Mind Games

[Clarke Griffin]

She hoped he was right. She hoped she could survive for him, for them. So they could all heal together. This had done more to them than just the physical wounds. Those would heal. There was no way it wouldn’t. The emotional wounds would be a lot harder to deal with. He had killed one of his friends. He had to watch helplessly as his friends were hurt, while she knew he was protective of them, he wanted to protect everyone in his care as the leader. Clarke could only suspect that his current nurturing side was an extension of this: he wanted to protect her and with that came caring for her wounds. Clarke felt for him. Someone would tend to him, she knew the others worried and they’d be there for him. 

“I’d rather not. I hurt. It’s like my veins are on fire.” But she would try, somehow. Even though she wanted to escape the pain. It was better to try and focus on him in some way. She could watch his body move, his muscles flex, but she still wondered about his well being. Bellamy deserved her cooperating, fully. Which included everything. He wanted her to focus on herself, that included allowing him to care for all of her wounds, right? Clarke didn’t tell him what she wanted to do when she reached behind her to unclasp her bra and take it off. She felt her cheeks warm. It wasn’t exactly every day that one revealed their breasts to a friend, but he wanted to care for her, he wanted her to think of herself: That was how she was doing it: By allowing him to see what they had done to her in that area as well, the cuts and bruises there.

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She spoke of how her veins were on fire, and he hoped that wasn't a pain she would have to endure for much longer. Once Lincoln returned with the remedy, well, Bellamy had to believe that it would work. He wasn't sure what he would do if it didn't. He had to be hopeful. The alternative was unacceptable. When he saw her begin to move, he drew back the cloth for a moment, and noticed her hands move behind her to remove the only remaining upper layer of clothing, revealing her chest region.

He had to admit, he never thought that these would be the circumstances in which he'd see Clarke unclad. Of course he had thought about it. How could he not. She was incredibly gorgeous and he cared for her . . . a lot. To an extent that he wasn't even capable of expressing. But right now, his gaze was casual. It wasn't the time to think of touching her, or wanting to take their intimacy to another level. The markings on her otherwise perfectly formed curves were evidence . . . evidence of what they had done to her. What he had failed in protecting her from. That was what he saw right now. That was all he could focus on. He had been the reason they violated and assaulted her. Every mark, physical and mental, was his fault. He clenched his jaw, the cloth moving over one of her twins, gently cleaning off her upper body.

"I'm sorry," he said in a low voice, though thick with sincerity. He didn't have control of the words, or the defeated tone that they came out in. They had hurt her because of him. Posioned her because of him. And he'd murdered someone that she was close to on top of all that. "I'm so sorry," he added again, breathing out the words. But that was all they were. Words. Mere formation of letters that could not even begin to express how he hated himself for what happened to her. He couldn't even look her in the eyes right now. He was supposed to protect her, especially from this. But no. His uncontrolled reaction had provoked them. He didn't even realize the ever so slight glisten in his eyes that indicated unformed tears, but ones that were threatening to come.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke had to stop him. He apologized and she knew she could not let this go any further. She moved to grab his hands and to hold it. He needed to stop blaming himself. He needed to stop blaming anyone but them. Because it was not his fault. He hadn’t asked to be tortured. He hadn’t asked for any of his friends to be tortured. He hadn’t ask to have Finn killed. He tried, so hard, to protect them all and they knew this. This was why they brought them, wasn’t it? To break the leader. He was the target, with all of it. It was not his fault, he was the victim in it, nothing else. They tortured him, physically and mentally. They could only move on from it, if they stuck together. Her, Jasper and Bellamy were the only ones who knew what went on in there. Clarke would move in front of Raven, because she knew she would flip out once she found out how Finn died. If she could.

“Stop. Please. You need to stop this nonsense. Stop apologizing. You did not want for any of us to be captured. You did not ask to be tortured. You did not ask for us to be tortured. You tried to protect us. You tried to protect them. They tortured you, Bellamy. Everything they did, everything they did to us, they did to hurt you, to hurt us. But our people need you. You saved them. You held on, you were strong enough to endure. You protected them. You protected us. Without you this entire camp could have been dead now. This was them. Blame them. Blame those who did this to us, not yourself. Because you tried to stop it. You didn’t want it. And Bellamy…” She tried to look into his eyes. “I know you would have given your life to protect us. Stop blaming yourself please.” She knew it would be a long time before he actually could. Clarke was just about to open her mouth again, when the door opened. All she saw was Grounder clothing. It sent a jolt of pure panic through her. She instantly forgot she was safe again. Clarke scooted back from the Grounder. “No. Please. No. Leave us alone. Please.”

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

She stopped him physically before doing so with her words. She told him not to apologize, pointing out that he didn't ask for any of this. It was true, he didn't. And it was true, he had tried to protect them. But he had failed. He couldn't focus on the effort when the result reminded him of his failure. It was just like what happened with his mother and sister. He had tried. But he had failed. And that was all he could think of. Finn's death. The trauma that Clarke and Jasper would be faced with.

And of course . . . the poison. So much that he should feel guilty for, yet she was justifying it for him. He didn't deserve that. Nor did he want to argue it. All he could do was apologize, never easing his mind with this burden that now weighted his heart and soul. Bellamy parted his lips to say something -- anything -- but then the door flung open and Lincoln was standing there. Clarke reacted in an understandable way considering the trauma and torture she had endured.

"It's ok, Clarke," he assured her, covering her with the fabrics of her clothes so that her body was concealed. "No one's going to hurt you." Not anymore. Though he knew it was a little too late for that. It had already happened . . . and his reaction, had made it worse for her. He turned his head to look at Lincoln. "Did you get it?" Bellamy questioned, an underlying tone of desperation. "Not quite." Bellamy shot up on his feet. "What the hell are you talking about?" Bellamy demanded. "It's not that simple," he elaborated. Of course it wasn't. It never was.

[Clarke Griffin]

Clarke knew a lot of her fear was a result of the poison, as well as what she had been through. There was no way her mind could yet fully deal with it, as in a way the traumatic experience was still ongoing, even though she felt much more at peace, much more comfortable around Bellamy and the other delinquents. They had no reason to hurt her, especially not Bellamy. As such she trusted him full when he said it was okay and nobody would hurt her. She trusted him, even as the Grounder – Lincoln – explained the problem to Bellamy.

Clarke felt like she was floating while being pulled under water at the same time, as Lincoln spoke about how there were two poisons with essentially the same symptoms and how giving her the wrong antidote would kill her. It would be a fight anyway. Clarke kept staring at Bellamy at that. She had to try. Even if the wrong antidote was administered, the chances of survival were higher like that. It wasn’t necessarily fuelled by her will to live for herself, but she didn’t want him to suffer any further. He was a good man. He’d suffer, he already did. If her life meant he’d have a bit less weight on his shoulder, she wanted to live, she would live. 

“Just give me which antidote you think it could be. Or let me chose.” That was it would be her own fault, right? That was her choice would be the right or wrong one, not theirs. Would it stop them from feeling guilty? Clarke couldn’t tell, she was in too much pain to even consider telling, but she knew it would maybe lessen their guilt just this small bit. 

Bellamy Blake

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Clarke Griffin

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

He didn't like the sound of this. Not one bit. One would save her, the other would kill her. He wished he could taste each one and determine it for himself . . . but it wouldn't work. His body wasn't the one that had the poison, and there was no time to give it to him and allow him to be the test subject. Besides, the fact that they didn't know what poison it was, was part of the problem. "There has to be a way to test it," Bellamy stated, but even he knew the answer before he had asked it.

If there was a way, Lincoln would have told them. He would not have looked so somber. Bellamy couldn't lose Clarke. He couldn't let her die because fo this. Because of him. He had already killed Finn. Already allowed too many people to die. Losing her, would destroy him. He turned to look at her when she instructed him to give the antidote that he thought it would be . . . or to let her choose. He could never make this decision. But then, how could he let her make it as well?

The risk was too great. Two extremes, one resulting in potential devastation. He felt powerless. And he hated that. This was out of his control. Or was it? What if he could get the poison? What if he could use his body as the test subject so that he could save her. Would there be enough liquid in the vials for that? He looked at Clarke, trying to consider all the possibilities that they had right now. He felt helpless. Defeated even. "How much time do we have?" He asked the others, but was looking at Clarke while posing the inquiry. How much time did they have to decide.

[Clarke Griffin]

She had enough. She had enough of listening to the two of them arguing to what could happen. It was clear. One could save her. Choose the wrong one, she would die. Take none, she would die. It was simple and easy. She had a small chance of survival, so she had to take it. Not even for herself. After everything they have been through, she needed to survive. There was a lot she had to cope with, but Bell had more to cope with. She had to try to not be another death he felt responsible for. He had enough of those already and they were weighing him down. The others needed him, though, more than they could ever need her.

With an annoyed huff, Clarke reached out. She wasn’t strong, due to the poison, but apparently neither of them expected her to do this. The two vials were in her hands. They looked almost identical, there was a nuance or two of a difference between the liquids and that was it, nothing more. It was a difficult decision, she could see and appreciate that now. With a shaking hand, she unbottled the one in her right hand and brought it to her lips in a surprisingly smooth move. Before either of them stopped her, she swallowed the contents of the bottle. Letting herself collapse once more, Clarke closed her eyes, fighting the burn the liquid left in her throat. It was an immediate thing. There would be more, she knew. She was already feeling bad enough, but what came once the burn settled was probably just the beginning of what would await her. Clarke barely noticed how she started to breath faster until she downright struggled to breath gasping, reaching out blindly as if holding on to something could help her breath. Nothing helped. Instead she felt her chest tighten as if something constricted it. Did she chose the wrong one then?

Bellamy Blake