CHAPTER SEVEN
Clarke had decided she adored the feeling of nothing.
She found herself wondering, why she had not detached herself from mainstream society sooner.
Not that there really was, a functioning, mainstream society to fall apart from. But she had let herself build relationships, come to care for people, dangerous people that broke through the layers of glass that protected her heart, captured her affection, and then tore away at it, tearing through it with no more than a single smile, and untrue words of promise.
What a silly little girl she had been.
Because now, she was able to look into the eyes of a past-been friend, and feel nothing, not a spark of happiness, not a smidge or remorse. Because this was earth, and to survive, you had to live to protect yourself, and it was the fourth day, that Clarke knew the extent she would go to, to do this.
She sat, tending to a long gash on Murphy's leg, no anger rising with healing the man that had been responsible for Charlotte's death.
She didn't feel angry anymore, she didn't feel anything, anymore.
Murphy, though he sat straight, held himself tensely, had a lazy, almost predatory smirk on his face as he watched her, mistaking her for being at the mercy of him.
"Thanks for fixing me up, princess."
She didn't even bristle at the nickname.
"Who would've thought it? The princess, serving the boy."
She noticed the quick glint of silver.
"Well, to you, I guess, I'm more of a servant boy, right? Peasant?"
Clarke continued to ignore his snide remarks, focusing only of the bloody gash. Did he not see, he was at her mercy? If she really wanted, she could not fix him up properly, let he wound get infected, let him die a slow, agonizing death.
Just like she was sure he was planning for her, as the knife came down towards her head.
She had anticipated his movement, and while still in her own healing process, she spun out of the way, pulled a knife from his side, and plunged it into his bloody leg.
He screamed in pain, and Clarke mercilessly ripped the knife from his leg, and brought it to his face, ignoring the bright fear that had bloomed in his eyes.
"Please, please, don't kill me, Clarke plea-"
His words became gargles as she stabbed him in the throat, his blood sprayed across her hands, her face, her neck, and his eyes, they stared up at her, wide and unblinking, staring into the whiteness that awaited his, and his mouth caught the desperate pleas that he never came, the breath he would never take.
"Oh my god."
The words were Octavia's, and as Clarke turned, she saw a crowd had gathered, all staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes.
Clarke couldn't help but compare them to Murphy's.
Octavia and Bellamy stood at the head of the crowd, their expressions completely different. Octavia stared at her in horror, her mouth hanging open, and with a jolt, Clarke saw that fear underlined it all.
Was Octavia scared of her?
Bellamy stared at her in question, and while he did not seem alarmed as the crowd did, he was clearly disturbed at the display. And yet, lowered beneath all of this, was a silent admiration.
And for a second, Clarke wanted to laugh, because she had killed a boy, and he respected her for it.
Octavia began to rush towards her, hands out in what seemed to be a caring gesture, but Clarke turned her back on her, and tore the knife from Murphy's throat. When she turned back, Octavia had froze, no longer making any movement towards her.
She was definitely scared of her.
As she neared the crowd, knife in hand, they parted for her, as if they thought she was going to murder them too, plunge the knife into their throats.
Clarke envisioned pushing the knife into their throats, thrusting it into their hearts, again and again…
She walked straight past them all, and as she headed to clean the knife, she heard their hushed whispers…
"She's lost it."
"She's fucking crazy."
"I don't trust her."
"What if she tries to kill us?"
"Do you think Bellamy will banish her?"
"Maybe. She did kill Murphy."
Clarke was already a murderer, Murphy made no difference to that.
As the days went on, Clarke noticed the steady decrease of patients.
Where she used to be getting twenty a day, she now found that it was now strange to be seen by more than five.
They were avoiding her, and she knew that. But she wasn't going to actively seek them out, if they wanted to let themselves get infected and die, then they could.
She also noticed that the injuries she was treating were always serious ones, ones that if left for much longer could become dire. This meant they were only coming to her, when they felt they absolutely had too.
Let the bastards fall asleep, and never wake up.
She pushed down the singlet of anger, the most passionate thing she had felt in days, even as she had killed Murphy, and regained her robotic exterior and interior display.
She let out a breath; let herself tumble into the oblivion, the beautiful oblivion…
"You alright there, princess?"
Bellamy.
Of course.
"I'm fine."
And she was, she really was.
It just didn't sound like it- that was all.
"You sure about that?" She turned and saw him staring at her with a strange expression, something hidden, and something she simply couldn't decipher without going into an in-depth analysis of Bellamy Blake.
She didn't have an in-depth analysis of Bellamy Blake.
"Positive." She gave him a dull smile, passion and fierceness lacking.
She went to walk past him, and he caught her wrist.
She almost yanked it away on impulse, but kept her calm, and let her hand burn in his scorching wrist.
"Stop it."
What?
She felt the confusion cross her face for a second, before she shoved it back down.
"Stop what?"
"It. This- whatever the hell you've been doing for the last few days."
"I'm not doing anything."
She didn't grit her teeth, like she did usually when they spoke.
He did.
"Don't fucking lie to me, Clarke. Ever since spacewalker-"
She did snatch her hand away now, though she told herself it was only because the heat radiating from his hand had been too hot, her skin scorched.
There were no other reasons.
None at all.
"Is that how to do it, princess?"
He was smirking now, as if he knew something she didn't.
She didn't like it- not one bit.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." She wondered how hard it would be to cover up his death. She could say it was an accident…
"I'm talking about spacewalker."
No one would blame her, really.
"I'm talking about your mom."
She could say it was self-defence; he was a guard, after all.
"I'm talking about how I had sex with Raven while you rotted away in grounder territory."
There was a knife around here somewhere.
"You and Finn, that is."
A gun. She would put a fucking gun to his head.
"Oh, what would daddy think?"
Bingo.
"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?" Clarke screamed, shoving against his chest.
This was the first emotion he had seen from Clarke in days, and though it was blinding hot rage, set directly in his line of fire, he loved it.
He caught her hands.
"Your father- what would he say to you- if he could see all that you'd become?"
She screamed in something of fury and anguish, tore her hands away. She ran to the side, picked up a knife, and threw it at his head.
It was easy to dodge, her throw fuelled not by accuracy, but rage. But Bellamy knew, perhaps he had pushed her just a little too far.
She continued to throw whatever came to hand at him, from boots to cloths.
"Clarke-"He ducked as a glass bottle came towards him, shattering with a horrible hiss behind him.
And now she was throwing medicine.
If that wasn't a terrible idea, he didn't know what was.
"Okay now- is that really a good idea?" He yelled over the crashing of just about everything coming towards him.
"YOU"
A blue liquid.
"FUCKING"
Something red and sticky.
"BITCH!"
And now some seaweed.
"Come on, seaweed?" he asked, cocking his head to the side in a really? kind of way.
She screamed again, turned her back on him for a split second to gather more supplies, and he was on her, pinning her hands above her head, holding her body in place with his.
"LET GO OF ME!" She screeched, kicking out at him with everything she had.
He let her struggle and squirm beneath him, knowing there was no point reasoning with her when she was like this.
He waited for her to calm down.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"For fucks sake! Clarke- Clarke just stop for a second!"
She stopped, only to glare at him, prepared to throw everything she had at him, yell at him about his mom, about Octavia. She was going to destroy him.
She opened her mouth to speak, and his lips attacked hers.
TO BE CONTINUED…
