probably dead, and if you want to be next, I can't stop you, but no guns are leaving this camp! This camp is the only thing keeping us alive! Get back to work!''
I hop off the post to catch him. We're all going through a lot, but Bellamy has a lot of additional responsibility on his back, and I know it. It doesn't matter what anyone tells him, including me - he still feels responsible for all of us. And it's weighing him down, as it should. That kind of burden; how can it not?
But this is not the way to go about things.
''You really think that?'' I ask him, ''That they're dead?''
''It doesn't matter,'' he replies quietly, almost apologetically, seemingly trying to rub the headache away from between his brows, ''What matters is they're not here, and we are. And what matters is that no one leaves this camp.''
''Did you write me off the same way when I was out there?'' I ask.
''It's not like that, Tasha, and you know it,'' he tells me, unable to hide the apology in his eyes still, ''Fear of what might have happened to Clarke and Finn and Monty will keep them inside, and keep them ready to fight.''
''Fear? Bellamy, I'm afraid fear will cripple them,'' I tell him honestly, placing a comforting hand on his arm that makes him soften instantly, ''When the time comes, you're gonna have to figure out how to fire them up, and I don't think fear's gonna be fuel enough.''
''Are you afraid?'' he asks me, putting a hand on my hip. This time I'm the one that wants to spill into his arms.
''I suppose I'm more nervous than afraid,'' I sigh, ''Everyone's on edge.''
He steps up only to place a single kiss on my forehead.
''Be careful,'' he says.
I nod and go back to my post.
*
At night, the camp almost falls into a peaceful silence, although it's a false facade. Everyone is focused on their respective task, or trying to get their cut of sleep, but there's no peace to be found here. The camp is merely at a low hum. On the inside, everyone is a nervous wreck.
Thankfully - or regretfully - the watch proves uneventful so far, though every sound in the far bushes makes me jump. Gunner shifts are long, and I usually take the night shifts, despite Bellamy's insisting on otherwise. Days are for sleeping a bit and helping around with stuff. Nights are for keeping myself on my toes.
''How's Myles doing?'' I ask Bellamy, reminding myself of our friends out there despite trying not to.
''He's not worse, surprisingly,'' he replies, ''But without Clarke, there's not much more that we can do for him.''
''Maybe we should try and move him to the upper level somehow,'' I suggest, ''His moans of pain are-''
I can't get it past my mouth.
''Affecting the morale around here, I know,'' he helps me out, ''It's true. Don't beat yourself up over thinking that.''
I can't not feel bad. Myles may be dying and I'm so terrified of the Grounders that all I want the boy to do is just shut the hell up. What kind of person am I?
''I don't think we can move him now without risking his life,'' Bellamy tears me away from my thoughts, a worried frown on his face as he takes a once-over the camp, ''I'll just have to figure something else out.''
''Right,'' I swallow. The anxiety of it all suddenly has me antsier than I'd like to be. Now I have this bad feeling in the pit of my stomach that seems to have come out of nowhere and everywhere at once.
''Hey, you should get some more sleep,'' Bellamy says, placing a soothing hand on my cheek, brushing my cheekbone with his thumb. So much of my stress simply disappears. It's like a salve to a burn.
''I'm fine,'' I say. Somewhere in the back of my mind I keep thinking how I'll sleep plenty when all of this is over. As though it makes it more likely for me to survive somehow.
''If not for yourself than for the rest of us,'' he argues, ''You're a gunner, T. We'll need you alert.''
''Speaking of guns, we could always use more rounds,'' I change the subject, ''I'm gonna go see how Jasper's doing. Shift's over anyway.''
''Then straight to my tent,'' he insists, ''No one will disturb you there.''
I try not to smile, but can't fight it.
''Don't you worry about me, Bellamy,'' I peck his lips.
''I'm gonna go get Myles some water,'' he only says, hiding a smile of his own.
On my way, I check on Myles first, who seems to be peacefully asleep now, and oblivious to the world. He looks stable, but there's no way of knowing what's going on inside. I decide not to dwell on that, and find Jasper on the upper level. He's the complete opposite of Myles, teetering on the edge of his nerves.
''Hey, how's it going?'' I ask carefully.
''It's useless,'' Jasper shoves the remaining rounds off the desk, frustrated, burying his face in his hands, ''What we've got is what we've got, and that's it.''
''We have mines all around, and we have grenades,'' I try to console him, ''No use wrecking your head over it when we've stretched our limits to the fullest already. When's the last time you ate something?''
''Monty's out there,'' he turns to face me, a troubled and almost angry look on his face, ''And Clarke, and Finn. And I would bet my ass they'd go looking if it was any of us in their place.''
''And at any other time and in any other situation, we'd go looking too,'' I argue, ''But this is what the Grounders want, Jasper. If we get out there now, they'll just pick us off one by one. The way they do every time we step out! And you know it; you know you do.''
He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair and all but throwing the goggles at the surface of the desk. The clang echoes.
''Do you think I don't want to go after them?'' I insist, ''I've been with the Grounders, Jasper, just like you. I know what they do.''
''I'm gonna go get the remaining gunpowder to Raven,'' he says instead of a reply, ignoring the argument, ''She'll make better use of it.''
''I'll clean up the mess, you go rest,'' I tell him.
''Nah, I'll do it-''
''Jasper,'' I stop him, just as he moves to collect all the salvage, ''Just go.''
He hesitates for a moment, before giving in. I sit down at the desk immediately, getting to gathering the leftovers and wondering what could still be saved and used.
''On second thought, I'd throw it all away,'' I hear him say as he's opening the hatch and getting down, ''It's garbage anyway.''
I've watched both Raven and Jasper make ammo for so long that I've learned how to do it, but Jasper might just be right. Whatever's left is all but trash, and I don't think a few more round would make much of a difference in a fight anyway. Maybe it's just not worth the hours and the work. Getting a large piece of cloth, I decide to bag it.
Then I hear the Drop-Ship door get closed.
That's weird.
Suddenly, there's noise outside, people arguing - but now that the door is bolted closed barely anything can reach me here.
''Jasper?'' I call, forgetting that he's closed the hatch behind him. He can't hear me either.
I move to the hatch, but it's Murphy's voice I hear now, talking to someone. Definitely no Jasper.
By some primal survival instinct, I stop to listen before opening the hatch.
''Just you, Bellamy!'' he demands, probably over the radio, ''Unarmed!''
I have no idea what's going on, and yet my insides absolutely twist in fear. Suddenly, I'm flushed with panic, every nerve in me vibrating. That bad feeling I've had all this time has finally reached its peak.
Any conflict involving Murphy and Bellamy can't end well.
''Ten seconds!''
Unarmed? What does he mean? What does he want?
I want to open the hatch, to see what's happening, but I don't know what I'm heading into.
I hear the Drop-Ship door open, then close again. Some exchange happens, but since there's no more shouting, I can't distinguish anything through the closed-off hatch.
Then I hear a gun-shot.