Day 13

Even though tired was creeping into her bones, Cheyenne kept pace with Clarke and Raven but made no effort to participate or pay attention to their conversation. She was there to be moral support for Clarke and to try to take her mind off the fact that Bellamy was out looking for Octavia with Finn, and neither of them was safe. Something she couldn't get off her mind, though, was the way her clothes were beginning to smell. She knew she wasn't the only one judging by some of the shady smells around camp, but it was getting bad enough to bother her. Her hair was greasy and dirty due to not having shampoo, but she was at least able to wash it out and her body off down in the creek. Without an extra set of clothes, though, she had to be naked the entire time she was washing them and there was no way she was getting naked in the woods so a grounder could kill her.

Caught up in her thoughts, Cheyenne almost fell in the hatch Clarke had opened. Instead of following them down, she sat on the edge to wait with her feet dangling in. She could hear them talking and moving things around for a few minutes before they were coming out again. Moving out of the way, the pit in her stomach grew.

"They'll be okay," Clarke said, seeing the look on her face.

Sharp teeth dug into her bottom lip. "I trust you. If you say they'll be back, then they will."

The walk back to the dropship was silent, aside from Raven clumsily walking on the forest floor. Some of the people that had left with Bellamy were back in camp, but Cheyenne wasn't comfortable interrogating them for information, especially on the whereabouts of the man she was sleeping with. The thought that it was just sex to him made her chest ache and her heart thump into her throat. Instead of staying with Raven to fix the radio or following Clarke around, she slipped into her and Bellamy's tent to lay down. Her nap was riddled with nightmares that had her thrashing against the bed. Sucking in a heavy breath, she gasped for air as she tried to block out the mental image of Bellamy with a pair of scissors in his head, lying dead on the floor back on the Ark. She could still feel hands of Guardsman Anthony Band grabbing and pushing and touching in places they didn't belong.

The panic attack creeping up her throat was silenced by the sound of Bellamy's voice bellowing out Clarke's name across the camp. Rushing out of the tent, Cheyenne immediately saw them. Bellamy was cradling Finn's limp body in his arms and a knife was sticking out of Finn's chest. Time stopped, even as they carried Finn away to the dropship and Bellamy and Octavia argued viciously by the gate. She felt frozen in place. She had never had someone she cared about die. She had never had someone she cared about close to death. She had never had someone she cared about. All of a sudden, Bellamy was in her face, talking and grabbing her arms and motioning to the tent behind her, but she couldn't hear him over the noises in her head. She could still hear Johnston Ridley screaming in her head as she gutted him like a pig in front of his father. She could still hear the bang of the gunshot that tore Brandon Hardey's brain out of his head and splattered it on the wall. Cheyenne was snapped out of her thoughts when Bellamy's hands grabbed her tighter than he ever had and shook her roughly.

"Cheyenne, look at me!" he was yelling at her, he had been yelling at her. The noise of the storm was building in the air, and the noise in her head had blocked it all out. Finally, she looked him in the eye, her bottom lip trembling as she tried not to cry. "There you are, just keep looking at me, baby, you're okay."

Raindrops hit her face before the tears did, but she kept looking at him, just like he said. When he asked if she was listening, she made sure to nod her head.

"Go to our tent and get our clothes and blankets. Take them to the top of the dropship. We're going to have to stay in there until this storm is over. Okay?"

"Okay."

The word was choked out, but it was out. Then his lips met hers for a brief second, in front of a camp full of people paying no attention, and then he was walking away again, shouting at someone else. Shaking her head, she tried to snap herself out of it. There would be time for her nightmares later.

Clothes got tossed onto the bed, and the map on the table was folded up to put in her pocket. Starting from the bottom of their bed, she grabbed the entire bundle of materials and rolled it. Once it was in a bedroll form, she tied it up with one of the seatbelts and fitted it around herself like the backpacks they had made. Sure, it would look kind of stupid, but it would be effective when climbing the ladder. Her knife was tucked into a belt loop and the other knife laying on the table was stashed in her back pocket. Emerging from the tent, she saw everyone else doing the same thing she was. People were pulling tents down as soon as they were cleaned out, hoping to salvage the parachute material for once the storm was over. The wind had already picked up heavily. People were milling about the dropship, some being helpful, but most were useless, throughout the first and second levels. Luck was on her side, though when the third floor was empty. She sat the bedroll beside her and settled in to wait on Bellamy.

The storm was the worst they had seen since coming to Earth. Cheyenne shut the hatch to the top level to ward off people before finding Clarke standing at the dropship door, looking out into the weather while Raven fixed the radio. The rain was too heavy to see and the thunder shook the very ground beneath them. The rain didn't scare her. But the blood steadily running from her hand did. It was on everything. It had been all day. Anything she touched was soaked in blood. When she would turn too fast, the blood would splash from her hands and onto the walls. Every time she would glance out the door of the dropship to look for Bellamy, she would hear the steady running water noise of the blood dripping into puddles by her feet. Every glance at the knife in Finn's chest made her see Johnston Ridley's ribs with a knife stuck in them. She couldn't tell if the blood that dripped from Finn's side was real or not and she was too terrified to ask. Eventually, it was too much and she retreated to the top level to drown in her demons alone.

When the hatch slammed open, Cheyenne didn't react. She was tucked into the corner, leaning against the softness of the bedroll. It was expected that the two lower levels would get overcrowded eventually. However, when a man was tossed up through the hatch followed by Miller and Drew, she sat up. Bellamy was the next one through the hatch, barking orders while Miller and Drew tied up the unconscious man to the wall. She stared in shock when Octavia appeared through the hatch, defending the man that was now awake and angry. They argued viciously again before Bellamy made her leave.

It was quiet for a moment, tenseness thick in the air before she spoke. "Bellamy?"

The man in question jerked around quicker than she'd ever seen him move. "Miller, Drew, get out!" They were hardly down the hatch, shutting it behind them when Bellamy's hands gripped the sleeves of her sweatshirt and dragged her to her feet. "What the hell are you doing up here?"

"You told me to bring our stuff up here," she answered, her voice trembling. Fear made her shake under his hands where he had her cornered against the wall.

His own body was trembling with anger and adrenaline. With no outlet, he was starting to crack under the pressure. He'd had no sleep since the night after Wells was killed, and there didn't seem to be any in his near future. His fist met the wall twice before he realized he'd dented the wall way too close to her head. Shaking out his hand, he backed up, shame in his eyes when he saw the tears fall down her face. When he walked back toward her, he saw the effort she exerted not to flinch away from his hands.

"I'm so sorry, baby, I –" Bellamy's voice cracked and his hands framed her face as gently as he could make them. His thumbs brushed away her tears. "Please, forgive me, Cheyenne. I'm so sorry."

Her small hands came up to cover his. "There's nothing to forgive," she whispered. "I'm yours, remember? Whatever you want."

Vomit crept up his throat when she went silent again. "No, no, not whatever I want. It's whatever we want, baby. You give me too much power if it's just whatever I want." He pressed his forehead against hers, his hands creeping back to tangle in her hair.

"I trust you, Bellamy. I told you, remember? You could carve your name into my skin. You can squeeze my skin until it's purple in the shape of your hands. You can say whatever you want, do whatever you want, as long as it's you." Cheyenne's hands left his, to grab at his shirt. "I've never cared about someone before. I don't know what to do. You have to teach me how."

He kissed her then, hard and angry, but his hands were careful when they pulled her into him and grabbed onto her hips. She was small and fragile beneath him, and he should have been careful with her from the start. Bellamy pulled away, apologizing again and tugging her into his chest. When he stomped twice on the floor, Miller popped back up immediately. Surprise colored his face when he saw Bellamy holding a still shaking Cheyenne to his chest.

"Is she alright, man?" he asked, moving up into the room.

Bellamy nodded, not bothering to tell him more than that. It was none of his business. He didn't resist when Cheyenne's head pulled back to look at the grounder.

"What is this?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse from crying, but Bellamy decided right then that he'd never heard a more beautiful sound. "Who is that?"

"He had Octavia." Pushing her away from him, he looked her in the eye. "You should go downstairs with Clarke. I don't want you to see this."

Nodding complacently, Cheyenne moved to pull away. She stopped before she reached the ladder to look at the grounder and then back at Bellamy. She grimaced, fiddling with the strings on her crappy sweatshirt. "When you want information instead of a breathing punching bag, let me know. Beating them half to death doesn't actually work. You have to make it hurt."

Miller's eyebrows went up at the indifference with which she spoke of torturing someone. Bellamy felt like he should have expected that, knowing what her crime was rumored to be and the fact that she had admitted to not regretting killing five people to Octavia. He watched her disappear down the hatch, wondering if she'd said that on purpose just to turn him on.