Day 2 (Continued)
The group of five had slipped through several miles of trees. With Cheyenne's advice, Bellamy and Murphy had reduced the noise they were making greatly. Every few minutes, a flash of alarm would spring to life in Bellamy's chest as she slipped out of his line of sight. Her silence steps made her a part of the forest and his eyes were not yet trained enough to keep sight of her. Murphy's voice sounded quietly in the forest, muffled slightly by the sounds they were making. Bellamy responded equally as quiet. Cheyenne only heard bits and pieces, but the words "wristband" and "princess" made her eyes zoom in on Clarke's arm. She had noticed the other delinquents having their wristbands removed earlier in the day, but as she did her best to avoid human interaction, there was no curiosity as to why. Hearing Bellamy talk about it made a small tinge of curiosity come to life.
"Hey, hold up! What's the rush?" Bellamy's deep voice boomed through the trees, bringing Cheyenne to a halt before she realized he wasn't talking to her. "You don't survive a spear through the heart." His gun was in his hand as he over took her position and came up on Wells and Clarke.
"Put the gun away, Bellamy," Wells said, stepping in front of the older man. He squared up to both Bellamy and Murphy when the latter shoved his shoulder to move him away.
Cheyenne's steps faltered, bringing her to a stop at Bellamy's elbow. They bickered for a moment while her eyes stayed on the gun. Red crept from his hand on the grip of the gun, dripping into a puddle on the ground. His tanned skin was soaked in the color. Unable to look away, the world around her had faded to gray and panic burst to life in her chest when all she could hear was white noise buzzing in her head. Finn appeared out of nowhere behind her before taking off with Clarke. Wells and Murphy dispersed as well at a nod of Bellamy's head, but she still didn't snap out of her stupor until Bellamy made a move to put the gun back into the waistband of his pants. The sounds of the forest filled the air, greens and browns filtering back into her vision. Her hand pressed hard against her chest as she fought to bring her breathing back under control. The hope of him having not noticed her second lapse of the day was dashed as soon as he turned to look at her.
"Cheyenne, whoa, whoa, slow down." His hands were spread wide as they came at her too quickly, his voice a rumble as he tried to soothe her. A strangled noise erupted from her throat as she backed away from him. The look of terror in her eyes shot straight through his heart. No one had ever looked at him that way before. The fear written on her face felt awful and good and captivating all at the same time. "Hey, hey, hey, I've got you, just breathe."
She would have crashed to the ground had his hands not shot out to grab her upper arms. Even with the support on her upper half, her knees buckled beneath her to bring them both to the ground. Sitting in front of her, Bellamy drew her forward until her hand was splayed on his chest and his steady heartbeat thumped into her hand. He coached her into slow, deliberate breaths as if she were Octavia terrified to slip under the floor. What seemed like an eternity to her was only a few moments for him. They sat under the canopy of trees, her empty green eyes staring back at his too full brown eyes.
"What happened?" Bellamy asked, breaking the silence surrounding them.
Cheyenne tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. Her hands still trembled but her voice was mostly steady when she tried to answer him. "Dr. Griffin said they're panic attacks."
"Do you know what causes them?" Her tenseness at the question was immediate. She didn't want to answer, but after seeing her on the verge of losing it twice that day, there was no way he was letting her out of it. "What is it?" he asked when she finally nodded.
"Sometimes it's PTSD flashbacks. Sometimes it's sensory overload." Her eyes dropped to where her small hand was still over his pectoral muscle. Tan skin invited her eyes to soak him in, now that he was closer and she was no longer stuck in a battle against herself. His mouth moved to ask her another question but she interrupted him by blurting, "It was your gun today. Sometimes it's caused by people touching me."
"That's why you left the fire last night." It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway.
Before they could say anything more, Clarke's voice calling through the trees interrupted them. Cheyenne met his eyes again. Her own held more life than they had minutes ago, bringing a slither of relief to him. The dead look her eyes following the sheer terror that filled them made something he didn't know existed come to life in the space behind his heart. It would break him to see a look like that on Octavia's face. Bellamy pulled them both to their feet, his hand fitting around her small wrist easily. They moved through the bushes quietly. He tried to follow her instructions again with more results now that he was putting forth actual effort. When they broke the tree line, Cheyenne stayed behind him, not wanting anyone to notice any lingering effects of her panic attack. Her eyes were drawn to where Bellamy's hand still held her, watching the red stain on her hands as if it would spread to his as well. It didn't and this caused a tension she was unaware of release in her shoulders.
"We found something," Clarke said. She glanced down at the place where Bellamy and Cheyenne were connected but didn't comment. "This way."
She and Finn led the way down a small embankment where the water was lined with gravel. Pointing out the blood, they followed the disturbance in the rocks with him at the lead. If anyone noticed how close Cheyenne stuck to Bellamy, no one pointed it out. It was nearing an hour later when Finn knelt to examine the ground. It seemed as if the trail was cold.
"How do we know this is the right way?" Murphy asked, standing toward the rear of the group.
"We don't," Bellamy chimed in. "Spacewalker thinks he's a tracker."
"It's called 'cutting-sign', from fourth year Earth Skills. He's good," Wells said. His voice was confident but Cheyenne felt as if this was said more for Clarke's benefit than in defense of Finn.
When Finn's head lifted from his spot on the ground to scan the area around them, Cheyenne pulled her hand out of Bellamy's grip to creep up beside him. She glanced over the disturbance in the dirt before peering into the water and bushes. When a snapped twig caught her eye, she brought herself to a standing position again.
"Look, this is moved," she said quietly to get Finn's attention.
Stepping around the bush brought her to another displaced rock, this time with red drops on it. A sharp breath was sucked into her throat. Was the blood on the rock in her head or was it really there this time? With no real way to tell the difference, she pretended not to see, hoping Finn would catch it. There was no need to wonder when a distant groan reached their ears. Clarke commented on Bellamy's gun before she was off and crashing through the bushes with Finn and Wells. Murphy followed, and Bellamy's hand on her lower back guided Cheyenne to walk between them. There was a natural tree line separating them from an open thicket area. Jasper was strung up in the tree, blood smeared on his bare chest as he moaned in pain. When Clarke sprinted forward, everyone else followed. Cheyenne hung back a few steps behind everyone. Her heart slammed up into her throat when the ground gave way beneath the older girl to show a pit of spikes, with Bellamy Blake's fast reflexes the only thing between her and a miserable death. She was unable to make herself move forward even when everyone else moved to help him pull Clarke out of the pit.
Finn and Murphy moved to cut Jasper down from the tree while Wells, Clarke, and Bellamy stayed put by the pit of spikes. Finally, Cheyenne pushed her legs forward, each step more careful than the last lest she end up falling into her grave. Her hand crept out to grip Bellamy's sleeve tightly. Surprising herself and him and Clarke and Wells, Cheyenne pushed herself into his arm, sandwiching herself between him and Clarke. Human contact usually sent her into a panic, but they had both already shown interest in her well-being. The thought gave her some small relief, the same way the trees did when she was alone in the forest. Only two days on Earth, and already this place was making her change from the girl creeping around Mecha Station hoping to die into someone that could ghost through the forest and overcome her issues to touch someone for comfort.
The low growl that sounded through the trees made her ears ring. Bellamy's arm reached around her to pull her snugly against his back with his entire body shielding her, and both of her hands gripped tightly to the back of his jacket. She could feel Clarke's heat against her own back as she crowded them. Reaching back with one hand, she grabbed onto Clarke's hand tightly before Wells had pulled the other girl back behind him.
"Bellamy, gun!" the blonde shouted as a black feline slid into view.
Cheyenne felt Bellamy's hand brush against her stomach as he reached for the gun that was no longer there. Shots were fired out from behind them, coming from Wells' direction. Backing up blindly, she tried to keep up with Bellamy's retreat as the feline made a direct path toward them. When it disappeared into the tall grasses directly to their front, instinct drove Cheyenne away from him to crouch low to the ground near the pit of spikes. Her hand gripped his to pull him down just as it leaped from the grass. Wells' shot finally hit its mark, seconds after Bellamy would have been a chew toy.
"Now she sees you." Bellamy's voice was hoarse, but he knew Wells would hear and understand. He helped Cheyenne to her feet, hyper aware of the way she had pushed herself against him in fear and the way her soft stomach had felt beneath his hand when he reached for his gun. "Are you okay?" he demanded, pulling her into him.
Cheyenne nodded, her hands shaking again, this time from the adrenaline dump her body was experiencing. Instead of restrictive, the arm locked around her lower back and the hard chest pressing into her own was comforting. Bellamy's large hand was splayed wide against her hip and waist. With a shaky breath in, she realized what this feeling was - trust. She had felt trust when she let him remove her wristband earlier in the day and accepted his help during her panic attack. She had felt trust when Clarke examined the irritated skin of her wrist and when she'd latched onto her hand minutes before. The thought of trusting others made her stomach fill with disgust for herself. She'd never trusted anyone before, not people she'd known her whole life, and certainly not strangers who held her hand on dropships and strangers who cared about the well-being of people other than themselves. Even though it was intense, the self-hatred that welled in her couldn't make her pull herself from the safety of Bellamy's hold.
It was dark by the time they made it back to camp. The light of the fire was visible relatively far out, but Cheyenne had led them back with no trouble. The forest was easily navigable to her, even in the dark, but the others were not as lucky. Once they made it to the border of camp, Cheyenne stood to the side, allowing Clarke to lead in Finn and Wells carrying Jasper first. Bellamy and Murphy came next with the panther wrapped in Cheyenne's parachute. Instead of walking through the people that crowded around them, she slipped around the side of camp, not noticing the way Bellamy's gaze followed her until she was hidden by the side of the dropship.
A few hours passed mostly in silence. Cheyenne had built a smaller fire off to the side of the dropship and had collected her own water and another bundle of berries from the bush she'd found earlier in the day. The moon was high in the sky when a pair of footsteps made their way in her direction. Her green eyes snapped up to meet Bellamy's before he lowed himself next to her.
"Room for one more?" he asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace she'd erected for herself. He passed her a stick with meat on the end and brought his own up to eat.
"No," she finally answered, honestly. She grabbed her bundle of berries and a small bucket of water to place within his reach. "But I've got room for you."
They sat side by side until her fire had died down to embers. When he stood to walk away, she was surprised to see he'd extended a hand to help her up. Her hand was tiny compared to his. Once on her feet, he didn't let go. His fingers folded around her wrist as he pulled her toward a large tent that had popped up using parachute material within the last few hours. While she wanted to question him as to what they were doing, she didn't. Questions had not served her well in the past and she assumed they wouldn't now. They had slipped into the tent without seeing many others, aside from Murphy and Mbege that were seated at the larger fire on watch. Neither of them spared a glance.
Heat had gathered in the tent. A nest of warm looking material was on one side while a table made from some wood and a sheet of metal from the dropship was on the other. A small pile of clothes was off to the side. The fire outside lit up the inside of the tent more than well enough to see. When she turned to look at Bellamy, her heart broke to pieces in her chest. He sat shirtless on the nest of material, pulling the boots from his feet. Trusting him hadn't been a conscious choice, but neither was assuming he had only brought her here to fuck her. It seemed she had been right on both accounts; she could trust him but she still had to fuck him to be useful. A swell of self-hatred flittered down the back of her neck when, instead of leaving, she removed her threadbare hoodie and sat next to him to remove her boots as well.
She felt hollow when their eyes met.
"You don't have to do this, Cheyenne," he whispered. His eyes flickered down to her lips before meeting her empty green eyes.
"I know," she lied. She'd heard that before.
His lips brushed against hers carefully, slowly. Humiliation filled her when she realized that she did want this, she wanted him. His tongue brushed against hers and his teeth dug into her bottom lip when he pulled back. When her hand came up to tangle in the curls of his hair, something snapped in him. Rough hands gripped her hips tight enough to bruise even through the fabric of her jeans. Bellamy pulled her small form onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. Cheyenne wrapped around him perfectly. Her small fingers curled tightly into his hair as his mouth left a trail of bite marks down the side of her neck. He knew they would be purple and blue in the morning. The thought encouraged him to leave more down her shoulder and along the top of her breasts. He fought with himself to get her shirt off without having to remove his mouth from her body.
The hole in her chest grew when she didn't stop him. Encouraging gasps escaped her parted lips once her bra was flung elsewhere in the tent, his large body covering her own completely once he'd laid her down. A trail of love bites followed his mouth down to the line of her pants where he struggled to get the tight material off her thighs. The unfamiliar feeling of arousal had started to gather somewhere between her legs and in the pit of her stomach and in the tips of her fingers and toes. Her body enjoyed the feeling of his fingers and the way his mouth made its way back to hers, even as her mind screamed for her to stop him. But she couldn't stop him. She knew firsthand what happened to girls that said no to the men that wanted them. Cheyenne shook with anticipation when she felt his fingers disappear. Then he was filling her and grabbing her skin tightly with his hands and her name slipping from his mouth where his head was resting next to hers. She felt the sting of her body trying to accommodate him, but for the first time, it was a good sting and familiar hands were leaving finger print shaped bruises instead of terror deep in her bones and the hands of someone she didn't know.
Bellamy pulled his head up to look her in the eyes. Alarms and warning bells filled his head when her face was vacant and tears had filled her eyes. "What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"
Her gaze left the top of the tent to meet his beautiful brown eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she was out of her own head and back in the tent with him again.
"You're crying, Cheyenne. Is something wrong? Have I done something?" A tightness had formed in his chest and he tensed with his thoughts, terrified that he had read the entire situation wrong. "Please, talk to me."
The gray that had overtaken her was fading away, slowly but surely, starting with the gorgeous brown of his eyes. One of her hands left his hair to brush her fingertips along his cheekbones and down the side of his neck. The trail of bright red left in their wake was beautiful against the tan of his skin. "I'm okay, Bellamy; you can keep going."
Slightly reassured, he kissed her again, deeply as if he could make his lips touch her soul. His hips crept back to push again, falling into a choppy rhythm with her thighs in his hands and her knees around his waist. The feeling of him moving against her and inside of her and around her had her eyes fluttering closed. When the image of another took the place of his face, her eyes snapped back open. Instead of closing them again, she took the time to memorize the placement of the freckles spanning his nose and the way his hair curled against his forehead with the sweat that dripped onto her face. Focusing on the feeling and the smell and the taste of him, she brushed open mouthed kisses on his neck and mumbled his name against his skin as her orgasm rushed through every inch of her skin. The feeling of her nails digging into his back hard enough to draw blood and the way she tightened around him made Bellamy fly over the edge. His hands tightened around her thighs hard enough to hurt and he rocked against her a few more times. Adjusting his weight, he rested lightly on her and heavily on the elbows that were now on either side of her head. He kept his head tucked into her neck as they both trembled from exertion. Once he had softened, he pulled out of her slowly, groaning at the feeling of overstimulation. His arm propped his head up to watch her as she turned to face him.
Darkness lurked in her green eyes, the eyes that matched the forest around them. Instead of letting her leave, Bellamy pulled her toward him to rest her head on his chest, hoping she would ignore how hard his heart was thumping. It was easy to follow the light she exuded, the light that had lit up the woods on their trek home, the light that had bloomed when she'd dragged him out of the way of the predator stalking them in the thicket. But he wanted to see the darkest parts of her, the demons that lurked in her mind and her heart. He wanted to see the darkness and follow her anyway. A girl as damaged as her could accept a man as damaged as him, and that was what he craved.
Cheyenne kept her eyes open as long as she could. Sleep was not her friend, especially when she was pressed up against someone else's heat and wrapped in their arms. She was disgusted with the way she'd given in and trusted this man that she'd known for less than forty-eight hours, but he'd made her feel something other than the sick emptiness that lurked in her chest. His eyes chased away the gray that crowded her eyes, his skin had rejected the red that was ever present and staining her hands. His touch made her crave more, instead of making her want to die. Finally, she was unable to stay awake and sleep took her into its hateful embrace. For the first night, since she was a child, nightmares did not dance with the demons in her head.