Chapter 22
It all went downhill when John's dad got floated. He tried to be there for his mom after that, and I tried to be there for him, but neither seemed to work. His mom was steadily drinking herself to death and I was watching Jonathan Murphy go down a road that would destroy him. I'm still not sure if he hated Jaha more, or himself. I'm still not sure who he blamed more. As though it had been his fault he'd gotten sick; as though it had been his fault his dad stole the medicine that wouldn't have helped him anyway.
His mother drank more and more every day. It was hard to watch. He tried to stop it, to help her. He'd destroy all the moonshine he could find, but she'd always find a way to get more.
I remember this one time, he tried to keep her locked up for a couple of days to try and get the addiction out of her system. He'd stayed with her, and I helped bring in everything they needed. My mom went in to check on her every once in a while. It was ugly, but it seemed to be working. It was like some demon had possessed the woman when she was going through one of her crises, but she'd gone through them nonetheless.
After a few days, her behavior had normalized. The possibility of her getting better had John slowly coming back from the slippery slope he was headed down. The woman had gone through all the crises, and after another couple of days, John thought he could trust her enough to leave her alone for a while. In the beginning, it was me that stayed with her when John had to go out, just in case. Soon enough, she truly looked well enough and her behavior changed so much, that we all thought she was okay again. So we put a little faith in that.
The first hour that she had by herself, she relapsed.
It was ugly, really ugly; and from that point on it was only getting worse than it had ever been. When she was finally dying, there was nothing my mom, or Dr Abby, or anyone in the medical could do to help her. ''Don't bother,'' John had said, the moment I made for the door to get help.
Don't bother.
That was no way to die, lying in your own vomit, poisoned by moonshine, in front of your own son. And it was no way to remember your mother by. That moment right there, stuck in that room with John as his mother was dying, was the hardest moment in my life thus far. This was back before I knew earthly suffering. This was what threatened to tear my whole world apart. And the last thing she said to him made me break into a million pieces that would never be truly put together again.
Me. It broke me. How could I ever know what John had to have felt like?
''You killed your own father,'' she'd said. What kind of mother would do that?
She died then, and the state John was now in was truly the scariest thing I'd ever seen.
I didn't know what to say, and even when I tried, he didn't want to hear it. I didn't know how to help him. I didn't know how to touch him. I had no idea how to pull him back from the brink. I was completely and utterly unequipped for this.
I immediately did what I knew I could. I called the authorities. With the help of my parents, I took care of the whole funeral and the legal matters. John was in no state to do anything except show up and sign whatever he needed to.
The whole thing really shook me. Mom and dad must have seen what I was going through. They liked John well enough, but they didn't want their daughter to suffer because of someone else's troubles. Dad would always insist on me watching his stupid old cowboy movies with him and mom would have just about a million ideas on how to get me out of my shell, but they were aware it wasn't that easy. I couldn't just get things off my mind.
''Life is the most precious thing in the world,'' mom had told me one of those nights, ''I'm sick, but I'm alive. And I'm gonna be alive for quite a while yet. We must never, under any circumstances, give up on life. Do you understand? Life will hit you harder than this. It might hit John harder too. That doesn't mean you should give up and surrender.''
''I'm afraid John might have,'' I'd admitted, more scared than I'd realized, ''Given up on his life, I mean.''
''John is a good kid. Strong, too. He'll get through this,'' she'd kissed my forehead, ''Don't you worry so much, sweetie. You're made of tougher stuff than you both think.''
She had been wrong, though. I was right. After a while it was clear to me that John was getting himself in trouble almost on purpose. It was like he wanted to get locked up, like he wanted to destroy what little of his life was left.
And I couldn't stop him. He kept pushing me further and further away. Everything I did backfired on me, and it hurt. It hurt more than I was ever willing to admit, yet I still didn't blame him. I understood - he was a loose cannon; he was hurting himself worse than he could ever hurt me. When he lashed out on me, when he pushed me away, it was misdirected, and I didn't mind, I didn't get mad, I understood. Whatever he needed to get through it.
I visited him in the Skybox often, at least until my mom got worse and I'd gotten in trouble myself. I think he was torn about it - glad to see me and glad that I never gave up on him, yet full of shame and pride and spite at the same time. He hated that I could see him in the state that he was, and I felt it every second of it.
That wasn't the only thing he was torn about. He'd never been whole since then - just two pieces of himself at war with each other.
I was dealing with so much myself, now. I was nearing a burn-out. I didn't tell him about any of my crap, though he always asked. Mom's condition had worsened and we needed the medicine, and dad was on the edge of his nerves and beyond terrified. I was bent on finding a way to help her, and once I did, I never looked back. Every breath I took then was dangerous. I didn't tell John any of that.
Every time I came back to visit him, he was a bit less of himself. He was spiteful, drowning in self-pity, and angry at everyone and himself and the world. He was miserable, but after a while, he'd become completely dead inside.
It killed me to see him like that, to watch him become this person I no longer knew. He knew that too, so he gave me a final push.
''You don't have to come here anymore, you know,'' he'd said, ''I don't need your pity.''
''Shut up, John,'' I'd tried to ignore him, ''Don't be a dumbass-''
''I'm being serious, T,'' he'd insisted, ''It's done. It's over. Whatever you and I had is never gonna exist again. Why don't you get it?''
''You have no idea what the hell you're talking about-,'' I'd scoffed, but he wouldn't have it.
''Oh yeah? Won't you go back to your perfect little family and leave me be? I'm not your brother, Natasha,'' he'd spat, ''Go find a pet plant to take care of if you really need it. I'm done with this shit.''
I was tongue-tied. There was a breath stuck in my throat, a lump that was making it hard for me to swallow. I was about to burst, and he didn't stop there either.
''I don't need to see that look of pity two times a week, I know what I am to you! I'm that layer of dust you just can't seem to shake off your shoes and move on!'' he'd almost shouted, angry, ''You really think I'm stupid enough not to see you're here just out of some- some sense of duty? You don't owe me anything! Just go!''
''Shut up, John,'' I'd managed to say, somehow holding my tears and keeping the breakdown at bay, when everything in me threatened to come apart.
''For fuck's sake, I don't even know you anymore! Who are you? What happened to you?'' he growled, ''You're just this- this empty person with the face of someone I used to know. A god damn robot with your face plastered on it! I don't need that-''
I slapped him with all the pain I had in me. I remember I hit him so hard that I was sure I would draw blood. Then I left.
I walked away. I cried it out. I never spoke to him again.
Not until Earth.
*
The bullet was shot upwards. I know because I can see the exact spot it got stuck in, too close for comfort. The next bullet might get through. Whatever's happening, if it goes on, I might get shot up here.
Real fear washes over me. Murphy and Bellamy are down there, in an obvious conflict, with a gun that has just been fired, and they're closed off. For all I know, Jasper might be down there too, stuck with them. One wrong move and there could be more graves to dig before the Grounders could ever get to us.
They aren't shouting anymore, and I can't hear what's going on. No shouting would be a good sign in any other situation, but not with Bellamy and Murphy. I know them both well enough to know that I should fear the quiet.
I can't just climb down there and into the stew - I could catch an instinctive bullet the moment I step a foot down. But I can't just sit here either. I have to do something.
I get an idea that sends me almost running. In the pile of garbage left behind by Monty and Raven, I pray to any and all the gods that ever may have existed. Rummaging through the salvage, as quietly as I can, I try to find any sort of radio device. I need to talk to someone outside and see what's going on.
I don't find shit. I want to scream.
Another shot, but this one isn't fired to the ceiling. I go into a full on panic mode. Either that was another warning shot into the ground or a wall, or someone is wounded. or dead. Either of them... God.
Okay, plan B.
I have to believe he still has some affection for me.
*
''It's me!'' I shout, the moment I open the hatch an inch ajar, ''Don't shoot!''
''Natasha, stay up there!'' Murphy shouts, ''If you put one foot down, I swear to God I'll shoot you!''
''John, what are you doing?'' I ask, as calmly as I can manage, trying to control my wavering voice.
''Stay there!'' he just shouts again. I can't fully see him yet from where I am, though the hatch is open completely now; but I can visualize the scene down there perfectly. The fear is enveloping me.
''You!'' I hear Murphy yell, ''Start tying!''
He wouldn't.
Carefully, I put one foot down the ladder. John fires his gun upward, right past me. I freeze instantly, eyes shut, clutching the rails, holding a breath.
''I said stay there!!!'' he growls.
''Bellamy?'' I can hear Octavia over the radio somewhere, ''Bellamy! Are you ok?''
''You want her to know you're alive?'' John asks, ''Start tying.''
''Bellamy! Do you copy?''
''I'm fine,'' Bellamy finally replies, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, ''Just a misfire. Now stop worrying about me and get back to work, all of you. And tell Raven to hurry her ass up.''
''Alright, that's long enough,'' Murphy commands, ''Tie those two ends together.''
''John, I'm gonna get down now-,'' I start.
''Stay the fuck back!'' John shouts at me, then addresses Bellamy again, ''Alright! Now get up and toss it over.''
I do not like the way that sounds.
''What do you want me to say?'' Bellamy starts, ''You want me to apologize? I'm- I'm sorry!''
''You got it all wrong, Bellamy,'' Murphy replies, his voice full of poison, ''I don't want you to say anything. I want you to feel what I felt, and then - then I want you to die.''
''The fuck you will,'' I mutter to myself and do the stupidest and most impulsive thing I've ever done - I take an almost literal leap of faith. I climb down so fast, only a bullet could have stopped me. But he wouldn't shoot me. He wouldn't.
Murphy turns around to face me, but his gun is still trained on Bellamy - Bellamy who is standing there with a noose hanging in front of him. And for a moment I completely lose the ability to breathe. The look Bellamy gives me is so close to hopeless that I want to die. He's angry too. They both are, probably because I'm there. I wasn't supposed to be.
''Did I not tell you to stay the fuck back!!'' John growls like a wild beast. The hold on his gun is so tight, I can see his veins pop out.
''John, you don't have to do this-,'' I start, as carefully as I can, but he doesn't let me talk.
''Well, now you're gonna watch him die,'' he says.
''This isn't you-,'' I start again, hopelessly.
''Shut up!'' he shouts, growls, baring his teeth. I almost jump back. ''You don't know me! You said it yourself!'' he screams.
''You!'' he turns toward Bellamy, ''Stand on it. Put it over your head.''
''This is insane,'' Bellamy argues, ''Let her out. You let Jasper out, this is between you and me.''
''John, please,'' I beg. I feel ready to start weeping like a helpless child.
''Natasha, I swear to God, if you move one inch, I will shoot you where you stand,'' he hisses through his teeth, this time not even looking at me.
''Do what he says,'' Bellamy tells me. He's trying to seem calm, but I can tell how much he's in panic. I can see the fear and pain in his eyes, and they're tearing me apart.
''Put it over your head,'' Murphy repeats to him.
''Just let her go,'' Bellamy insists again.
''No one's leaving this Drop-Ship now until you're dead,'' Murphy won't let up, ''She made her choice. She could have stayed up there like I told her to.''
''There's no way this is what you want,'' I say, my voice vibrating with the tears that I manage to fight back. John ignores me.
Bellamy steps up on the stool before him, and puts the noose around his neck. Murphy pulls and tightens it, making Bellamy stand on his tiptoes. I weep out a desperate and hollow ''no'' that goes unheard and ignored. Murphy tells me that with every step I take, Bellamy will only die a little slower. So I don't move. I can't. I'm afraid to breathe, with that rope in John's hand.
Bellamy looks so helpless, teetering at the edge. I can't look, yet I have to; and I have to do something, yet I don't dare. I am as tied up as I had been in that Grounder camp, as helpless as I was in the Skybox. And that helplessness has me suffocating, like there's a noose around my neck as well.
''You were wronged,'' I find it in me to finally speak, my own voice sounding foreign to me, ''I know it, as you know it. What happened that day, it was wrong. And you know I tried to stop it.''
''This has nothing to do with you,'' Murphy replies.
''But it does,'' I insist, ''Did I not take your side? Did I not scream for justice, literally fight my way to you? I was going to cut you free. I was going to do it even if it cost me my own head. I didn't care.''
''What's your point?'' he gives me a brief look, trying to look annoyed, but I see a glimpse of remorse there. He never could hide it from me. That's why he doesn't dare really look at me. That remorse is a crack in the wall that could rupture and his resolve would break, and he thinks he's gone too far already to allow that now.
Bellamy looks at me too, and gives me the smallest nod that he can manage with that noose around his neck. Suddenly, I understand.
Keep him talking.
''If you won't spare him for him, do it for me,'' I say, almost beg, ''If I've ever meant anything to you- Let him live. For me, John.''
''That's cute,'' he nods with a sarcastic smile, even chuckles spitefully a bit, ''You playing that card at just the rightest of moments, that's really cute. You know what, Tasha? Bellamy might have hanged me, but you were the first to kick me while I was down.''
''How dare you?!!'' I screech like a banshee, forgetting all about caution, ''You know damn well- You meant the world to me! You know damn well I did all I could!!! You wanna blame it all on me to make yourself feel better? Go ahead! But you know you're the one that ruined everything. You know it, better than anyone! You always are the one, aren't you, John? Pushing people away, making enemies of them. Then, when they start to fight back, you play the victim!!''
''None of that matters now,'' he pulls just a tiny bit on the rope, enough to make Bellamy grasp for air.
''Please,'' I beg again, trying not to cry, ''I lost you, I lost my parents, I lost my home. I can't lose him too.''
''Won't you look at that, Bellamy?'' he turns to him now, ''Your damsel in distress. You're so brave, aren't you? I mean, you came in here thinking you're just gonna turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me, and maybe one of your friends would come and help you. Well, what are you thinking now, Bellamy? Hmm?''
Bellamy doesn't reply. My heart threatens to jump out of my chest. One milimeter to the front and he'll be hanged. I can't breathe properly; I can't think. And I have no idea what to do still. Keep him talking, I have to keep him talking. But what now? I am out of cards to play.
''You know, I gotta hand it to you, Bellamy,'' Murphy starts again, ''You got 'em all fooled. They actually look up to you, almost as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, well, we know the truth, don't we? You're a coward. I learned that the day you kicked out that crate from beneath me. And isn't that what you said - that you were just giving the people what they wanted, right?''
''I should have stopped them,'' Bellamy admits, and I know he's being sincere.
''Yeah, it's a little late for that now,'' John replies.
''You think they're just gonna let you walk out of here?'' Bellamy asks him, biding time.
''Well, I think the princess is dead but I know the king's about to die,'' he replies casually, ''So who's really gonna lead these people, huh? You, Tasha?'' he turns to me, his voice full of sarcasm, ''You gonna take up the mantle once you bury your boyfriend?''
''You can still turn back,'' I argue, ''You know you can. No damage's been done yet. John, please-''
''As I was saying,'' he ignores me, ''The one to lead will be me, that's who. And yeah, maybe I'll have to kill your grounder-pounding little sister-''
There's sudden noise below us, echoing through the metal panels of the Drop-Ship. Someone is there. Instantly, I regret reacting to it so obviously, but I know Murphy would have heard it anyway.
''Aah! I'm guessing that's her right now,'' Murphy says, firing several rounds into the floor.
''No!'' I scream, rushing toward him impulsively, fueled by fear and panic, trying to use the chance to disarm him maybe, but that gun is pointed right at me before I can really do anything. I freeze. I lift my hands up as slowly as I can. My heart is beating against my chest-bone.
''Don't make me do this,'' Murphy tells me quietly, almost calmly.
''You wouldn't,'' I insist, but it still sounds like I'm begging.
''You don't know that. Look around you, T. All me,'' he replies, ''Who knows who I just killed down there.''
Bellamy tries to use the moment too, tries to kick Murphy now that he's not looking, but the other boy just kicks the stool from under him so suddenly, neither of us really had the time to see it coming. Bellamy's hands claw at the noose desperately, and I cry out, wanting to help him, unable to move, facing the barrel of a gun.
''Using your hands is a cheat. Mine were bound, remember?'' John pulls at Bellamy's hands, but then Bellamy manages to punch him somehow. Murphy punches back. And I completely lose it.
I'm suddenly on Murphy, like a cheetah. My hands are on the gun, trying to take it from him, pry it out of his hands and turn this thing around, not caring if it fires, we're all dying anyway, and Bellamy quicker than anyone. A bullet fires off somewhere, but John's fighting me back, and in this struggle I know I wouldn't feel it even if the round ended up in me.
Murphy wins. With the butt of the rifle, he punches me in the face, hard. It's just enough to disable me for a moment and get me off of him. I fall on the floor, with my mouth full of blood. I spit it out, but more of it comes so fast that I think I actually might choke on it. The world whizzes around me, time stretching slowly.
I must have dreamt the Drop-Ship door falling open.