"Speak up for the Silent; you may be surprised to discover how badly they need you."
The brightest bolt of lightning her cerulean eyes had ever seen ran across the pitch black sky; her heart started to race. It was an unhealthy sound in her ears but it was the only sound in her ears. She could feel the warm blood on her fingertips and could taste the salty tears that fell from her eyes. How many times could she barely save another person before she reached her breaking point? She recalled Amber and how she convulsed and how she bled and bled. Her heart continued to quicken, pounding in her head as she remembered every step she took to fix her in the drop ship. She memorized every crude stitch and every tug of thread. She sniffled, pulling herself together the best she could.
No one could see her cry.
She faced the sky when she felt the rain hitting her skin, closing her eyes tightly as cold wet drops hit her face and ran down her chin towards her bra. Her mouth fell open as she let the water wash away her sins. Her breathing was ragged while she cleansed herself of her day. She barely heard the sound of someone walking behind her. "Amber's awake." Octavia said quietly, "And Bellamy's looking for you."
Clarke brought her head back to a normal level to face the youngest Blake and frowned, "What does he want?"
"Wrong question."
"I'm not adhering to your chart based off of Bellamy's moods." Clarke sighed, "Fine, Fine. What color is he?"
"Orange." Octavia said in a satisfied tone. Clarke's head went over the color chart Octavia designed for her as a joke. She remembered each comment and each word Octavia put on the page with a charcoal pencil.
Bellamy Blake Color Chart
Red—annoyed, Pissed, Mad. (His usual state.)
Green—happy, proud, feeling like something was accomplished. (Rare as shit.)
Blue—sad, upset, being a baby, actually crying. ()
Orange—Worried, concerned, on the verge of a hissy fit. (As constant as red.)
Purple—Horny. (I'm not going into detail about this.)
Yellow—Drunk or Calm.
"Why is he worried?" Clarke asked with furrowed brows as the rain continued to pour down on them, "If Amber is fine, he has no need to be worried." She looked back up at the sky when the thunder roared across camp. Her mind was trying to manage logic but she was wholly distracted with the storm and the freakin' color chart.
Octavia exhaled, "He's worried about you, idiot."
"Why?" She moved back towards the camp, towards Bellamy because she did not want orange to spike to red. Why the hell was she using the chart, now? She hated the chart. It was childish…but sometimes useful when Bellamy was in rare form. Of course, Octavia was the codex to the entire thing. She, except for the moments when Bellamy made in clear what kind of mood he was in, was the only person that could truly read him.
Octavia frowned, "Probably the same reason you're standing in the middle of the thunderstorm crying." Her voice was soft, "Your color is extremely blue right now."
"I wasn't crying. It's just a little lightning, little thunder." Clarke argued but somehow Octavia always knew what everyone was feeling. It was strange, really, that someone who lived underneath the floor for so long had an eye for detail when it came to emotions. Clarke understood Octavia when it came to Bellamy because Bellamy and Bellamy's mother were all she'd ever been around. She would never comprehend how Octavia extended it onto other people. "Seriously, I'm fine."
"Well, if you're so fine—tell your partner." Octavia said, "He's probably waiting for you in the drop ship." Clarke looked down at her feet. It was the last place she wanted to go at the moment. "I can tell him to meet you in your tent."
"If he really has to…or you could tell him we had a long chat and I'm perfectly fine."
"Say fine one more time and I'll believe you." Octavia said with a small smile. "I want Bellamy to sleep tonight. He's not going to sleep unless he knows that you're not going to crack. He cares about you Clarke. He might have a horrible way of showing it but he cares. Tonight was stressful. Amber almost died. It'd do you good to talk about it."
Clarke shook her head, "I can handle myself."
"Famous last words." Octavia mumbled, "Bellamy has a hard time talking too…maybe you're like the books say on post-traumatic stress."
"It can't be post-traumatic if it's still happening." Clarke said, "Bellamy can handle himself too." The memory of their hallucinogenic moment clouded her head. They didn't seem to be handling it then and she wasn't really confident that they were handling it now. Truth be told, she didn't know how to talk to anyone. Bellamy was right when he said she was privileged but that lifestyle in a small area happened to be extremely lonely. Wells was the only person she could ever talk to and nothing serious ever happened in her life until she was arrested. She imagined Bellamy wasn't the best talker either…
He found his solace in skin.
She found hers in knowledge.
They were on two different spectrums—instinct and brain.
She did not understand how talking could solve any of her problems when there were too many to conquer. "You keep thinking that, Clarke, and watch him snap in front of you. Or better yet, wait until all this pent-up stress makes you explode."
"I won't explode."
"Stubborn."
"You're one to talk about being stubborn." Clarke said, "I'll see you tomorrow. Don't send Bellamy my way."
"Don't tell me what to do." She winked back at Clarke as she walked away and Clarke felt as if Octavia were only stirring the metaphorical pot. She was annoyed, really, that she did not understand the importance of boundaries—especially being someone who had to live a life in secrecy.
She should understand I need my space. Why can't she give me my space?