The 100 short stories

Tortured

Based entirely off this prompt:
Bellamy and Clarke in a situation where they're forced to watch each other get tortured. They are chained up opposite each other with no way to escape and so they start torturing Clarke and Bellamy is thrashing and doing whatever he can to get out and stop them while shouting to not touch her and then he says something to anger them purposefully so they stop hurting Clarke and turn to him instead. Clarke realizes this and starts screaming at them to stop hurting him as tears roll down her face.

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I didn't see them come up behind me. One minute I was focused on Clarke, the next we were being ambushed. They covered my head with a bag, Clarke screamed beside me. Hands grabbed my wrists, and I passed out before I realized what was happening. I didn't scream, I didn't fight. The last thing I thought of was Clarke. I only hoped that she had run.

They chained me up against the far wall, my hands shackled together above my head. They pulled the bag off my head and I saw her across from me. Her face dirty, her blonde hair sticking up. Her own hands shackled above her head. I yanked at my chains, one of the men laughing at my useless attempts to get out of the restraints.

"Clarke," my voice was hoarse, our cell empty. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked at me, "you should've ran."

She shook her head, "no. I couldn't leave you."

Always so stubborn this one. I let out an annoyed breath, shaking my cuffs hard. The knots were hard, I wasn't getting out of them. I wasn't going anywhere. Clarke was fidgeting, her wrists were bright red.

"So princess," my voice was hard, "got a plan?"

She but down on her lip, her hands stilled. She shook her head slowly, "no. Who took us? The grounders wouldn't do this."

I sighed, "I've got no idea."

This wasn't the grounders doing. We weren't in their camp, this wasn't mount weather either. We were on a new playing field, there was someone else who wanted us dead.

My eyes met Clarke's, my mouth opened ready to tell her what I'd been hiding for so long now. Before I could do that, the door opened. Three men walked in, their faces covered with leather hides. They were stocky, reminding me of Lincoln and the other grounders. Their eyes were black. They looked soulless.

The leader, I assumed he was the leader by his massive headgear, walked over to Clarke. He stood in front of her, his mouth turned up in a smile. He ran his hand down her cheek, I could see the disgust in her eyes. She winced, his other hand touching her stomach.

"This one will be good for the offering," his voice was deep. Someone handed him a knife and he looked back to Clarke, "tell me about your people."

There were tears in her eyes, "go to hell."

He didn't flinch as she spit in his face. He didn't waste anytime. First he slapped her across the face. The red mark appearing within seconds. She spit at him again, this time it was filled with blood. Then he pointed the blade into her stomach, slicing a line down her side. She bit her lip, trying not to scream. The knife was dull, it was painful I could tell.

"Stop," I growled the word at the men. He didn't stop, he kept slicing. One of his men looked towards me, "please. Just stop."

The guy holding Clarke's leg kept moving it up her thigh. She squirmed against his touch, I wanted to kill him. I wanted to snap his neck between my hands, watch the life leave his eyes. He had no right to touch her like that. She wasn't his, she wasn't mine. She belonged to herself. I felt sick watching him violate her.

He punched her when she thrashed out and kicked his chest. I yelled for them to stop, rattling my cuffs so they would come to me. I wouldn't let them hurt her. I wouldn't let them violate her the way they were. This was my fault, I had taken her out into the woods, far away from the walls. I had to protect her now.