I know the reunion isn't finished, but a friend of mine passed away recently and I've been in a pretty dark place, I wrote this to let some of those feelings out.
-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke
It's a bright day, the clouds are clearing and despite winters approach the air is crisp but mild.
And that it, he's gone.
She doesn't stop, she's desperate in her attempts, her hands pumping his chest her breathing ragged as she calls the '2,3,4,1,2,3,4' she barely has any air to blow into his lungs. And she's crying, she doesn't even know it but she's crying. But he's gone.
It takes three men and her mother to tear her off him and she's thrashing and screaming, she's cursing earth and heaven and everyone here. When her hands slips from his body and she's disconnected, it's like she feels it then and she let's out a guttural, animalistic cry. Everyone shudders at the sound, it can be heard all around camp and people stop. It's the sound of soulmates being torn about, everyone knew that heart-wrenching sound and it brought tears to their eyes. After all, almost everyone had felt exactly the same at some point in the past few months since the 100 were sent down to earth. The life on earth they imagined didn't exist, it was a living nightmare they were all struggling to survive in.
Eventually after she won't stop fighting, she doesn't know how she keeps going, she is exhausted, they let her go and she runs back to the table where he lays. She's covered in his blood, he's covered in his blood. When she touches his cold skin and she can't shake him awake, she knows it's irrational of course she can't, it still hurts, it's like she snaps.
She storms round the tent and she doesn't even know what she's ranting about, but she's mad. she throws things, she knocks over chairs, she pushes past the people who try to stop her leaving. She breaks through the flaps to the fresh air and it's bright and positive and hopeful and she hates it. She screams and storms round breaking things as she goes. She gets to her tent and she practically turns it upside down. She ruins nearly everything she owns. She swears and pushes those who try to calm her down. She doesn't need their help, she needs him. But he's gone.
When she can't do it anymore, when she's got no anger left she storms back to the room where he's still laid, exactly the same as no one date touch him for fear of her rage. She screams at everyone to get out and she's hyperventilating and her breaths are grunts and she's frenzied and out of control. They're shocked, she's so calm and collected, it's like she's a different person. She needs him, they even each other out, he would know how to calm her.
There is so much blood.
She doesn't care as she falls on his chest, her arms gripping his torso like she could will him alive. But he's gone.
His body is cold and she has sobbed for hours, no one has entered the tent after her rage and she is alone. She takes no comfort in his body, for she can only hear one heartbeat, only hear one set of ragged breathing and it is her own. Tears won't come anymore and she lays as lifeless as him, his blood dried and crusted on her skin, the smell of iron thick in the air.
Eventually she finds the strength to look at his face, as she pulls herself up, her body groaning in protest. He is barely recognisable from the cuts and blood. So she stands, she cannot collapse just yet, and she does what she does best: she cleans his wounds, she wipes away the blood and she attempts to wash the blood from his hair. There is so much blood, she fears everything will be forever tinged red.
When she is done she stands back and stares at his form, lifeless on the pallet. But she just feels hollow and the birds are singing and she hates them, she curses them under her breath and swears they are doing it to spite her. She hesitantly steps forward and places her warm hand against his icy cheek. He looks better now. He looks like he's just fallen asleep, his face is peaceful and calm in a way she'd only seen it a few times. But he's gone.
His eyes are closed and she would give her own life just to see those mischievous hazelnut eyes once more, see the little flecks of gold that she never appreciated enough. His face is so peaceful and she hates it. She want that cocky smirk back, she wants the left side of his mouth to tilt up the tiniest bit and to watch his Eyes shimmer with that arrogant, beautiful, so beautiful, smirk. Though his face is marred with cuts, they are odd, so clean, the bruising not having time to form. He doesn't even look right. She can't even pretend. She had so much to say to him. But he's gone.
She slips her hand into one of his battered, swollen ones and she just stares at him. She sits for the longest time, recalling all the time they shared together.
She remembers how he hated her, the passion that burned in his eyes when he threaten to take her bracelet from her, dead or alive. She remember when she fell into the grounder trap not long after and he caught her arm. The look he had given her would haunt her forever, at first there was fierce determination sparkling in his eyes and she opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, what could she say? And then something changed, a vulnerability overcame his expression and she could see his indecision. Then a new determination lit up those beautiful eyes and he pulled her up. She didn't know what had happened that day, but it would forever serve as a memory that Bellamy Blake was not a monster. Then there was the first time she saw him shirtless, stood, head held high like the king of the land, the girls of his harem flitting about, their form of worship. And the strange feeling it had brewed in her stomach, desire. She had always pushed it down and now she wished she never had. For the longest time she had imagined her hands running over the hard, flat planes of his abdomen, the way they would feel pushed up again her soft skin. The way his olive skin would contrast her own pale complexation. Opposites attract. She would never know, for his skin was fast becoming as pale as her own. The tears came then, she climbed into the pallet and curled against him, waiting for the exhaustion take her to unconsciousness. Her sobs ripped through the silence and she wished she could join him in death. She didn't want to be apart, not for another second, she had wasted so much time.
"I love you, Bellamy Blake." It was a hopeless whisper, she knew he'd never know and it tore her apart further. Eventually she was overcome and everything was black.
-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke-Bellarke
To fill the void she did something very unexpected. She just became him, she took up his routine in the hopes that eventually she would become the perfect balance of him and her. Every morning she went running in his shirt and every breath was his name pounding in her head as her feet pounded the uneven ground. At first it killed her, but eventually she had it down. She would shout now freely at others, she practised her medicine and her rifle in equal parts and every night she lay awake and thought of him. She became a lean, mean machine. She was the first one to storm mount weather. She had become a solider and a leader. Every moment she thought about giving in, she heard him in her head, "princess," in that snide husky voice and she pushed harder. They won. Of course they won, with the grounders at their back it was always going to end this way.
She gathered her 48, she supposed they barely recognised her the looks they threw. But maybe it was because he wasn't at her side.
"I know that look. I told you I would come back for you. I promised Bellamy I would lead and look after you all and I have, even when you turned your backs on me." She gave a few in the crowd poignant looks, Monty, Jasper, Miller.
"Where is Bellamy?" Miller barked confidently, challenging her in a way that would have made Bellamy correct him.
"He's dead." It was the first time she said it out loud and it knocked the breath from her.
Eyes and jaws wide, they saw her falter and it hit them one by one, the realisation.
"I did everything I could." She was crying again and she didn't even feel the tears as she looked in their eyes. She hadn't cried for him since that night.
"I've let you down." She stated the fact that most eyes accused her of.
"But believe me when I say, I have suffered a far greater loss. For he was my co-leader, he was my friend, I have never cared for a person like I cared for Bellamy Blake. He was my soul mate and I have been punished for not saving him, with his absence." She was choking on her words in the end.
She rubbed her wrist where her bracelet had once been connected to her and she saw his face. His stern, undecided look as she hung over the grounder pit, swinging slightly with only his had holding her wrist keeping her from death. and she saw the intense burn once more, the look she had seen that made her realise, all was not what it seemed when it came to their careless leader. It was the image that came to her head the most. It was the turning point for them and it haunted her.
They were silence while she spoke and when she had finished, for a moment, the silence was blaring in everyone's ears, almost deafening. Then they began to break, Jasper and Monty first, running to her and attempting to comfort her.
Then the girls of his harem began crying, cuddling and cowering together. The guards he had trained with such a firm hand next, bowing there heads and placing a hand on their hearts, muttering unheard words. She stared at them and uncertainty filled her, they wouldn't mourn for her like this, the wrong leader had been taken from them.
After moments they looked to her and someone shouted and then they were all cheering for her.
"To Clarke!" was all that had been shouted.
"For Bellamy." She whispered back.