THE FREE FALL ⇘ Bellamy Blake. [1]

| iv. NOBODY'S DAUGHTER

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CHAPTER FOUR:

NOBODY'S DAUGHTER.

[ content warning: brief mention of s/a ]

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         A CRIMSON haze crept behind the dropship as the sun bid the Earth farewell. Hours had slipped away unnoticed since the group's departure for Mount Weather, leaving the campground buzzing with activity and commotion in their wake. Freedom was a joy the deliquents felt down to their very cells, and they intended to savor it with every precious minute they had.

         Haven had other plans.

        She'd dedicated a significant portion of her time scouting the perimeter of camp on her own, partly because she couldn't stop staring at the flowers blossoming to life around them, and partly because she needed to avoid anything and everything that had to do with Bellamy Blake.

        Haven's stomach churned at the memory of him vanishing wordlessly into the crowd, his lone silhouette swallowed by the bodies of deliquents in a blink. He hadn't said a word, hadn't so much as breathed in her direction as she stood beside him. All of their unspoken thoughts were left abandoned in the air that seperated them, lingering like stars yearning to be born in the vastness of outerspace.

        Fucking whatever. She had refused to stand there and wait for him like some kicked animal. Adrenaline was too high for anybody to think straight, anyways. In a haze, Haven stormed off towards the treeline, suddenly seized by a desperate need to study the radiation-soaked shrubbery to quiet her brain.

        But, alas; her effort was shortlived. Instead, what repeatedly (and unwillingly) interrupted Haven's stroll was the pairs of delinquents sucking face behind tree trunks or intertwined somewhere in the dirt. The first encounter hadn't fazed her, but by the time she stumbled upon the fifth? She was ready to gouge her own eyes out with the next branch in sight. It became painfully clear that they needed privacy down here, some form of shelter from the forthcoming night– and from each other.

        Which brought Haven back to where she stood in the present. She was scouring the dropship in desperate need of supplies: tents, clothes, toiletries, anything that could be of use. Despite inhaling enough dust to trigger an asthma attack, the task served as a welcome distraction. It was good for her.

       For the most part, at least. Haven tried not to think too hard about the two bodies that laid lifeless in the second tier of the dropship. This proved to be a difficult feat, considering she had to maneuver her footsteps around them everytime she needed to access the ladder. She didn't even know their names, yet there she was, draping a torn sheet over their bodies in a somber attempt to offer some fucked-up form of respect.