we all die anyways x bellamy blake/the 100

10 / abience

death is only dangerous
to the unloved

song
all i want
kodaline

——————
Charlie
——————

Everyone stares. Who wouldn't? I was covered in red.

The camp was coming to life, multiple teenagers switching shifts or eating. Or staring. No one tries to help as I trudge through camp, stumbling over my own feet. Where was I going?

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know.

Bellamy's tent.

I end up at Bellamy's tent. I don't know why, but I do. I burst through the flap, breathing hard.

"Ew, bitch. Something called knocking." A girl was wrapped upright in Bellamy's arms, shirtless, and giving me a dirty look. Could she not see the red?

So much red.

"Charlie? Holy shit, what happened?" He pushes the girl away, quickly moving over to me. "Tell me."

I swallow. I couldn't. Too much red.

"Seriously?" The girl behind him questions, annoyed. "She probably just killed an animal, you-"

"Out." He snaps, glaring at the girl.

"Buzzkill." She scoffs, giving me another dirty look as she leaves the tent, pulling a shirt on.

Why couldn't she see the red like I did?

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

I couldn't answer. Too much red, it soaked my tank top. I grasp at the material, trying to get the red off. As if it could help.

So much red.

"Okay." He says, voice somewhat more nurturing. "Arms up."

I follow Bellamy's orders, lifting my hands above my head. He takes the bottom of my shirt and pulls it over my head and arms gently, tossing it to the floor. My breathing quickens as he searches his tent for something.

"Put this on." He directs, the grey shirt he first had on when he came down in his hand.

Bellamy helps course the fabric around my body, gentler than I've ever seen him. It smelt of forest, masculine, and sweat.

"Can you tell me now?" He asks, the shirt now fully on.

I swallow, suddenly a little bit calmer.

"Wells is dead."

☁︎︎ ☁︎︎ ☁︎︎

"Stab wound... neck... no, she's not... missed carotid..." I tap my foot impatiently, trying to listen to the conversation outside of me and Octavia's new tent. O looks up to me, squeezing the bloody rag into a bucket of water. She had helped get most of the sticky blood off of me, not saying much. Octavia obviously put her grief about Atom to the side—she hadn't mentioned him, or me killing him.