Chapter Forty-Eight

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Chapter Forty-Eight

Bellamy:

Clarke is distant, always visiting me in the med-bay, but never quite looking at my eyes. The last time she came, she had greeted me with a thin smile, and promptly asked whether or not I was feeling any better.

I had contemplated being honest, and saying that I wasn't feeling better. How could I be fine when Clarke can barely stand to look at me? My heart burns at the thought. I am stubborn, and strong, but I am also smart. I knew I shouldn't tell her of my true thoughts.

"I can sit up now," I had told her. I sat up then, drawing a deep breath to help the movement. "I think I'll be cleared in a couple days."

"That's great," Clarke had responded, pursing her lips and looking at her toes. Her eyes were so full of guilt then.

"Hey," I said, reaching out a hand to touch her shoulder. "You good, princess?"

Clarke hummed, and finally met my eyes. She looked so full of pain, so fragile that I was afraid my touch would break her. And then a terrible thought had crossed my mind.

What if I already have?

She had been tortured there. Did she remember that?

There are so many things that could be plaguing her now. I only wish that she would come to me about them. But if she won't come to me, then I'll have to go to her. Slowly, I lift my body off of the table and step onto the floor.

I grunt. I'm not used to supporting my weight.

Slowly, I manage to make it to the edge of the tent. I walk outside, and immediately start to look around for Clarke. Someone makes a noise at my feet, and I look down.

And there is Clarke, curled into a ball and fast asleep. I bend down to her level and put my hand on her shoulder.

Almost immediately, she wakes up and looks at me. "Bel?" She sits up quickly, running her fingers through her hair. She adjusts her gaze, which slowly becomes indifferent.

"What are you doing out here?" I ask. Then realization hits me. The bags under her eyes. "Have you been waiting outside?"

Slowly, Clarke nods, closing her eyes.

"Princess," I manage to whisper, before taking her hand. "Why won't you come in inside? You don't have to wait out here."

"I just..." She begins, trailing off. Clarke looks down at our entwined fingers and wrenches her hand from her grasp, folding it into her lap. "I did this to you."

"Clarke." It's all I say. Normally, it's enough. It's always been enough. But always comes to an end. I suppose today is that end.

She doesn't look at me. She stares at her lap, pressing her hands in between her thighs. She's trying desperately not to move from that position, and it hurts to see her so shaken.

Her hair falls in her face, one tendril at a time, and I wait for her to move. A tear falls down her cheek, but she does nothing. She's waiting for me to leave.

Leave me. I can hear her words as clearly as if she spoke them aloud. Leave me. I'm okay. I'll be fine.

With shaking fingers, I reach out to touch her tear-stained face. I wait for her to recoil, flinching away and leaving me kneeling in the dust with her tears on my fingertips. But Clarke closes her eyes and leans into my contact.

"You're not fine, Clarke," I tell her. It hurts me so much to tell the truth, but in a world full of destruction, the least I can do is try to stop a grenade from blowing. "And I'm not leaving."

At last Clarke unfolds her hand from her lap, and covers mine with hers, holding my palm to her cheek. She meets my eyes with so much sorrow I almost gasp. "Why?"

I somehow manage a smile, and rub my thump along her cheek, wiping away her tears. "You know why."

AN: Ahhhhhh!!!!!!! Anyone else have a bad case of the feels? Are authors allowed to love their chapters so much? I'm sorry if I'm offending...argh.

Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed. Any predictions on what is going to happen with John Murphy's dad? That part of my story isn't done yet!

Be scared.

Get ready for plot twists.

This story isn't done yet!

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