REBELDE. (the 100)

fourteen: the samaritan

REBELDE.
chapter fourteen: the samaritan
"we never really were friends, so let's not pretend we are."

Rosalie couldn't tell where she was, or how long she'd been on the move, or how close or far away the man was from her. However, all she knew was that her lungs were burning, and between the fear and the adrenaline and the utter exertion she was forcing onto her body, her heart felt as though it might explode.

But if she stopped running, what could she do? She couldn't fight, all she could do was flee. But even so, how long could she do that for?

Her mind was reeling. How far away was she from the camp? What would happen if she did die out here? What if she could find Bellamy's search group; would they save her or would the Grounder kill them all?

It was hard to focus, too hard. She was exhausted and her feet kept stumbling beneath her, knowing that now, at this moment, she had never ran faster. She had never been so afraid.

Between the pitch black of the dense forest and her vision occasionally filling with black dots, it was only getting harder to continue forward.

Before she could register what was happening, her foot caught on, what? She didn't have time to think about it. She fell flat against the ground, her chin barely missing the ground, while it felt every other part of her body stung from the force.

She coughed, the air knocked out of her when her stomach connected to the forest floor, quickly scrambling to get back on her feet.

Her knees burned, scraped, she assumed, and her feet ached more than she thought they could. Each breath she took sounded too loud, like each inhale was a target getting painted on her back, and every exhale a desperate cry for help.

She prepared to be knocked to the ground, killed by her pursuer. However, as her eyes scanned the inky black darkness, so dark that everything only looked like a shadow, the dark side of the moon, she saw nothing. She saw no one, heard not a thing except for her own erratic breaths.

Rosalie scanned around her, blinking rapidly as she desperately tried to distinguish what were trees and what was him.

However, the darkness stayed the darkness, and nothing else. Where did he go? Why did he let her go?

Regardless, Rosalie took advantage of the break. She walked, alert the entire time, her fists clenching when she heard any sounds in the distance, and unclenching them when she realized it was the sounds of the forest; or maybe she was too tired to care of any other threat. She attempted to walk back towards the camp, but she was going by sheer luck. She thought that tricking herself into thinking she was going in the right direction felt better than admitting to herself that she was lost, and potentially being hunted down.

Her feet hurt, her eyes burned from lack of sleep and the dirt that had found its way into them from her falls, every time she took a breath she could feel the ache in her chest, and she was terrified.

Part of her wanted to be back at camp, looking for flowers to put at Wells' grave like she did sometimes before she went to bed. Part of her wanted to be with Bellamy and his group, looking for Octavia, and at the very least, not being alone out here. However, most of her wanted to rest, to sleep. She couldn't make the first two options happen, but sleep? She could definitely do that.