No Way Out ➵ John Murphy

17 //

SEVENTEEN.
❝ all i know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin ❞
[ MURPHY'S POV ]

"She'll come back. I know she will."

Pike looked at him incredulously as if hen had just uttered the stupidest thing Pike had ever heard. It was quite possible he had.

"She's not coming back," said Indra, firmly. The stern woman glared down at down at him as he was huddled on the floor. "I don't blame her but I do blame you. You Skikru do not know how to maintain proper relationships — now we've lost our only source of food and our only way out of here."

"What did you do to her anyway?" Pike asked him, "I know Layla Evans, she's a sweet girl—loyal to a fault. It would take a lot to turn her against you."

Murphy shut his eyes, picturing the scene—Layla standing desperately at the water's edge, looking at him in pure disappointment. He thought she would have been angry but in that moment he saw nothing but hurt and insecurity. Betrayal. Her expression alone was almost enough to make him jump into the erratic waters below and swim back to shore, just to wipe away the sadness. But he was an idiot and, of course, selfish. So, he stayed on the boat, watching her shrink smaller and smaller until she disappeared from view.

He was hurt when she didn't remember him. But that was bearable, they could talk, they could be themselves and he didn't have to worry about his past mistakes. Now he was wracked with an all-consuming guilt that made him sick to his stomach. This time, he had watched her turn her back on him and he had to be honest—he didn't like the feeling.

"I ditched her," Murphy replied, attempting to keep up his uncaring, monotone attitude. "Left her with Jaha and hitched a ride elsewhere."

You broke my heart. I was in love with you—I would have followed you anywhere!

Murphy punched the wall behind him, his knuckles cracking against the brick, blood seeping through the ripped skin. He didn't care. Love, she had been in love with him. What a odd thing—nobody ever told him they loved him, not since his dad was floated. But it was the past tense that struck him 'I was' meaning no more.

You're a real fucking dick, Murphy.

Another punch. More blood.

The Layla you know doesn't exist.

He went to hit the brick one more time but Indra grabbed his fist, holding it tightly. She gave him a warning look that was almost maternal.

"Don't." She told him. "You're only going to ruin your hand. Lets all clear our heads and create a plan for our escape."

Murphy nodded lamely, embarrassed after being scolded. The cell erupted in conversation but Murphy's voice fell fault. Naturally, he was a leader—full of ideas. But he wasn't in the right headspace, his thoughts were flustered and erratic and he kept shifting his attention over to the stairwell, hopeful Layla would come back down them any moment.

Never happened.

He immersed himself in the conversation when he came to the firm conclusion she was never coming back down those stairs. He had truly fucked up with her, he had to move on and focus on his own survival.

They decided on an ambush tactic. The guards returned with a new prisoner, they unlocked the cell and before they could throw their newest prisoner inside and finish their round of checks, Indra pulled her shackles from the wall, savagely stabbing them all. Most of the prisoners ran off, elated to be free, others such as himself, grabbed the fallen guns and trudged out of the cell. He had to take ALIE down.