Love And War

What are "Feelings"???

Clarke's head pounded, like a bat was constantly being swung against her fore head.

Groaning, Clarke peeked her eyes open, not able to focus on her surroundings. Everything was blurry, like she was attempting to see underwater.
Clarke had no idea how long shed been in this small metal room, hanging by her hands.

Days? Weeks?

Once Clarke awoke, she started to struggle against her restraints, like she did Everytime she awoke, however only causing more rope burn and cuts into her wrist.

Grunting, Clarke tried lifting her feet up, which only sent a large amount of pain to her abdomen.

"Shit!" She huffed under her breath.

Sweat dripped down Clarke's face with concentration, she knew there was no possible way to get out, but she had to try.

Clarke's attention snapped to the only exit and entrance to this hell cell, a giant metal door with numerous locks, as she heard the large clank of it opening.

She struggled more as the a grinning Emerson entered, dragging a metal cart creaking behind him.

"Glad your awake little soldier," Emerson beamed.
"GO TO HELL!" Clarke spat.

"I see we have more energy today," Emerson stated with his back turned to Clarke.

"I will not give you any of the information your asking for, so you might as well kill me!"

Clarke's heart stopped as Emerson made something clatter on the cart, and he walked towards Clarke.

Grasping her jaw harshly, he whispered into her ear.

"Not yet Princess." He threw her head sideways, and returned to the cart.

Clarke attempted to throw herself around, attempting to loosen the skin tight rope bindings.
As Emerson Turned around, Clarke stopped struggling, and started to tear.

"No..." Clarke whispered as Emerson approached with that all too familiar photo, and knife in hand.
"Who is it little soldier?" Emerson cocked his head, looking like a boy with a new toy at his knife.

"No!" Clarke narrowed her eyes, loosing her grip and starting to plead.

Clarke avoided looking at the photo that had been placed before her for the past god knew how long.
Emerson, loosing patience grabbed Clarke by her hair and forced her eyes on the image.

"PLEASE!" Clarke cried, getting no positive sign of sympathy from Emerson.

Emerson grabbed the knife tightly and starting to graze it's blade across Clarke's chest.

"Who. Is. The. Commander?" Emerson gritted through his teeth.

Clarke gulped and looked down at the image.

It was a photo of Lexa's squad, lexa leaning against an armored vehicle smiling and talking with another soldier.
Clarke knew EXACTLY who the Commander was, she could just point her out and this would all be over....

But she wasn't going to.

Clarke's silence upset Emerson as he started to take the knife away, only then to plunge it into the side of her stomach.

Clarke yelled out painfully, tears rolling down her face.
"I DONT KNOW!" She cried again.

Emerson twisted the knife which caused Clarke to gasp for air.

"Oh this won't kill you Princess," Emerson smirked
"It'll only hurt you, really, REALLY, bad."

Clarke felt the copper taste of blood Form on her tongue.