The 99

Chapter Twelve: Bellamy

The girl had fallen quiet, her expression dazed and hollow. It was unsettling to Bellamy, who sat away from her in the storage chamber, sneaking curious glances her way. Bellamy knew she'd found something at Jaha's, which was evident in the paleness of her face, as if all the blood had just been leeched from her cheeks.

"See something you didn't like, Princess?" he asked mockingly, minutes later. He simpered. "You better get used to that feeling. You're not one of the privileged anymore."

Clarke looked at him, and he wasn't prepared for the haunted look he saw in her eyes. "Privileged...Tell me, is it a privilege to see your own father get floated?"

Bellamy faltered. But then he shrugged. So she wasn't a stranger to pain. She'd mourned the loss of someone; had felt their absence as if it had been carved from the heart and for a second, Bellamy was a good enough person to sympathize with her. But then that second was gone and he said, "Most of us have lost someone. I hate to break it to you, but you're nothing special. That's just how it works. For a lot of people."

Clarke smirked, but there was no humor in her features. "How about when you find out it was your own mother who got him executed?" she asked, toying absentmindedly with her wristband. "And that the person you did blame for it, sacrificed everything for you, only to realize that you weren't on the ground with them? And that it had all been for nothing?" she looked at him expectantly. "Is that how it works, too?"

Again, Bellamy felt that surge of empathy. Once, when he was younger, Bellamy had overheard his mother, in a moment of weakness, whisper words of regret about Octavia. Even as an adult now, he still couldn't understand how someone could say such a thing. They were wishes spurred by fear, but that didn't make them right. And that didn't make them anymore welcome in his world.

"Why are you telling me this?" Bellamy finally asked, narrowing his eyes at her. "I thought we agreed not to share anything personal."

"Because it needs to be real," she confessed. "And telling someone makes it real. The only other person who knows besides my mom and now me might be dead. I want someone to know, even if it's someone I don't actually like."

This girl was confusing. Strange, if not a little bewildering, but Bellamy would go along with it. For now. "Fine," he breathed. "I'll humor you. Why do you think your mom did it?"

Clarke peeled her head from the wall she'd been leaning against and met his eyes. "My dad knew something. About the Ark. About everyone. He thought people had the right to know it, but my mom thought it would cause a panic and do more harm than good. Simply put, my dad was executed for wanting to do the right thing."

"Is that why you didn't get on the dropship?"

She pulled her knees up and tucked them beneath her. "I'm my father's daughter. I won't have his death be in vain."

For once, Bellamy could appreciate this.

"Brave Princess," he mumbled. Or perhaps she was just stupid. His tone suddenly turned flat. "This secret of yours...is it really worth dying for?"

Clarke sighed. "Maybe not. If it was just my life on the line. But this is bigger than me and to stand back and let it fall apart, would just make me a coward." Her eyes instantly grew distant, haunted by some ghost he couldn't see. "And my father wouldn't be proud of a coward."

"So what now?" Bellamy asked, switching topics. She clearly didn't want to speak of her dad and he didn't try to push it. Why he suddenly felt respectful of boundaries, he didn't know. Sure, over the last few days, this girl had saved his life. But she'd also pissed him off along the way. He owed her nothing.