𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100

08 | A Good Person

"I've tried, but I can't help anyone."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

Before Amber can gather herself, Murphy pulls her underneath the river's surface and the cold shock of water hits her.

For a second, everything stops. The fierce clouds raging with wind vanish above her head for the murky blackness of the river. The rumble lowers into heavy silence. She lets herself sink deeper, surrendering to the gentle tug of the current.

Then the hand around her arm jerks her upwards and she erupts through the surface with violent coughs. Flailing, her fingers scramble against the hull of the upturned boat as it echoes her panicked breaths back to her, and the fear festers in its shadow. The thick darkness is impenetrable, but she feels Murphy firmly take hold of her shoulders.

"Hey, you're alright." His assertive tone cuts through her panic. "You're alright."

She relaxes under his steady hands, and as her lungs calm from the cold gulps of water, she brushes the wet tangles of hair from her face.

"He's still out there," she says.

The weight of Murphy's hands fall from her shoulders. Of course he already knows Cooper is still out there in the yellow storm, just like she knows deep inside that there's nothing she can do about it. But a part of her still wishes Murphy would tell her that she has a chance to save him.

Murphy remains silent.

Amber curses and slams her hand against the water's surface, droplets spraying into her face. It should be Cooper standing in their place, safe and alive. He wasn't even thirteen.

If only she wasn't so worthless, then perhaps she wouldn't be responsible for his death, responsible for his parents unknowingly losing their only son. If they knew he was dying alone, with not even a stranger to comfort his cries in their place, they'd never forgive her.

She should never have left him to fend for himself. Even Murphy knew better. Being paired with her is what has doomed Cooper to this fate, she's a curse to not only herself but to everyone around her.

"There's nothing we can do," Murphy mutters.

The truth sounds different from his mouth. She knows there's nothing they can do, but at least she cares enough to hate herself for it. She might be worthless and pathetic, but he's heartless and callous, and this makes them both guilty—two different sides of the same horrible coin.

"If you hadn't tried to steal our food, Cooper and I wouldn't have had to split up," she snarls.

"Oh, so you're blaming me now?" Murphy scoffs, free of regret. His voice echoes hollowly against the boat's hull. "I never even wanted your pathetic leaves."

"Then why were you following us?" In a surge of anger, she hurls a wave in his direction.

In the darkness, she has no way of knowing how much of the water actually hit him, but a tense silence follows, long enough for her to start to fear how he will respond. But then she hears him shift, the gentle ripples of his movement rocking her back and forth.

"You think I want to be here?" he mutters. "I only followed you because Bellamy asked me to."

"I guess he's also to blame then," she retorts bitterly.

"What about you?" Murphy asks. The words tie a knot around her heart, squeezes it tight.

"Don't you dare," she growls. It doesn't matter that she can't see him, she knows his smirk well enough at this point. Desperate to rid herself of the image, she pinches and tears at her soft cuticles.