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° • . ♚ . • °
You groan as you lift another log to lug over to Murphy, who has taken over the building of the wall. Not that he was doing anything, he was just ordering people around instead of doing any physical labor himself.
"Hey, Princess." You sigh, turning around to face none other than Bellamy Blake.
"Yes?" you huff. He smirks.
"Is the log too heavy for you? You seem to be having trouble. Wouldn't want your perfectly manicured hands to get rough," he teases. You drop the log dangerously close to Bellamy's foot and cross your arms.
"Listen here, Blake. In case you haven't noticed, we're on the ground, fighting to stay alive everyday. My hands are certainly the least of my problems. If anyone's hands are manicured, it's yours. I don't see you doing any heavy lifting. All you do is run your big mouth." Everyone has stopped working by now, watching two sexually tense teens argue. Bellamy turns beet red and storms away. You smirk in satisfaction, having finally put the unbearable specimen in his place for now.
° • . ♚ . • °
After the grueling process of carrying logs back and forth across camp for five hours, you can't wait to collapse on the half-assed cot you call a bed. As you shuffle tiredly to the tent you share with Harper, your ears pick up the angry voice of Bellamy. You sneak as quietly as you can to the side of his tent, hoping to listen in for blackmail.
"Honestly, who does she think she is? All she does is run her mouth. God, she's a piece of work. I can't stand her." You press a hand to your mouth to stifle the sobs that are threatening to escape your lips. You try your best to quietly make your way back to your tent, but trip over one of the tent poles.
"Someone's outside," Murphy says. Before the two boys can spot you, you stumble to your feet and run toward the tunnel that leads out of the camp that Octavia showed you in case you ever needed to get away. You run blindly through the forest, branches hitting you in the face much in the same way Bellamy's words had. Sure, he annoys you, tests you, and sometimes makes you question whether you should commit my first murder, but you love him.
Not that anyone knew, and you'd rather die before he found out.
You stop running, finally getting a clear state of mind. You look around, slowly realizing the dangerous situation you're in.
You have no idea where you are. You look around, trying to find any source of familiarity in your surroundings.
Nothing.
"Get it together," you whisper to yourself. You turn toward the direction broken branches appear and start down that path.
After walking for what feels like hours but could only be around fifteen minutes, you hear the voices of the other 97 in the distance. Hope fills your entire being as you relax. You start toward the wall but before you can take another step, a whizzing sound fills the air and a sharp pain penetrates your stomach. You cry out and look down, blood leaving your face, as well as your stomach.
