Chapter 49
Bellamy doesn't run after me when I storm off, and it makes me think about how well he knows me. If he'd run after me, I'd really think less of him. But no, he knows me, and he leaves me be, and he knows I will need some time, and insisting on anything would only make everything worse. But I'm so angry. Good God, I've never been angrier in my life, and I can't sleep in my dad's tent because I wouldn't be able to stand his softness and kindness and I know he'll suffer my anger unfairly and I don't want that. So I go to Octavia's temporary tent of residence. Because I don't know where else to go.
''Hey,'' she says, a bit surprised to see me.
''O, can I sleep here with you tonight?''
''Uh, sure,'' she says and makes room.
But I don't sleep. I keep staring at the canvas above as she cleans her machete, and it's the only sound filling the small tent. I can tell she'd like to talk to me, but doesn't know how to put things. And I want to talk to her, ask her what she thinks about all this. It's her brother and Lincoln. Did she latch onto Clarke's throat the way I'm afraid I would if I saw her right now?
But I don't ask her about it. I keep staring at the damn tent canvas, focused on calming down. And I realize after a while that every time I start calming the anger, the hurt starts seeping in. So I decide, instead of calming down, to keep focused on staying angry. Better angry than hurt and terrified. Angry I can live with. Angry I have lived with. Angry makes me feel strong. Angry makes me feel like I'm not a victim.
''I'm going to Tondc tomorrow morning,'' she says after a while, her voice following the swoosh of the rock against her blade, ''Gonna escort Indra and her men back here. You wanna come?''
''I'm not sure what I want,'' I say, my eyes blank on the canvas. It's a lousy tent, the canvas so thin I can see the full moon through it.
''Or you can stay here, if you want. My tent, I mean.''
''Thanks.''
She sighs and puts down her machete. ''You okay?'' she asks.
''No,'' I say, ''Yes. I have to be.''
''You can be not okay and still be strong, you know?'' she tilts her head, as though to come into my line of vision and make me look away from the damn moon, ''It's not mutually exclusive.''
''Are you okay?'' I ask her instead.
''I don't even think I know what okay is,'' she raises her eyebrows, almost huffs out a laugh, ''But maybe that's good for me, you know. I won't miss what I've never had.''
I frown. She seems at peace with the fact at this point, but it's heartbreaking. I have been okay. I have been perfectly content and happy even. My life back on the Ark was all I could have asked for until a certain point. This girl - this warrior in front of me - lived under the damn floor. But look at her now.
''You will be okay though,'' I say, ''And happy. When all of this is done.''
I'm not just saying it, I really believe it. For some reason, I'm almost certain. This girl will make it out on top, struggle her way out of all of this. She gives me a small smile, and I can't tell if she believes me or not, but she doesn't want to go further into it.
After a while she lies down next to me, pulls the old coarse blanket over us, and says ''You'll be okay too'' instead of a ''Good night.'' I don't say anything back.
*
I think about all the ways I could pull all the hair out of Clarke's scalp. I fantasize about all the nasty things I want to say to her. Octavia's breaths are low and steady by now; she's firm asleep. I can't sleep. And the more I hold onto everything, the more anger dissipates and I want to cry. I want to be with Bellamy right now, sleep next to him. God knows another night isn't really guaranteed. But I'm here, stuck on everything and suffocating, trying not to be weak. I'm sure I can't and will not fall asleep. Until I do, somewhere before dawn. Sleep sneaks up on me.
When I wake up, Octavia's gone and I soon learn Clarke is too, gone to work on battle plans. One part of me is disappointed I didn't get to give her a piece of me, another is glad she's gone before I can cool down.
Octavia will be back in about four days, Grounders in tow. Clarke will probably stay behind with Lexa for a while yet. I see that Byrne's gone in Clarke's attendance too, so that's one less person on my ass. And as I get out of bed I doubt I'll be able to sit through another guard duty, and for a moment I regret not going with Octavia. But I know it's probably for the best. I'm just trying to avoid facing Bellamy anyway.
Even as I know our certain time together is limited and days numbered, I can't go face him right now. What do I tell him? I'm angry at him too.
So I decide to have the day away from him. He doesn't come insisting, knowing I'll come to him first. I silently appreciate it, even as I'm angry.
But I know I can't stand anyone else either. I need to be alone, but since I can't, my options come down to Raven and Murphy. Ironically maybe, the two very opposites. Of course, I choose Raven.
I bring us some food and we silently work half the day away. I mostly fetch things, help her around. We don't talk much, unless it's ''safe'' chat and work stuff. I'm grateful she doesn't tell me anything regarding Bellamy. And I'm very careful not to stumble upon anything connected to Finn. Wick comes in and out a few times, but is smart enough to leave us alone today. Our sour moods are beyond obvious, and he knows better.
The other half of the day I basically spend training. I don't have Octavia to practice hand-to-hand combat with, but I do excercises until my limbs quiver and my knees start giving in. I punch the stuffed bag behind the Ark until I look like I've just been swimming, my wet hair plastered to my face, dripping. And good God, does it help. It's the only thing that does help right now. Bellamy comes to give me some water, and he doesn't say anything when I take it, and leaves me alone the minute I do. And I kick the punching bag off the damn hinge.
Once the sun's come down and I've washed, I report for guard duty. A late shift should be nice and lazy now that I'm exhausted, and I won't be eating myself up on the inside as I stand watch. It seems to work. A couple of hours after midnight, I'm ready to sleep like the dead.
And in that moment it feels like the hardest thing I've ever done when I walk past Bellamy's tent and into Octavia's. But it would have been even harder if I didn't.
*
The next day goes much the same. Working with Raven, food, training, food, shower, guard duty. I also get to check up on dad and Sean and I end up catching a shift with Dwyght on post, which cheers me up a bit. When it's time to go sleep though, I can't walk past Bellamy's tent again.
But I can't face him either.
After a deep, painful breath and a long moment of my feet planted on the ground and my hand frozen on the flap of Bellamy's tent, I finally manage to make myself move and step in.
He looks asleep. He's shirtless, and most of his torso uncovered seems to almost shimmer under the lights of the camp that insist on seeping in. I take my clothes off and climb in next to him. When I close my eyes though, his arm moves and wraps around me, pulling me into him, back to chest. Not quite asleep, but he doesn't say anything, and neither do I, and it's all I could have asked for. I'm comforted by the warmth of him as we drift off to sleep.
*
I make sure to wake up before Bellamy does. I'm still angry and I don't know what to say to him, and I know it's silly and ridiculous and that he's going to leave any day now - he's preparing every day. I should probably be using this time I have with him. But I can't stop being angry. I know that if I stop being angry, I will likely fall apart and let fear tear me down. I can't do that.
Change of plans today. After a breakfast with Raven in the lab, I grab my bow and quiver and set out to hunt. I don't think we need extra food, but I need the focus. Since I know no one's going to like my idea of setting out alone, I go ahead and try to find Monroe to invite her to come with me. I can't seem to find her though, and when I ask Sean he says he hasn't seen her since she woke up.
Screw it, I'm heading out alone. I just need to pack up a few supplies and I'm out before anyone can start nagging me.
When I go to the storage room to get some nice rope, I'm not surprised to find Murphy organizing the shelves, but I am a bit surprised to see him at all. He hasn't shown face in days, or at least we haven't crossed each other's paths somehow. The sight of him organizing the clutter and junk very surprisingly breaks my heart a bit. He seems miserable. A while ago I was cheering for miserable Murphy. A part of me still doesn't want to bridge that gap, but right now I'm so angry at everyone else there is no anger left for Murphy.
''Hey,'' he says almost awkwardly when he sees me enter, ''Need something?''
''You about done here?''
''Nope. Still got trash to sort out,'' he drawls, lightly kicking at an empty crate below and letting it slide across the floor to the other side. ''Why?''
''I was thinking if maybe you wanted to go hunting with me.''
He pauses, stops whatever he's doing, only to squint his eyes at me a bit. ''Why me?''
I shrug. ''I can't find Monroe anywhere.''
He huffs out a laugh. ''Substitute. Of course, makes sense.''
''Oh, don't be a baby, Murphy; you wanna come or not?''
''Trust me, I'd take anything over this, but I, uh- I have to do this.''
He's taking this second chance seriously, I realize. Even though he obviously hates it, hates everything about every single thing he does day in day out, he's still trying to earn what he's been given. And I find that I can respect that.
''Need help?'' I hear myself ask, without a prior thought, without an intention. I would much rather be hunting out there, but it literally escapes me, and so fluidly it's worrying.
''Nah,'' Murphy says, ''You go shoot at birds. You look like you need to shoot something.''
I frown. ''Damn. That obvious?''
''Boyfriend dearest off on a suicide mission - can't get any more Trouble in Paradise than that,'' he says, reaching for a shelf above him, and suddenly I'm so pissed I hope whatever's up there falls right on his damn head. But it's not Murphy's fault, and I know that too.
''Shut up, Murphy,'' I say, but there's no usual vigor in it, no loud anger. I sound almost tired, and I think that's what makes him look back at me. I'm not up on his ass and that's gotta be weird.
''You alright?'' he asks, hands still reaching for a box above him.
''Yeah. Whatever,'' I shake my head, ''I'm gonna go shoot some birds.''
*
I enjoy the calm of tracking and watching, silently listening for prey. But when I hear someone walking up behind me and by every learned survival reflex turn around to shoot, I find Bellamy standing there, hands put up.
''Are you insane?!'' I screech, ''Can't walk into your death quickly enough?!''
''You shouldn't be out here alone,'' he only says.
''Why not?! We're in a truce with the Grounders, aren't we?!''
''You know a lot of things can happen out here, especially when you're alone.''
''Yeah, well, I'll try my luck,'' I shrug the pack on my back into a more comfortable position, before I resume walking ahead, ''You wanna help, keep up.''
He follows, drawing a knife.
We walk in silence for a while, and at times I'm almost able to tune out his presence. Almost. But after a short trek, he's finally tired of it, it seems.
''We need to talk,'' he says, but it sounds so soft I want to punch myself in the chest. I don't stop walking though.
''About what?''
''About this. What we're doing.''
''Hunting?''
He takes a short moment, and I could swear I could hear him huff out a bitter laugh. ''Don't play stupid.''
''Play stupid? I'm not playing stupid. Maybe I am stupid. You know what, that would actually explain a lot of things! Because only someone stupid as hell could allow certain things to happen; only someone seriously dumb as-''
I didn't hear him catch up with me, so it startles me a bit when he grabs my arm, turns me around. He stops my angry rambling with the fierce look in his eyes, hurt and anger mixed together. And I'm glad he stops me, because I was going to utter some pretty terrible things I definitely did not and do not mean.
''Don't do this,'' he says, his hand on my arm firm, his voice low and level, but the look in his eyes almost quivering, ''I know you're angry. But you need to stop.''
''Angry?! Damn right I'm fucking angry!'' I tear my arm away from his grip, ''I'm beyond pissed-''
''Well, I'm feeling pretty fucking angry myself! I'm fucking angry that we have to do any of this in the first place; I'm angry that we haven't been able to live since the day we fucking got here; I'm angry that it's always something trying to fucking kill us; I'm ANGRY THAT WE'VE HAD TO SACRIFICE SO MANY OF OUR OWN TO EVEN GET WHERE WE ARE! I'M PRETTY FUCKING ANGRY-!''
Bellamy doesn't usually yell, or at least not at me. But right now I can see the vein in his neck popping. And I know he's doing the same thing I am. Staying angry so he's not hurt or afraid. A breath hitches in my throat, and it's like he can sense it, it's like that's what makes him stop.
''This is not easy for me,'' he finally says, voice low and quiet again, a meek frown of apology creasing his face, ''None of this has been easy. And fighting with you least of all.''
''It sure as hell doesn't look that way from where I'm standing,'' I say, and even as I'm saying it I know that - Oh my God, I am so not fucking fair at all. I know I'm not. I'm being a bitch and I need to let up.
For a split-second his jaw sets and he opens his mouth like he has something else to say, but then he just lets his knife fall and clatter to the ground and he pushes me back against a tree, pressing me with his body, his mouth latching onto mine. One of his hands is on my neck, in my hair, and I can feel my blood swooshing to the top of my skull, my skin so hot it's electrifying. His other hand pushes up under my shirt. My hands snake around his neck instinctively, and I'm having trouble breathing. The weight and warmth of his body, the feel of his lips, his tongue sliding against mine, his calloused hands against my skin, even his very scent - it makes my blood roar and I can't hear my own thoughts. His hand glides over my waist and ribs up until he cups a breast, the sensation of his calloused fingers grazing over the rim of my bra making me moan involuntarily. I am nothing but electrifying sensation, every nerve under my skin lit up.
But this is different. I know it as it's happening. The squeeze of his hands, the little whimpers I can barely catch - this is more than love or desire. This is pain. He's hurting. And the realization makes me pull away, the loss of him on me almost making me feel cold and exposed.
''Bellamy, wait,'' I say.
He's still breathing heavily as he steps back, his eyes finally showing the brokenness. My heart breaks at the sight.
''This isn't the way,'' I say. Unfortunately, it's the truth. It won't fix anything.
''I can't leave like this,'' he says as he steps back, but it sounds like a sigh, like he's tired and resigned and heartbroken and needs this fixed before he can do anything else. And I decide to make a sacrifice.
''You won't,'' I say determinedly, stepping up to him and taking his hand and interlacing our fingers, though somewhere deep withing me, I still want to cry, ''Come on. Let's talk.''