May We Meet Again

Part 6

== Abby ==

Pretty much everyone is in bed at the camp except for the guards, so I sneak out the back of my quarters, slipping a sack over my shoulder that I had filled with nececities that we would need for tonight. Limping, I make my way to the spot Bellamy and I decided on. He was already there, leaning against the back of the ship, tapping his foot. He sees me, and walks over to help me. My legs are getting better, but they are still hard to manage. We sit down in the damp grass.
"Alright." He says, taking the bag from me and opening it. "What do we do?"
I struggle to put myself in kneeling poition.
"Lay down." I tell him. He listens, and lays down in front of me. I pick up a bottle that I had brought. It looked kind of like somthing you would
fill with poison. He sits up and looks at me with a stressed expression.
"It's not poison. Calm down." I pop off the lid and tuck it into my sweater pocket, then handed the bottle to him.
"Drink." He looks at in disgust.
"What is it?"
"It's a special tonic that I threw together from some medicine and berries." He stares at me, like I just told him it was actually gasoline and it was going to start on fire when he drank it.
"What does it do?" he asks, almost wispering.
"It stops your breathing and slows your heart rate down so much that with out proper medical examination, you will appear to be dead. I will end up doing the examinations, and who ever needs to know what's actually happening will
know."
"It's not actually-"
"No, Bellamy, it's not going to hurt you. It only lasts until I give you the antidote."
I pick up the second vile I brought.
"When she comes back, she'll want to see you, so I'll give this to you a bit before we let her in and the effects of the first tonic will ware off within an hour." I explain.
"So I'll be like- sleeping?" He asks.
"Yes, in a manner of speaking. It's more like a controllable coma." I answer. He looks again at the bottle, and puts its to his lips.
"Bon appetite." He mutters, and then drinks it down. He swallows the last bit, and makes a disgusted expression. But then he drops the bottle and it plops down in the grass, and falls out of sitting position, his head hitting the ground with a thud. The expression on his face is a mix of terror and confusion, then his eyes roll back into his head. His face relaxes, and his eyes close. I put my finger beneath his nose, careful not to touch him. No breath. I get to work, I pull on gloves to cover fingerprints, and take a knife out of my waist band. I make a small incision in both of his fore arms. After letting the blood seep out a bit, I let it soak into my gloves and then I rub it onto his neck, the rest of his forearms, dot some on his chin and lower face. I then swab up the blood from the two cuts and stop the bleeding as much as it needed to stop the rest of the way on its own. I then rub some blood on the tip of the blade, and place it into his unfolded palm, curling his limp fingers over the handle. I collect the bottle from the ground and tuck the antidote into my pocket. I take off the gloves, and before I struggle to my feet and limp out to the fire still burning in the central part of the camp, crushing the empty bottle and throwing its remains into the fire along with the gloves, hiding the evidence, I stroked the side of bellamys face gently, and then used my fingers to curl his lips up slightly into a faint smile, for the final touch, making the idea of his 'suicide' all the more believable, because everyone in this camp knew that Bellamy Blake can't live and be happy in a world with out Clarke Griffin. So everyone would think he would make the ultimate sacrifice so he wouldn't have to.