Experiment of Fate ~ A Bellamy Blake story

8 - Fractured Bonds

Isla's eyes fluttered open, the harsh, sterile light above her making her head swim for a moment. The air was thick with the sharp, stinging scent of antiseptic, and the quiet hum of medical machines filled the space, their constant buzz like a distant reminder of everything that had led her here. She inhaled deeply, wincing at the dull throb in her head and the dull ache creeping from her leg. Slowly, she shifted, feeling the weight of the IV taped to her hand, a constant tether to the harsh reality of her situation.

Next to her, Bellamy was asleep in a chair, slumped over in an awkward angle, his broad shoulders drooping. He looked exhausted—his brow furrowed even in sleep, his hand resting on the edge of her bed as if he'd been holding hers for hours before finally drifting off. The sight of him, still and vulnerable, stirred something deep inside her. Despite everything—everything they'd been through, the chaos that seemed to follow them like a shadow—his protective nature never faltered. It was a reminder of how he always put her first, even when the world seemed to be crumbling around them. That thought made her heart ache, but in the best way.

As she stretched, trying to shake off the stiffness in her body, Bellamy stirred. A deep sigh escaped his lips as his eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep. When he saw her looking at him, his tired gaze softened, his expression a mix of relief and tenderness.

"Hey," he rasped, voice thick with sleep, but with a warmth that made her smile.

"Hi," she replied quietly, her lips curling into a soft grin. "How was your rest?"

Bellamy chuckled under his breath, running a hand through his messy hair, the gesture so familiar it almost made her forget where they were. "You just got stabbed, and you're asking me how I slept?" His voice was laced with irony, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper—something caring.

Isla giggled weakly, shrugging as best as she could from her position, the discomfort in her leg reminding her that she wasn't out of the woods just yet. But it was fleeting, overshadowed by the quiet comfort of Bellamy's presence.

His smile faded, and the concern in his eyes deepened as he studied her face, his brow furrowing in that way it always did when he was worried about her. "How are you feeling?"

Isla glanced down at her leg, wrapped in clean bandages. She sighed softly, not really feeling anything in particular, thanks to the medication running through the IV. "I don't feel much of anything... probably due to whatever is in this thing," she said, gesturing to the needle stuck in her hand.

Bellamy's expression hardened, his gaze shifting as he seemed to take in the full weight of her injuries. "Your mom was worried. She panicked when I brought you in."

Isla's stomach turned at the mention of Abby. The mere thought of her mother—the woman who had abandoned her—was enough to make her jaw tighten. She'd spent years in the wall, watching her mother disappear from her life and then return only to leave again. Abby Griffin might have been her birth mother, but that was the extent of their connection.

The words were sharp, bitter, but they were true. Bellamy's gaze flickered with the understanding that this conversation wasn't going to be easy. Before he could say anything more, the door to the infirmary swung open, and Abby stepped inside. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, and her face, usually so composed, was twisted in a mixture of worry and something darker—guilt, maybe.

"Isla," Abby's voice was tight, barely controlled, as though she were holding back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. "You could've been seriously hurt!"

The frustration and fear in Abby's tone made Isla's blood boil. But she kept her gaze steady, refusing to flinch, refusing to let the words get to her. Bellamy, sensing the growing tension, stood up from his chair, giving Isla's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll give you two some space," he said, his eyes soft with unspoken reassurance. Then, without another word, he slipped quietly out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.