THE 100 IMAGINES

[ZM] Poisoned Dagger.

     Wild and unruly commotion by the gates of the camp had caught not only many of the other delinquents' attention but also Monroe's. After setting one of the gun clips—that she had been loading up with the bullets that Raven had finished with—down, she followed closely behind Finn, who had been helping her, to the front of the crowd. Monroe could feel her heart rate pick up with each step, her chest felt tight, and an uneasy feeling washed over her that made her want to throw up. It wasn't until she caught sight of one of the girl's, who had been in your hunting group, that fear had settled in. It couldn't have been you, she thought almost instantly. That same thought kept echoing louder and louder in her head the more that the crowd had stepped back and allowed for your group to enter the camp with more space. But, there you were, with your head lulling to the side, and blood staining the right-hand side of your shirt as two of the boys helped drag you in, with your arms hanging limply over the shoulders, both of the boys gripping onto your wrists to stop your arms from slipping off their shoulders and you, ultimately, dropping to the damp mud.

     Finn held Monroe back by the arms as your stumbling, barely conscious, body was directed passed them and up the ramp and into the dropship where Clarke had been. A lump formed in her throat, one she tried to swallow back down. A few of the delinquents asked the other girl what had happened, but she appeared to be in shock, stuttering out that they 'didn't see them coming', that 'they came out of nowhere' and that 'there was so many of them'. Monroe, painfully, tore her gaze away from the material that hung down at the entrance of the dropship, that prevented her from seeing you, and, instead, directed it towards the girl. They made eye contact. The girl had already started crying silently, while Monroe's eyes had only just begun to sting as they welled up with unshed tears. The girl shook her head, mouthing an 'I'm sorry' to Monroe before she pushed passed the crowd of delinquents, with her hand covering her mouth, and her body shaking with quiet sobs—from both fear and sadness.

     The material from the dropship entrance rustled as the two boys, who helped you inside, had walked back out and down the ramp. One of the boys had bloodied hands, and the left-hand side of their shirt was stained red, while the other looked pale, like he wanted to throw up. Monroe, being sick and tired of the grip that Finn had not released on her arms, had yanked her arms away and made her way up the ramp of the dropship, refusing to make eye contact with either of the boys as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. She couldn't help but aggressively slap the material out of her way as she made her way inside the dropship. Clarke, who had been by your side, and Octavia, who had been pressing a damp cloth to your face, looked up and offered sad smiles. Monroe looked between the two of them before her eyes glanced down at to your, now unconscious, body. A small, pained whining sound had made its way out of her mouth after climbing up from the back of her throat. Her body shook violently as she let out a loud, audible sob before stepping closer to your body.

     "The dagger was poisoned," Clarke spoke calmly and softly, trying to keep Monroe as composed as she could be, while also informing her of the situation.

     "Does that mean—?"

     "We had an antidote from the vials we got from the Grounder," Clarke interrupted Monroe before she could finish her sentence. "We had to use all of it."

     Monroe sniffed loudly, breathing out of her mouth as she looked down at your pale face. There was a thin layer of dirt and sweat that Octavia was cleaning off with the small balled up piece of cloth that she clutched tightly. Octavia looked up at Monroe and asked, "Do you want to take over? I can sort out the bullets instead."

     Monroe nodded silently and took the cloth from Octavia's outstretched hand, and took the spot that Octavia once sat in. "How long? Until we know it worked?" Monroe asked Clarke once Octavia was gone.

     "I'm not sure. Soon, hopefully. There's going to be a big scar..."

     "I don't care about scars." Clarke nodded solemnly and checked the stitches she had given you before she wrapped them up with clean bandages, allowing you to rest for a little while before she would be back to check up on you. Monroe wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, lowering her head down to be closer to yours as she softly placed the wet cloth against your hot skin. She let out a sigh when she watched your chest rise and fall as you breathed, allowing some of the weight that had perched itself onto of her shoulders to lift, although not by much. "I don't care about scars; I just care about you."