AN: Hello, guys! I have taken about break of about 2 years off of writing FF, and this is my first one back. This will be an extended story, not just a one shot. Rated M for violent/sexual themes.
Bellamy
My head pounded, worn from the long day's work. I stood up slowly from my office desk, stretching my arms high above my head and yawning simultaneously. The office was nearly silent, the only other noise coming from a keyboard across the room.
"Hey, Alex, I'm out for the night," I called over to the man who generated the repeated "click-click". We were the only two still left, being the primary managers for second shift we often had to work late. Alex glanced up at me and nodded, his brown eyes bloodshot.
"Me too, man," He said, raising up out of his seat, "It's been a long day." I nodded in agreement, and looked down to check my watch. 2:28 am. Wonderful. I dreaded the walk back to my apartment. Although it was only a few blocks, a fifteen minute walk at the most, my body was aching from the ten hour shift. Despite the screaming in my feet, I stepped onto the elevator, pressing the 1 button harshly, as if I could convey my exhaustion to the elevator. After a quick ride down, I exited the building and began in the direction of home. The apartment was almost a straight shot if I walked through the back alleys. Typically, during the day, I wouldn't have thought twice. I was slightly over six foot, and due to my many years of weight lifting, I wasn't anything less than fit. The usual back alley druggies wouldn't mess with me, and even if they did, I could take them quite easily. At night, it was different. I wasn't scared, but I tried to be sensible and use caution when navigating the Detroit streets. I could take the longer way, but that would add about five minutes to my time, and my body ached already.
Anxious to get home, I took the first left back into the alley between two tall, long buildings. There was a bar at the other end, tucked away in a corner lit by only a few yellow flood lights. I passed it quickly, rolling my eyes at the sounds of the music and people inside. I had tried to stay away from the party scene, for the most part. I haven't been in a bar or club for five years, since I was a freshman in college. The memories associated with them had been enough to keep me out for a very long time.
Once past the bar, I crossed the street and strolled casually into the next alley. This one was darker, more secluded. There were no street lamps, just two flood lights, and the moon was dimmed by the threatening rain clouds. I flipped on the flashlight on my phone, using it to light my path through the tunnel. The concrete ground was littered with trash, cigarette butts and beer bottles mostly. A few rats scurried away as the beam of light illuminated my path. Making my way down the long stretch, it seemed to come to no end. I shined my flashlight ahead, hoping to see an exit soon, but as I did I stopped dead in my tracks. Peering up ahead, I spotted the body of a woman, crumpled onto the ground, face-first. From the distance I was, she appeared still and lifeless. Battling the internalized voice telling me to turn around and just go the long way, I knew I had to check on the woman, call for an ambulance if necessary. I quickly jogged over to her, trying to quiet the caution I felt deep in the pit of my stomach. I quickly shined my flashlight around the shadows, making sure there was no one else around and that it wasn't some gang trap. After reassuring myself that we were alone, I knelt beside the woman, who was laying in a pool of blood. She was wearing a tiny dress, which at first appeared red. After a second glance, I realized that it was actually ivory, an off-white, but the dress was so drenched with her blood it had a red appearance. Quickly running the flashlight over her body, I noticed a hole on her left shoulder, near the bottom. . A gunshot wound, which most of the blood was coming from. Using one hand to try and put pressure on the hole to stop the bleeding, I took a deep breath and used the other hand to grab the wrist of the girl. I positioned my middle and index on her radial artery, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. I began to feel a sinking feeling deep in my stomach, fearing that I was too late to offer her any help. Despite the first attempt, I tried again, moving my hand from her wrist to her carotid. I waited for what felt like eternity, when eventually I felt the slightest pulse. It was incredibly weak, but it was present, and that was all the assurance I needed.
I grabbed at my phone quickly, my hand already somewhat blood-stained. Almost immediately after I pressed the call button, the 911 operator answered. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, I explained the situation and gave my location, trying to get the words out as fast as possible. As I hang up, I dropped the phone beside me and sat back, reaching my hand over the girl. I knew I needed to get her turned to try and secure the exit wound, if there was one. Being as gentle as possible, I slowly flipped her body over. Once she was settled on her back, I searched her chest and stomach for the exit wound, only to come realize there wasn't one. I cursed under my breath, feeling helpless. I looked up to the girls face, hoping for some type of indication she would be able to pull through, some reassurance that I wasn't wasting my time. As I did so, I felt my heart stop, my stomach lurch into a nauseated state, my head begin to feel light.
"Clarke…?" I whispered, my eyes wide and my face draining of color. A million emotions rushed to me at one time- fear, anger, sadness. My heart began to pound and my hands shake. It had been almost five years since I had last seen this girl, spoke to her. I remember the last time we were together, the nasty fight we had. I took a sharp breath, guilt and regret washing over me like her blood that continued to vigorously pump into my hands.
"Get out! Go! I never want to see your fucking face again. Leave, Clarke! Just go, damn it!"
And so she did. I went years without seeing her, although I often longed to. Years of regret and unsettled emotion began to bubble up inside of me, making my stomach clench even more so than before. I brushed a strand of golden blond hair out of her face, exposing a broken girl. Clarke was fighting for air through a busted lip, her eye swollen, shades of purple and blue. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. I remembered her as strong. When we parted, her spirit was fierce and her soul like fire. What had to happen for such a fighter to end up here, like this?
"Stay with me, Clarke, okay?" I whispered, taking her hand. I couldn't quite explain why I suddenly felt such a responsibility for her. Maybe it was just my nature to care for her, no matter how long it had been. Maybe it was how vividly I remembered her, remembered everything- her smile, her laugh, her lips that used to drive me mad. My breathing became almost as shallow as hers, my vision blurred by memories. The girl who betrayed me, who I intentionally avoided for the last five years, lay broken in an alley way, and I was the one to find her. This couldn't really be happening, right?
My reminiscing was quickly disrupted by the sound of sirens and an ambulance slamming on its breaks in front of the alley. I breathed a sigh of relief, waving my arm in the air to try and alert the paramedics quicker. In the state she was in, I knew time was precious. I watched intently as they hurriedly unloaded the stretcher, quickly bringing it down through the alley.
"Move, move, move!" One of the paramedics, a man looking to be in his early forties, barked at me, pushing me back and taking my place at her side. I abruptly stood, backing away from them. I was still in shock and my head still hurt like a bitch. I watched as they worked, strapping Clarke onto the stretcher while also taking vitals and starting an IV. They attempted to secure the wound and stop the bleeding. I felt slightly encouraged that maybe I had done the right thing. Maybe she would pull through this.
"She needs blood, now. Let's get her in." The other paramedic said, an African-American man who appeared to be younger than the woman. He spoke with a powerful voice, but somehow seemed smaller than he actually was. The two loaded Clarke into the back with speed. The woman remained with her, while the man hopped out and went to secure the doors.
"Wait," I called, grabbing my phone from the asphalt and running up to them. "I want to go, too."
"Do you know this girl?" The man asked, seeming confused and now somewhat annoyed that I was wasting time. I nodded in response, taking a deep breath, praying to some god that they would allow me to come. The man seemed unsure, not speaking.
"I'm an," I paused, looking for the right word, "old friend." The man nodded, walking around to the cab and opening the door.
"Hurry and get in."
I jumped quickly into the passenger side, my heart racing. It was a very short distance to the trauma center, which everyone was thankful for. During the ride, the paramedic asked me basic information. Her name, medical history, age. Once we arrived, I was instructed to wait outside in the waiting area. Having nothing to do but stir in my own thoughts, I dialed Octavia's number. Her and Clarke used to be close friends, maybe they still are. After the argument I requested that Octavia not even mention her name around me.
"Hello?" My little sister's voice echoed into the phone. She sounded like she had been sleeping, which she probably had. I had forgotten what time it was.
"Hey, O," I said with relief, calming for the first time since I found her.
"Bell? What's wrong? It's after three in the morning."
"Do you still talk to Clarke?" I questioned, completely skipping over hers. I didn't mean to be rude, but I honestly didn't know how to answer it. I didn't know what was wrong, really, other than I shouldn't be so worried over a girl who hasn't been there, a girl who I shoved out of my life. Or rather, who shoved me out of her's.
"Wha… why? It's been how many years, Bellamy? But, no. Not anymore," Octavia sounded confused. She spoke slowly, and I heard her yawn through her words. Guilt panged at my stomach for waking her, but I knew that this was more important than her sleep.
"She got shot." I replied, quite bluntly.
"What? How do you know?"
"I'm at the hospital," I explained, sitting down in one of the waiting room chairs. It was extremely uncomfortable and poked at my back sharply. "I found her."
"Oh my God," Octavia exclaimed, sounding much more awake than before. I heard Lincoln mutter something indecipherable in the background, followed by Octavia shushing him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, O. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know how to get in touch with her mom would you?" I asked, hoping she knew the answer. I planned only to stay until someone who she was close to could come. I wasn't sure why I was staying at all, to be honest, but I felt like it was my duty to. I wasn't going to abandon her like before.
"Bell, her mom's dead. She died last year, that's part of why we don't talk anymore. She doesn't have any living family left, but she did have a boyfriend."
"Well damn," I said, sighing. Clarke's dad had died when she was little, and Abby and she used to be very close. Abby never like me or Octavia. She said she thought we were reckless and irresponsible. I always thought it was because we weren't rich. She never liked Clarke's friends that were less well off. "Do you know how to get in touch with her boyfriend?"
"No. But, why are you still at the hospital? I thought both of you had moved on from the ab-"
"Don't say it." I snapped at her, cutting her off. I didn't need a reminder of what happened. Partly because even after all these years, it still hurt. Partially because I didn't want to get angry and leave her here alone.
"Obviously you haven't moved on," Octavia groaned. I could picture her rolling her eyes. "Look, Bell, she has changed a lot since you last knew her. Her boyfriend… well, he's trouble, okay? So don't get involved with her. She's not the sweet girl you used to know. I'd advise you to just leave now."
"Sure, I…I've got to go," I hung up the phone and sucked in a deep breath, still annoyed at Octavia for the earlier comment and dismissing her previous one. Clarke wasn't ever really sweet to me. She wasn't mean, but she was independent and free-willed. She didn't show affection often. Maybe that was just because we were never really together. She was a close friend, and something much more than that near the end. I don't believe that she could be as bad as Octavia says. Everyone changes. It's been years. Last I heard, Clarke was enrolled in an amazing Pre-Med program. I'm sure the demand of that changes things.
I waited for what seemed like eternity, trying to stay out of my head. The longer I waited and the more I tried, the more my emotions conflicted. I felt angry, then sad, then worried, then just tired. I finally closed my eyes, hoping to get some sleep before I was abruptly stirred.
"Sir!" I turned around, to see a short, chubby man in a white lab coat walking towards me. "Are you here with Clarke Griffin?" He asked. I replied with a nod as he continued speaking, "I'm Dr. Pausi. Would you mind stepping back here with me?" I followed him through the large, swinging doors and into a plain, white-walled room. In the room there was a counter full of medical supplies and a bed, in which Clarke laid, still unconscious. I glanced up at the monitors and smiled slightly. She seemed stable, her heart rate beeped rhythmically on the machine, drawing lines as it went. I looked to her left where an IV bag full of blood dripped into her arm.
"She's stable," Dr. Pausi said, noticing me looking at the screens. "She's lucky. She's expected to make a recovery, but she lost about 42% of the blood in her body. Typically, we put the upper limit at 40%. How she stabilized so fast is beyond our comprehension. After examining the x-rays and imaging, we have decided that the best option would be to leave the bullet in. It's about an inch and a half away from her heart. Our team feels as if removing it would be more dangerous than to leave it as is," He explained. I nodded, glancing over at Clarke. She seemed peaceful. Dr. Pausi drew my attention back as he spoke up again. "But, ahem, something came up in the routine screening. Were you aware that Ms. Griffin was using illegal substances?"
"Um, No," I shook my head, glancing at her once again. I was shocked. Clarke was never really a risk taker. She drank a few times, but who didn't? The idea of her being on illegal drugs was almost too foreign for comprehension. That wasn't her. It never was. Maybe Octavia was right about things changing. The Clarke I knew never would have done that.
"PCP to be exact," The doctor explained, pulling me back to reality once again. "She may or may not have withdrawal symptoms, depending on how long she has been using. Due to her condition, I believe that she will need to stay about a week. Do you have contact with any family?"
"She doesn't have any left, to my knowledge," I said, shaking my head, feeling a bit of sorrow for her.
"Okay. We will have someone soon move her to a regular room. I'll let you think about it." With that he walked out, shutting the door behind him. His question left me confused. Think about what? I didn't know I had anything to think about. Clarke wasn't my responsibility. I was just there because… well, I still hadn't decided why I was there. I sat down in the chair beside the hospital bed. I looked at her arm, several pin-point pricks lined her skins surface. I shook my head in disproval.
"What are you doing to yourself, Clarke?" I whispered, brushing the hair out of her face once again. As I did so, her face turned towards me. I jumped back, not anticipating her movement. My skin flushed and my heart began pumping hard as I saw Clarke's eyes flutter for a few seconds, then open. They were a familiar soft grey, but had a tired, worn appearance. She blinked a few times, her face twisting in confusion. With a hoarse, quiet voice, she spoke up.
"Bellamy?"
AN: Thanks for reading the first chapter! I hope to have it updated soon.
PS; Reviews make my day (and also make me update faster).