𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100

14 | Hope of Rescue

"I won't let you go. I promise."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

Amber's heart gallops against her throat as she rushes through tickets and bushes to reach Murphy in time before he disappears forever. She shouldn't have left him. There's no reason to fear though, he still stands by the edge of the cliff, a tall shadow with his head cast down. Before she emerges from the blue shadow of the trees, she stops behind a mossy trunk to watch him. The darkness obscures his face, he looks as much an abandoned boy as a vengeful ghost, and for a moment she hesitates.

He snaps his head in her direction, suddenly aware of her presence.

"Who's there?" he orders, but it sounds fragile, desperate. The knife glints in his fist.

It's too late to go back now, she's made her choice. With raised hands, she steps forward and out into the dim moonlight. "It's me."

Surprise flashes across his face, but then his eyes soften with relief. Despite how his mask crumbles at the sight of her, his voice remains cold. "The damsel in distress," he says. "Come to gloat, huh?"

She shakes her head, valiant against his bitter tone. "Is it so hard to believe that I've come to help?"

"What do you mean?" he scoffs.

She bites her lip. In hopes of finding the right words in his red wounds or blue eyes she searches his face, and as painful sympathy stabs into her heart, she steps closer to him. "I'm not leaving you here to die, Murphy. I'm staying."

"Yeah, right." He steps back, dismissing her with a shake of his head. "So, what? You're willing to risk your life just for the opportunity to feel good about yourself? You're many things, but not stupid."

"Do you have to be an asshole even now?" She combs her fingers through her hair in frustration. This is hard enough without his mockery. "You know you won't make it alone. Let me help."

She expects him to snarl something vicious in return, but his response is much more somber. "You'd just slow me down."

A bitter chuckle escapes her.

"I don't think you're in better shape than me right now," she says with a much more mocking tone than she'd intended. After catching herself, she continues more softly, "Has the bleeding stopped?"

He looks at her, as silent as stone, but he will not scare her from finally doing what's right. As she cautiously searches him for signs of a sudden outburst, she dares to approach him slowly, and while his eyes watch her with suspicion, he doesn't move.

When her hand finally grazes his cheek to brush away his tousled hair from his face, his mask breaks and he blinks in uneasy alarm. It's a struggle to keep her focus on the cuts and bruises across his skin when he openly stares at her just a few inches away from her face, but she swallows hard and avoids meeting his eyes. The moonlight is dim, but after examining the wounds for a few seconds, she feels reassured enough to give out a long sigh and take a step back. His bewildered stare stays locked on her, as if her brief touch was a slap to his face. She blinks.

"It looks alright, but it will take time to heal," as she speaks, his eyes finally fall away, "especially out here without the right resources."

"I'll be fine," he mutters, stubbornly turned away.

Amber's patience finally snaps. In an attempt to protect the world from even more hate, she built walls around her heart and trapped herself inside with all the pain and doubt she gathered over the years. Now she has finally found enough hope of being something more to reach beyond her own prison, offering her hand to Murphy. All she asks is for him to take it.