PICKPOCKET━━━━ bellamy blake.【 editing! 】

Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

"I said something, not someone."

***

Abby Griffin used to tell me that "sleep was the best medicine." I got common colds a lot as a kid, probably from stress is what the doctor used to tell me. She would always take my temperature, crinkle her forehead like it was death-defying, and then telling me to have a nap. She would then launch into a very scientific reason for what sleep does for your cells and stuff like that, I would beg her to stop, promising I would nap. She would laugh, pat my head, and usher me to my quarters.

 I get it now. 

 When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was that my stomach didn't feel like it was trying to eat itself. The second thing I noticed was that I wasn't on the ground. Sometime when I was asleep, someone moved me from the floor, to a free cot. I propped myself up on my elbows, both impressed and relieved by how many people were gone. 

 I swung my legs over the side of the bed, smiling softly to myself. This sickness won't weaken us to the point we could easily be beaten if all we have to do is cough up blood and sleep. 

 The Grounders underestimated us, which was a mistake. 

 "You're looking better." 

 I turned my head, groaning softly when I saw who was laid on the bed in front of me. "I warned you, you just couldn't stay away." 

 Bellamy smirked lightly, although the simple act seemed to drain his energy. Blood smudged against his tanned skin, under and coating his lips. "Can you blame me?"

 "Nah, I'm pretty fabulous." I grinned, and took a note of how sore my throat was. "Thirsty though, damn." 

 "I thought you'd be." A new voice piped up. Clarke smiled softly, two small cups of water in her hands. She was also looking extraordinarily better. She had cleaned the blood from her face, and even seemed to have straightened her hair out. I was both jealous and impressed. She handed me one of the cups, which I immediately threw back, the relief running through my body, energized by the fluids. 

 "Here." Clarke passed over the other one, and I helped Bellamy prop his head up, slowly tipping the water into his mouth.  I grinned, standing up and suddenly feeling like I could run a marathon. 

 "We never did get the chance to take those stitches out." Clarke noted, raking her eyes once over the Drop Ship, making sure there were no patients needing her. "Can I see." 

 I obediently lifted my shirt, pleased to see my stomach wasn't bleeding externally. The wound looked closed, pink, slightly irritated, but fine. I exhaled in relief, and Clarke gave a small little smug grin of satisfaction. 

 (Small Smirk of Satisfaction.)

"Awesome! Just let me sterilize some of those wire-cutters, and you'll be good!" She jumped up, jogging lightly out of sight. 

 "Wait, wire cutters?" 

 Bellamy began to laugh at my dumbfounded expression, "that's something to look forward too."