The Slowest Burn - Bellarke

I need you

*If those sad longing glances had actually been acted upon*

Bellamy Blake had a gun trained on him. He'd almost forgotten how he ended up here. How he'd ended up on the ground, looking up at a man that could so easily end his life. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. If he closed his eyes and let himself be shot. He could see his mom again. He wasn't sure if there was an afterlife, but he prayed for one right now.

"Nothing personal." The man above him joked, cocking his gun.

Bellamy reached for the gun beside him and loaded it, but as he turned to point it at his assailant it evaporated in his hands.

He must have hit is head, because there was no logical explanation for this.

The man looked at him confusedly before clamming up. Clarke's voice rang through the air.

"Put it down." She demanded.

"Shoulda stayed down there Clarke. I tried not to kill you, but Shemway said, no witnesses." The man explained, his gun now trained on Clarke.

Bellamy felt his heart race. Sure she had hated him. But he didn't want to see Clarke dead.

"What is he talking about?" She asked, confusion lacing her voice.

"Shemway set it up. He gave me the gun to shoot the Chancellor." Bellamy admitted.

God it had been plaguing him for so long. He was glad it was out now.

"Walk away Clarke, and I won't kill you." The man said.

Bellamy wanted to yell at her. Take his advice, run, everyone who tries to protect me ends up dead.

"Put it down." She repeated. Bellamy noted her courage. It was admirable, but stupid.

"Your choice." The man said, raising his gun.

Before Bellamy could think he was in the air, flying toward the man.

No way he'd hurt her.

"No!" He shouted, tackling the man to the ground.

She was too good to die here. He on the other hand was not.

A flurry of punches followed, each making Bellamy lighter in the head.

They scrambled for the gun, each desperate to kill one another.

Clarke was scarce. She'd run. Thank God.

The butt of the gun rammed into Bellamy's face. He could feel the blood, but not the pain.

He felt anger. Writhing anger. This man, and in extension Shemway, had ruined him, made him into a monster, something to be feared, not loved.

No one would ever love him. He would die alone.

"Get the hell off him!" He heard Clarke voice in the midst of the struggle.

Damn it!

He thought.

Is she really dumb enough to care whether I live or die?