Chapter 7:

Bellamy:

Clarke's heavy sigh caused my head to shoot up instinctively—an action I immediately regretted because it made me look foolish. Her arms were crossed over her chest and something died in me as she pushed up her breast. I wondered if she was doing it on purpose or if she was absentmindedly appealing to my impulsive side. Her face glowed a red color as she gawked at me. "I need you." She said, "But you need me, too."

In more than a few ways…

She continued to speak, her arms moving across the fabric of her shirt as she became uncomfortable under my silent stare. "So…I apologize for hitting you. It wasn't professional." Her face was directed towards the busy camp. Her friends weren't the only ones that heard my outburst last night, I'd been approached multiple times by people who were ready for a rebellion. Of course, that outcome was unintentional and my claims lacked any sort of fact. People—teenagers—are easily influenced by those who carry authority even if they do not deserve authority.

I did not deserve the authority or the attention I'd put on myself. My words were fueled by passionate jealousy, not the well-being of the camp. If I had the well-being of the camp in mind, I would have kept my mouth shut. I wouldn't have accepted the cure. I would be dead and there wouldn't be a problem. Instead, I locked lips with the most essential person in my life and for the camp only to be jealous of a relationship I didn't have the right to be jealous about.

He touched her. I lost it.

There were repercussions for each of my actions and the one I couldn't face was the one I wanted. There was a path laid ahead—a path with two real choices and the path I'd been walking on since our lips met. Those paths were be with Clarke, don't be with Clarke, and avoid Clarke. I wasn't doing a good job balancing all three.

I returned my attention to her after resurfacing from my thoughts. "You don't" I struggled because of her beryl eyes. She should have animosity in her eyes not a craving that I didn't understand. "You don't have to say you're sorry."

"I'm not." She told me through narrowed eyes and tight lips, "I'm not sorry I hit you. You're an ass and deserved it. I'm apologizing because we need to move forward as a union. I can't run this camp without you and you've failed to run this camp without me before."

The image of torches and Charlotte touched my mind as I listened to her speak. "So you trust me again?" Clarke liked fighting with me. I liked fighting with Clarke. If that made us screwed up individuals, then so be it. Her blonde hair swept down her back in a tight braid fashioned by my sister—I recognized the technique—and her exposed skin was beckoning me to move forward. The blush across her cleavage that extended up her neck because of my stare made me smirk softly at her.

"Never." Her eyebrows furrowed, "But I trust myself enough to know that you're an asset I can't cast away because you're opinionated and ignorant. I trust myself…" She repeated as she looked at me. Her eyes shifted back to the camp members, some were watching us—some weren't. I would take her right in front of them if she allowed me to, but Clarke wasn't that type of girl. Personal displays of affection seemed like a bad thing to force her into.

"I wouldn't say ignorant..." My voice was leading but she did not follow him.

"You accused the people that make this camp thrive of selfishness and belittled them in their safe haven. If ignorant isn't the word for you, I suggest stupid." She rolled her eyes, "That's all I have to say."

"Is it all you wanted to say?" Her lips trembled as I stepped forward and parted when I extended a hand out towards her. I did not touch her—I would not touch her in front of the prying eyes.

"You're—you can't do that—this." She put a hand in her hair, "Don't ever do that again."

"I don't take orders from you, Princess."

Clarke:

Bellamy was a son of a—no. I was not going to bring his mother into this. He was a jackass—an insufferable jackass and I really shouldn't be thinking about him. I should be planning another trip to check out the bunkers. I should be compiling supplies and making sure my affairs were in order before departing. Affairs…was I having an affair with Bellamy Blake unknowingly but oh-so-easily? He was alluring and intentionally pulling me into his trap.

One day he was on, the next he was off, then he was on again. He was giving me a euphoric version of whiplash. I felt like everything I did was only pushing me towards a cliff where I would certainly plummet and die. My lips quivered as I stood in the middle of the drop ship, my fingers attempting to stop the shaking. I could tell he wanted me—I could tell my lips wanted to feel his hard against them. I wanted to approach him, take his face between my palms and bring them tightly against mine. "Clarke, what the hell are you doing?"

I frowned, turning around to see Octavia behind me. "Thinking."

"About?"

"Nothing particular." I cleared my throat and busied my hands until I couldn't take the tension anymore. I felt a pull on my chest that told me I needed to get air. If my face wasn't being hit by the wind, I couldn't breathe properly and if I wasn't getting the right amount of oxygen to my brain I was surely going to make a rash decision to give into his charming antics when I knew he wouldn't feel the same tomorrow. Octavia's head extended upwards at me and I let out painful words, "I need some air."

I hated being confused—I hated the fact that Bellamy confused me. I tried to look at the facts. We kissed. I caught him with someone else. We share a friendly moment over bullets—slight flirting involved. Then, he turns into an ass. Next, he becomes that Bellamy—the hot, rebel Bellamy that hates me…and now? Now he's trying to make a move on me, undressing me with his eyes and making implications of want. How am I supposed to follow that?

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