When Songbirds Fly | Bellamy Blake

Chapter Fifty: Endings and Beginnings

TW// Mention of blood, addiction

—

There are no words.

There is nothing.

Nothing can explain it. Nothing can make up for it. Nothing can ever come close.

I can still feel Bellamy's arms around me, his pounding chest, his warm breath fanning over my bruised neck. My hands grip onto the rough fabric of his sleeve. They still tremble uncontrollably.

Three words swim through the tangle of thoughts. Three words that I need him to hear. Three words that won't fix everything but will make the next few moments just a little more bearable. Three words that I hope will ease at least some of the doubt that I know he feels.

I forgive you.

But the words don't come. I resort to clinging onto him just a little bit tighter instead.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see a corpse being carried out on a stretcher. Pike's corpse. Octavia has finally avenged her lost love.

The body pressed against mine halts its movements. Even the gradually quietening heartbeats seem to hesitate for a split second.

Footsteps thud against the bloodstained tiles, coming to stop so that the tips of a pair of worn leather boots are just in my eyeline. I don't look up when their owner crouches, but I flinch slightly at the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. 'How are you holding up?'

I want so badly to respond to Clarke's question, to look up at the girl that I have known for most of my life. I try to do so, but my face is fixed in its dazed stare, my lips parting just enough for me to breathe with more ease.

'She's gonna need some time,' Bellamy replies after a long and uneasy pause. He hugs me tighter. The tensing of his arm causes my knuckles to brush ever so slightly against my neck. The feeling immediately floods my mind with memories of the past few days and I shut my eyes tightly to stave off the wave of voices and screams and words from a total stranger who knew me better than I want to know myself.

'O-Of course. Just let me know if you need to talk. About anything.'

Silence falls again, apart from the faint groans of the injured that are being guided out of the throne room.

Clarke finally clears her throat. 'Bellamy, I'm so sorry but I need to talk to you.'

'Can't it wait until we're back home? I really don't want to leave her alone at the moment.'

'I'm afraid it can't. Look, Jackson, Miller and Murphy are still here. They'll make sure she's okay. Please?'

He doesn't move for a moment. Then, prying himself out of my grip, his lips edge closer to press a kiss against my forehead. He thinks better of it and simply settles for a whisper in my sensitive ear. 'I'll be back before you even know I'm gone. I promise. Want me to get someone to look you over, check your injuries?'

I don't reply. I don't spare a glance in his direction. I physically can't.

—

'Hey, Birdie.'

There's something about hearing Murphy's voice again, something that brings me both so much comfort and so much pain.

The rustling of fabric and the scuffing of boots on tile warn me that he has taken a seat beside me. I can almost imagine the cocky smile on his face, the "I-told-you-so" glint in his eyes that always seems to be present. There is no trace of it in his voice when he finally speaks once more. 'Had to make sure 'Mori was doing okay, she's still pretty shaken.'