Mortality

♛Treason♛ ***

{ f i v e }

♛ ❦༄

I stretch and open my eyes, looking to my right. Wells isn't there, not that I expect him to be. I roll out of the cot and hit the hard ground. I slip on my jeans and shoes to find Wells. I look down, realizing I'm not wearing a bra. I shrug, continuing toward the center of the camp in search of Wells. I look around, confused at the somber air. Finally, I find Clarke and walk over to her.

"Good morning, Clarke! What's going on here?" She turns around, and I stumble. She's crying. "Oh, my God. Clarke, what's wrong?" I ask, pulling her in for a hug. She cries harder, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"It's, uh, I—" I rub her back soothingly.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to tell me."

"Yes, I do." I pull away and furrow my eyebrows. She's hysterical— can't even get a word out.

"Everlyn?" a voice calls. I turn around and see Bellamy's sad eyes.

"What's going on?" I ask, becoming increasingly panicked.

"Let's go to the dropship, okay?" He puts his hand on the small of my back. I walk with him to the dropship. Once we enter, he moves the tarp to where no one can see it. He then climbs to the second level, and I follow. Once up, I stand there, uncertain and scared of what's going on.

"Bellamy, you're scaring me." His shoulders deflate, and he scratches the back of his neck.

"Um, it was time for the guards to switch, so Miller went to relieve Wells and..." he trails off. My heart pounds as I try to make sense of what he's implying.

"Is Wells injured? Is he okay? I need to see him," I say, moving past Bellamy and down the ladder. Bellamy grabs my upper arm before I can make it out of the dropship, effectively stopping me.

"Wells is... Wells is dead." I stop breathing, staring blankly at Bellamy.

Wells is dead. Wells is dead. Wells is dead.

The three words repeat in my mind like a cursed mantra. Like if I repeat it enough, the words will lose meaning and cease to be true.

"You're lying," I rasp pathetically. He says nothing. "Tell me you're lying!" I beg. Bellamy pulls me to him, holding me tight.

And just like that, my world collapses.

I scream, every inch of me breaking into small pieces. I scream and scream until my throat is raw. My heart is ripped from my chest, my soul shattering beyond repair. The tiny flicker of hope that everything would be okay, that a chance of happiness is possible on the ground, is diminished in three words.

Wells is dead.

The words bounce around in my brain, piercing my skull, burning itself into my memory. My chest caves in, and my throat closes up, making every ragged breath increasingly impossible to take.

All the while, Bellamy holds me, saying nothing— just holding me. His shirt is soaked with my tears, absorbing my heartbroken cries of disbelief, the grief tearing me in half.

Soon, my cries slow. Sometime during my breakdown, Bellamy lowered us to the floor. I sit on his lap as he cradles me.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. I stare at nothing, my body unable to do anything else but gasp for air that just isn't there. I don't know how long we sit there, me falling apart and him holding me together, but I pull away. I stand shakily, and Bellamy helps, keeping his arm around me.