THE FREE FALL ⇘ Bellamy Blake. [1]

| v. CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND

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CHAPTER FIVE;

CAREFUL WHERE YOU STAND.

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"I THOUGHT I told the both of you to stop being fucking babies!"

Haven didn't get an ounce of sleep last night. Even if she wanted to, she couldn't; there was simply far too much to do. Yet, despite her tireless efforts, it felt like nothing had been accomplished at all. Chaos reigned all around her, the delinquents still riding the high from Bellamy's speech last night.

Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the dirt. Tents, mere skeletons of their intended structures, stood partially assembled, their tarps flapping lazily in the breeze. Laughter and shouting filled the air as makeshift games were played amidst the disarray. Haven swore she could hear the rhythm of a drumline somewhere in the distance, but perhaps her fatigue was triggering hallucinations.

The absolute last thing Haven wanted to do at the crack of dawn was to break up another fight between Wells and Murphy. It had become almost comically predictable at this point. The scene unfolded like a twisted dance routine; Murphy, always the instigator, was busy doing something undeniably fucking stupid. Wells, the voice of reason, never hesitated to call him out. And just as surely as night turned to day, they would find themselves in a tangle of limbs and flashing knives, caught in the same incessant cycle of conflict.

        Least surprisingly of all– Bellamy stood at the center, an almost devilish grin playing at his lips as he surveyed the chaos. His presence alone seemed to ignite the spark that led to these clashes, and it was as though he thrived on the pandemonium of it all. The delinquents around them watched with a mix of amusement and trepidation, for they too knew the script all too well.

        And then there was Haven. She blew out a long breath, a sense of annoyance festering in her blood. They had more important things to do than all of... this. Haven knew, as she had the day before, that if she didn't step in now– the boys would slit each other's throats.

        Their first mistake was their brief moment of hesitation as Haven approached the fray. Her footsteps were deliberate, her keen eyes locking on to Wells first as she quickly assessed the situation. In one hand, he clutched his blade against Murphy's throat, while the other effectively restrained him from behind. Meanwhile, Murphy held a knife of his own in his fingertips, the blade teetering dangerously close to Wells's thigh.

         Wells was no threat; that much was clear. Although Haven was impressed with the way he defended himself leading up to this point– Wells would not kill Murphy. Especially not in front of the onlookers who already harbored enough resentment toward him. Murphy, on the otherhand, would kill anything with a pulse that so much as breathed at him indecently. With his blade inching closer to Wells by the second– Haven knew who her target would be.