we all die anyways x bellamy blake/the 100

1 / dépaysement

why would you let me fall?
i needed you to fly.

song
safe inside
james arthur

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Charlie
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I think my dreams were the worst. A jumbled mess of pain, self doubt, regret. A mess of everything, yet nothing. Designed to break me down. My subconscious telling me how much of a mistake I am. How although I may be perfect at the surface, unflawed, the darkness still spreads throughout my soul.

It's funny how well people can hide themselves. Hell, I was one of those people. The best of the best. No one ever doubted me, who I was. They doubt me now. Now that I have flaws. Now that I don't hide.

That's how I read people so well. How I see under the surface so easily. Hiding who you truly are, gives you a weakness. You risk people finding out the monster that lies below.

Don't hide who you are, don't have weaknesses.

I'm not saying I lack weakness, of course I have some. It's a part of me that reminds me that I'm still human. I just got tired of hiding them. Most of them, anyways.

Some weaknesses, are okay to hide. The ones that allow others to think you aren't strong.

"Prisoner 286, face the wall."

I snap my eyes open. I hadn't been sleeping. Sleep doesn't come easy when that's when your demons thrive. The brightness from the industrial lights blinds me and my head pounds against my skull. I lunge my body up and forward, and push into the blurry bodies that stand in front of my cell door. The fuzzy faces of my guards come into a sharp focus as I'm roughly pushed against the cool concrete of the wall. I eye the taser in the women's pocket and relax my body, letting them restrain me. I don't blame myself either, those taser's sting like a bitch.

"Let me go. I still have three days. This is bullshit." I say, the rough material of the wall scratching my skin.

"Relax, Kane. Hold out your right arm for me." One of the guards states, her tone strained, with a twinge of worry. I slowly extend my right arm to the guard, and I watch in horror as she takes out a wristband and attaches it to my wrist. The sharp needles on the inside press into my skin and shock me.

"Ouch! What the fuck is this?" I yelp, yanking my arm back. The man holding me against the wall releases me and I turn, rubbing the skin around my wrist softly.

"What the hell is going on? This isn't execution protocol." I demand, questioning the two guards. They share a quick look before returning their gaze back to me. The man speaks, his voice nervous and unsteady. He looked small in the guards uniform, almost as if it was falling off of his frame.

"Your father will be here in a few minutes to explain to you what's happening. We need you to change. Please put your used clothes into a pile on your bed."

My eyes drift over to the cot, where a pile of clothes has been set down and neatly folded. Interesting. Prisoners usually get two outfits that you rotate wearing. New clothes weren't a normal thing, especially for someone who had a death sentence. I glance up once more as the guards nod to me, then file out of my cell room, closing the door roughly. The silence quickly fills the room, leaving it as empty and lonely as it was before the guards came in. I've wished for a cellmate, someone to spend my days with. Due to my crimes and family, I wasn't aloud anyone. Instead, it was four grey walls and a pile of books that I hide strategically from the guards.