𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 | the 100¹

29 | Goodbyes

"Murphy happened."

‧ ✩ ｡ ✭ ° ☆ ･ _______ ･ ☆ ° ✭ ｡ ✩ ‧

Despite Murphy's restless pacing through the dropship and Bellamy's static voice screaming through the walkie-talkie on the table, Amber somehow falls asleep against the dropship's ladder that Murphy has tied her to. Sleep offers little comfort, trapping her in a cruel, never-ending cycle of Murphy killing her, over and over. Several times she believes herself to be awake only for the nightmare to continue.

At one point though, the Murphy in her dreams is gentle, the same Murphy she kissed. With soft words she can't quite make out, he sits down at her side and cleans the blood from her face.

She desperately tries to cling to the moment, but it doesn't last and soon she begs for mercy as he stands over her again, assault-rifle in hand.

When she finally blinks the sleep away from her sore eyes, it's quiet. Murphy sits on the edge of the war model where several tin figures lie fallen on their sides, tapping his finger in an agitated beat. His face is blank, besides the deep furrow in his brow. A day ago, she might have thought she understood what that furrow meant, but it doesn't matter anymore. It's not her concern. Murphy isn't the person she wanted him to be.

"Stop looking at me like that." He's shifted his eyes on her without turning his head.

She hadn't meant to look at him a certain way, only to observe the person she hadn't seen until now, but if being subject to her gaze bothers him, then she has no problem prolonging it.

"Will you kill me if I don't?" she asks hollowly.

"No." He glances away and mutters under his breath, as if he doesn't actually want her to hear, "I need you alive to get to Bellamy."

She scoffs. He truly never cared. Fine. Instead of pointing out the obvious, she says, "Bellamy doesn't care about me."

"Maybe..." He draws a sharp breath, then finally turns his face fully to her. "But he cares about playing hero, so I don't think that matters."

"So you'll trade me for him," she comments, bitter that this is the reality she is to wake up to. "And when you have Bellamy you'll kill him?"

"I'll kill him."

She shakes her head. Talking to Murphy brings nothing but pain and she doesn't know how much more of it she can take, yet still, she can't help herself. She has to know. The need for answers pulls her into the conversation even if it drains her strength.

"Was this your plan from the beginning? To use me for your revenge?"

"No." His reply is firm. "You weren't part of any plan."

"Then why?" she presses, her voice now a pleading whisper.

"Why what?"

Why did you kiss me? The question twists and churns within her, a gnawing ache that begs for an answer and claws to escape her tight-knit throat. But she lacks the courage to voice it. A part of her still wants to hold on to that one memory a little longer, to keep it in her heart, untouched by reality.

"Why waste your time on me if I wasn't of any use to you?" she hears herself ask instead. Her voice shakes, the true question hiding just underneath. "Why did you let me trust you?"

The question seems to leave him speechless, but he tries to hide his doubts and uncertainty behind a cold mask of indifference. No. He's just indifferent. He isn't who she thought he was, and she'll have to be careful to remember that now.