Chapter 41
''Hey! Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?!''
''Step aside, girl,'' the man tells me, trying to shove me out of the way with the back of his hand like I barely weigh ten pounds. I don't know his name, but I've seen him around - I recognize that round face with the mustache. With one turn of the shoulder, I embellish the face with fresh blood, my fist meeting his nose. He staggers back. My knuckles hurt, but it feels so good.
In truth, Finn has already run away. My task here is to make sure the people find out as late as possible. I've been holding them off for about an hour now, but more and more demand to get into the B corridor, some saying it's their right as citizens, even resorting to the freedom of movement crap. When the real mess starts and the fighting breaks out, the guards swoop in, breaking it up, and the only reason I'm not arrested is because they would have had to arrest everyone involved, and that's just impossible and too much of a hassle in the middle of everything. I get roughed up and chased out like the rest of the folks, but that's it. That's game over, though, but it had to have bought us a bit more time at least.
The plan worked well enough, now it's time for part two.
I make my way across the camp and into Bellamy's tent. I gear up, deciding to leave the bow this time, sheathing the machete. Making sure no one's watching me, I casually make my way behind the Ark, where the wall almost meets the fence. As expected, Murphy is already there.
''Took you long enough,'' he says, throwing me the rifle.
''I bought them more time,'' I grumble, catching it, ''The walkie.''
He hands me the walkie-talkie, ''Wick,'' I call, ''Wick!''
''I'm here, geez!'' he grumbles through the radio, ''Just a minute.''
''Come on, man.''
''Tasha, I'm headed to Engeneering trying not to look like I'm staging a mutiny here. Hold on a minute.''
I roll my eyes. Murphy gives me a look of half amusement half confusion. ''He's a drama queen,'' I explain.
''I heard that,'' Wick says, ''Okay, just a secooooond... and done.''
''Thank God,'' I say, ducking under the now cool fence.
''You're welcome!'' I hear him say, before I shut the radio down.
*
It was Raven's idea that Murphy and I come too; I agreed that we could use more guns and there was no way in hell I was letting them do this thing without me anyway. We trek in silence for a while, Murphy and I - not because it's awkward but because we're careful not to stand out and make too much sound. Worse than being seen by our people would be being seen by the Grounders - they can't know we're ushering Finn into hiding.
''Your cough is almost gone,'' I realize after a while, as we make our way through the growth.
''Or maybe I'm just holding it in,'' he smart-asses to hide the bashfulness I could see on his face from a mile. I don't push the uncomfortable subject - it's no wonder the whole virus thing has left a mental scar, especially after his whole history with sickness and everything he associated it with. I hope he won't really develop some weird compulsive behavior further on because of it, and then I realize I shouldn't fucking care.
But that's the thing - I am too traumatized myself and too terrified and tired to hold on to anything anymore. There is no room left for the anger and the hatred. So much has happened in a few days alone that I just can't see far past it. And maybe I don't trust Murphy, and maybe I can't get over some things that he's done, but my indifference is on such solid ground you might have mistaken it for forgiveness. And maybe it could turn into forgiveness one day. If Bellamy could, and Raven could, why couldn't I?
Ah, but I know the answer to that question. I know why it's harder for me. But everything that happened back on the Ark - that's the easiest part. I may not have said it or really thought to myself before now, but what happened on the Ark was forgiven long ago. The Ark seems like a different life now, a different lifetime. We were all born again on the Ground - we had died, and then we were born again. I hardly remember the past life anymore, so whatever happened then hardly even matters. Everything that happened to Natasha Parish back on the Ark had happened to a different girl. I carry the remnants of her scars, but wear a different skin all the same.
''You know, Finn's not a bad guy,'' Murphy drawls, breaking the silence again, ''One of the very few I can say that about, really.''
''I know.''
''We'll hole up until this dies down,'' he says, ''And if it doesn't, we'll kick their asses like we did the last time. We're not giving him up.''
''We? If I remember correctly, and I think I do, you wasted most of our gunpowder and blasted. And you don't need to comfort me.''
He feels bad about that. Murphy rarely shows when he feels bad, so when he does show it, you know it's real. He makes a face like he's stepped on a rusty nail.
''You feel bad, huh?'' I taunt, ''That's because you should,'' I say as I cut away some of the growth ahead of us. We need to make our own route to the Drop-Ship. It would take us longer probably, but better safe than sorry. We've split into three couples, going down three different routes, and if the Grounders notice something, this way at least we won't exactly be sitting ducks. And we can't be out in the open.
Murphy doesn't reply to that statement of mine, to my mild surprise - Murphy rarely passes up on bickering. And the fact that he did now angers me. I need him to talk back. I need him to say he was wrong, and that he's fucked up, and that he's sorry. I want to hear something I basically know I'll never hear. I need something definite, some closure on the whole mess before the Ark came down, something to make it easier for me to deal with the fact that he's back, just like that, and everyone is easing him back in like nothing's happened. When so much has happened.
But if Bellamy could, and Raven could - so could I.
''Fucking say something,'' I hiss.
''What do you want me to say, Tasha?'' he asks, his voice sounding almost disinterested, almost a statement more than a question. I push through the bushes angrily.
''Admit, for once, that you fucked up. Just say it. You fucked up and you feel like shit.''
''You got it all wrong, sweetheart,'' I hear him behind me, ''Whether I fucked up or not, I'm not apologizing to anyone about anything. I don't exactly recall anyone apologizing to me.''
''Bellamy did.''
''A dying man would say anything to save himself.''
I turn around on the balls of my heels so swiftly, Murphy almost slams right into me, chest to chest. His eyes fall on the machete in my hand for just a split-second. And that one split-second just pisses me off even more. He has a rifle ready in his hands anyway.
''Bellamy was sorry. He still is,'' I growl, ''And he forgave you, because he knew you'd forgiven him the day you saved his life.''
Murphy stares me down, unmoving, not breaking eye-contact, but he doesn't have his fighting face on. I realize, as it dawns on me, that he simply looks lost. I know he wants to say something - it's in his nature to always say something - but it's as though he doesn't know what. And that happened never.
''Bellamy forgave you. And I know you forgave him,'' I continue against his silence, ''And I honestly don't know anymore if either of you deserves it. But it's fucking liberating, isn't it?''
''So why do you want me to say it so bad?'' he asks.
''Because I want to forgive you! Bellamy forgave you, but I can't unless you tell me,'' I shake my head, ''I can't.''
Why do I feel like crying?
''You want me to say I feel like shit, is that it?''
''I need you to say you feel like shit! Because if you feel like shit, John, that means you're not a shit fucking person!''
''No, what's really cute about this whole thing is that apparently I'm the only one that needs to be forgiven,'' he argues, ''And everyone else apparently has their hands perfectly fucking clean!''
''No one's saying that! I know what I've done. I stand by my shit. When I fuck up I say that I've fucked up. I say that I'm sorry.''
''Sorry for what?'' he grabs my arm and stops me once I continue walking, ''No, let's do this now, sorry for what?!''
''I'm sorry I turned my back on you! Okay? I'm sorry. You pushed me away, and you were angry and mean and it hurt but I knew what it was and what it meant and I should have stayed.''
He takes a moment, staring me down, anger on his face but no trace of it in his eyes. He swallows and licks his lips. It fascinates me how I can still see through him. He isn't angry; he's trying to keep the composure intact. I've hit a nerve.
And I've hit a nerve of my own as well.
''You're not the only one in the wrong,'' I add, swallowing, ''I left you when you needed me. I was all you had left. And I knew that, and I still walked away.''
''Don't,'' he steps back, ''Just don't.''
''What?''
''Say another damn word,'' he hisses, ''You don't get to be the one to apologize after everything I did. You said it yourself. I pushed you away. I was fucking mean. I don't deserve the fucking apology, so don't play that bigger person trick on me. I know who I am. I know who's the one that should be apologizing, and I'm not about to start.''
''You don't have to,'' I shake my head, ''About everything back on the Ark? You don't have to. I don't even care anymore about any of all that, water under the fucking bridge - but don't you get it? You could never have hurt me worse than you did when you hurt him!''
He takes a moment, then lets his head hang down, chuckling spitefully. ''Bellamy. Of course. You know, Tasha, I don't exactly remember you having troubles forgiving him for what he did to me.''
''Ya think?! Think again!'' - I'm pissed - ''I could hardly look at him! Even when I realized he didn't do it by his choice. You, John - you did it willingly.''
''Because killing people is just something I do piece o' cake,'' he shrugs, but his eyes glisten, ''Because I don't have my own reasons. Because I have nothing to be angry and vengeful about.''
''I'm not saying that,'' I say, then continue walking, in another moment hearing his footsteps follow.
''Yeah, well, I don't need your forgiveness, but that doesn't matter, does it? It's all about you. It's you that needs to forgive, to get that burden off your back. All about you.''
''Call me naive and sentimental,'' I grumble, cutting away, ''Trying to fix at least one clusterfuck.''
''Don't bother,'' he drawls, ''There's some gaps you can't bridge.''
We hike the rest of the way in silence, a new kind of ache crushing my chest.