Is the development okay right now? I know Bellamy's a jerk, but he has his reasons, which will come to light soon. And frankly, I like the hostile exchange between the two. Please review!

I wasn't in the best mood when I was finally released from the mall's clutches, with Octavia in tow after her insistence to walk me to my car. But my mood crippled even more when Octavia said her goodbyes and I hurriedly flopped in the driver's seat and started the engine.

But it didn't stay started for long.

It gave me its best, grumbling in struggle, but eventually gave up the fight. I shook my head as the engine died, feeling one loose thread away from snapping.

With a strained sigh, I popped the hood and got out of the car. A breeze caught on my hair, winding it around my neck and I cast a glance up at the colored sky, blues and purples blooming over the swollen clouds like bruises. Fear trickled down my spine.

I'd have to hurry.

I propped open the support rod and scanned through the basic functions I knew. Oil, gas. Both were fine. I pulled out my phone, ready to press the person I had on speed dial.

And froze.

Just like that, I'd forgotten. For one second, from old habits, that Finn was dead. He was great with cars, and any problems I ever had with them he always insisted I take it up with him.

"Body shops will just overcharge you," he'd said with a devious smirk. "But I think you can sway me to give you the girlfriend discount."

My breathing turned shaky and I swallowed. That darkness lapped around me like waves on a beach, cold and uncontrollable. I looked back up at the sky.

"What's wrong?" Octavia's voice came from behind me, and I turned around to her. She was paused at the passenger side of what I assumed was the Roffan's white Honda.

I tried to wave her off. "It's nothing. Minor car issue," I called back to her. "I'll just call Triple A." The words hurt-another reminder- but I swallowed the barbs and dialed.

Footsteps echoed on the pavement and I glanced back in time to see Bellamy coming over, that annoyed expression on his face. He stopped beside me, casting his sister loitering behind him a look before peering into my hood.

I lowered my phone from my ear. "I don't need your help," I told him, feeling irritated myself at the intrusion. Especially since it was obvious he didn't want to be here.

He didn't complain, just glanced at me from the corner of his eye and leaned over the hood, digging around the insides with nimble fingers.

I scanned the sky again. Anxiety curled itself around my heart.

"Did you check the fuel?" Bellamy asked, moving on to another part of the engine. Curls of brown hair fell into his eyes and he pointlessly swiped at them with the back of his hand. It left a dark smudge on his cheek.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Oil?"

"It's fine."

"Battery?"

I shrugged uncertainly. "I think I should just call Triple A. You aren't really a mech"—

"Hold on." He reached deeper into the car, like a surgeon would a body. Careful, meticulous. Maybe people were like cars. Maybe doctors were like mechanics.

He pulled his hand back, resting them at the edge of the hood. "Spark plugs," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He looked at me. "It's your spark plugs. You have crappy spark plugs."

I bit my lip, exchanging a glance between my phone and him. "So should I call Triple A or not?"

His eyebrows rose. "Well, I don't know. Do you know how to fix faulty spark plugs?"

"No."

"Do you have a pair of spark plugs on you?"

"Um, no?"

"Then I think you just answered your own question." He slammed down the hood.

"Thanks for the . . . help," I muttered, trying to keep the sarcasm from leaking into my voice. I punched in the number again and gave the person on the other end my information. Bellamy took that as his cue to leave, but he didn't get very far before Octavia stepped in front of him. She wagged a finger at her brother, as if she were scolding a dog. "We'll wait."

I shook my head. "That's really not"—

Octavia shot me a stern look. "Car problems take hours to fix, and we can't just let you walk home. Right, Bell?"

Bellamy didn't say anything as he stared down at his sister. I sensed some hidden battle exchanged between the two, warring in their eyes. It was hard to tell who was winning, but I knew it was Octavia when she finally looked away and smiled at me. It was clear the younger Blake won often.

She clapped her hands together. "Good. We'll wait for Triple A, they can take your car, and we'll give you a ride home." She grinned at us.

It took nearly a half hour for the tow truck to show up and we spent the time in silence, other than Octavia's occasional questions and remarks on cars and dresses.

She alerted me to the truck when it pulled into the lot and I waved it over. The burly man in overalls stepped out and I gave him my papers and the diagnosis before he could fumble inside the hood. He took them and I filled out a paper as he tied off my car and pulled it up the truck's backside. Nearly another half hour later, I watched both it and my car drive away.

The clouds had finally reached full capacity and it started to rain as Octavia dragged me to their vehicle. Each droplet that fell on me was like a brand, burning holes into my skin. The anxiety grew worse as Octavia insisted I take the front seat and we started off, raindrops sprinkling over the windshield.

"That was perfect timing," Octavia said from the back, staring out of her own window. Her mood was the sun in comparison to mine and Bellamy's, as dark and dreary as the clouds overhead. When neither of us responded, Octavia sat forward. "Thanks for coming today, Clarke."

I glanced at her from over the shoulder of my seat, somewhat distractedly. I couldn't get the sound of rain out of my head, praying that it didn't get any heavier. "Oh, yeah," I told her. "No problem."

"I'll drop off Octavia first," Bellamy said, flipping on the wipers. "Then you. Fortunately, I know how to make it back to your house," he added ambiguously.

"Wait, isn't this your . . . foster parents' car?" I asked Octavia, a little hesitant.

Bellamy was the one who answered. "They loan it to me from time to time. Maureen doesn't like me driving my bike in weather like this."

I couldn't help but think that kind. Very motherly. I wondered if Bellamy saw it that way, too. "That's nice of her."

Bellamy frowned, like a teenager with an overbearing mom. "That's Maureen," he said.

But I got the distinct feeling he liked it more than he was letting on.

By the time we pulled up to the Roffan's drive, the rain had doubled in force. My fingers were curled into my hands, nails digging into the palms, but I didn't feel it. I barely registered Octavia as she said her goodbyes and hurried into the rain, using herself to shield the bagged dress instead of the other way around.

Bellamy ensured she made it into the house before driving off.

I struggled to keep my racing heart under control, thinking of other things like what I would be making for dinner tonight. It didn't work and the farther we went, the rain grew harder. I felt dizzy.

Bellamy reached forward and turned on the radio.

"No!" I practically shouted, batting his hand out of the way and abruptly shutting it off.

He looked sidelong at me, eyes incredulous, that smudge still on his cheek. "What's your problem?"

I quickly shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Nothing," I stammered. "Just . . . no music. Please."

His hands clenched on the wheel. "This is my car."

"You said it was Maureen's."

"It's mine during the loaning," he said. But he didn't turn the radio back on.

Despite the chill, sweat beaded on my forehead and pooled on my back. Images flashed through my mind in Polaroid frames. Crushed glass. Splatters of red turning pink in the rainwater.

The summer's gone and all the flowers are dying.

I shut my eyes. Reopened them. I mentally ticked off the physiological changes, trying desperately to focus on something other than the deluge of rain. Elevated heart rate, increased perspiration, decreased auditory function, dry mouth . . . I clutched the sides of the seat.

And then my grave will richer, sweeter be.

A pothole made the car rock and I grabbed onto the roof's grip handle. The noises swirled around me, dull and distant.

"Y. . . All right?" Bellamy was saying from beside me, but I couldn't focus on the words. The chatter of falling water blocked out everything else. There was too much rain.

And you'll bend down and tell me that you love me.

The rain ran in rivers down the window panes, taunting me. The road ahead seemed to stretch farther before us, morphing into an endless channel that cut straight through the trees. I saw shards of glass glimmering like jewels against the black asphalt.

I tried to chase away the image but when I blinked, I wasn't in this car anymore. I was in a ruined one, metal cutting into my hands, a huge hole punched through the windshield.

I saw brilliant lights like eyes barreling toward us.

And I will rest in peace until you come to me.

"Stop!" I screamed.

The car suddenly swerved and Bellamy let out a sound of surprise, casting me a panicked look. It instantly turned infuriated. "Don't ever do that!" he shouted at me.

But I wasn't listening. "Pull over!" I fumbled for the lock on my seat belt, every instinct crying out at me to get out of this seat. It was death. Cars and rain were death.

"What're you—?"

I opened the door.

Bellamy instantly pulled off to the side of the road, near a cluster of trees. He slammed on the breaks.

I stumbled out, uncaring of the thick drops of rain falling on my head. I blinked back the redness in my vision as I rushed to the canopy of pines. I used the trunk of one for support, the bark wet and sharp under my hands. It reminded me of piercing metal and my knees turned weak. My entire body vibrated with silent tremors.

I heard the slam of a door as Bellamy got out, stomping over to the trees. He halted in front of me, and I could feel the anger rolling off him in hot, powerful waves. "What was that for?!" he demanded, voice as loud as the rain. "You could've run us off the road!"

Yes, I thought to myself. I could've. That's what I did after all. I distracted drivers. I pushed my loved ones in front of the barrel of a gun.

The world pivoted and I leaned more on the tree, feeling like a mouse in rising water. "I'm sorry," I chattered. My hands quaked as hard as the rest of me.

"You're sorry?" he asked, disbelieving. "I nearly wrapped us around a tree. You don't shout like that while someone is driving!"

He was angry, and for the first time since I'd met him, he had every right to be. But instinct didn't apologize and I bound my arms around myself, keeping my eyes on the sodden dirt at my feet.

Bellamy exhaled, heavy and long. From my periphery, he shook his head. "Whatever. Just get back in the car."

I stiffened, a rope going taut. "No."

That anger returned in his voice, marinating in frustration. "Why not?"

"Because I can't."

He tossed his hands into the air. "I'm not doing this! Just get in the car!"

"Then leave without me!" I shouted back. "I'll find another ride home or I'll walk there if I have to."

"Clarke"—

"I can't get back in the car!" It came out shrill and echoed back into my skull. "Okay? I won't."

He simmered down some, expression going from angry to angry and confused. "Why?" he asked, the question earnest. He actually wanted to know. "It's just a car."

I shook my head adamantly. My voice became something panicked. "No it's not," I said. "People die in cars, Bellamy. They die all the time. One-point-three million die in car crashes every year. That's over three thousand on average every single day. People die from rain. From music. From getting candy at a gas station. They die all the time!" I dragged in a breath, but there wasn't enough oxygen. The rain had covered the world and leeched the air from the skies.

There was just a void now. Nothing could fill it. This was the darkness. That terrible nothingness that turned colors into shades of black and grey. I'd tried to push it off for so long, it'd collected into its own tsunami and now, it would wipe me off the map. How stupid I'd been to think I could somehow escape it.

A flash of genuine concern crossed Bellamy's features and he took a step closer.

Tears collected in my eyes and I wanted to shove them back, to cram them deep inside me, but it's like my body had a mind of its own. I felt like I was breaking from the inside out, the reality of everything crashing over me.

I lost my footing in the slick mud but Bellamy caught my shoulders before I could fall. He pressed them against the back of the tree, staring into my eyes.

My vision blurred again as the first tears I'd cried for Finn spilled out. The darkness surged, wrapping me in that horrible, empty embrace. "My Dad is dead because of me," I whispered to no one in particular. "Finn is dead because of me. It's all because of me."

The anger in Bellamy was gone now, replaced with something I couldn't name. "What're you talking about?" he asked quietly.

I didn't like Bellamy. He was sardonic, and cruel with words, but maybe that was exactly why I didn't care what he thought of me. What made it easy to make confessions. Strangers were good for that. People you didn't like? Even better.

A sob wedged between my ribs. "I was the one who asked my Dad to take me to the library that day. I was the one who turned on the radio. Who distracted him. I was the one who told the paramedics he had internal bleeding in the chest when it was on his brain!" The words came out in small bursts. I still couldn't catch my breath. "And Finn . . . that should've been me, but it wasn't. At least I knew where the blood was coming from, but I couldn't stop it."

I leaned my head against the bark, blinking out rainwater and tears. "I-I can't keep losing people," I stuttered, the blackness squeezing my lungs in its fist.

"Clarke." Bellamy's hands tightened over my shoulder. "Hey. Look at me."

I tried. His onyx eyes burned into mine.

"Don't be an idiot," he told me. "No one died because of you. They just died. Like thousands of people do every day. Call it whatever you want, but pinning it on yourself does nobody any good. And it doesn't change anything."

I bit my lip again, so hard that pennies filled my mouth. He was right, and a part of me knew that. But I only felt that darkness, surging around me. Hunting me. I still couldn't breathe and I doubled over, clutching at the fabric over my heart.

"Okay, okay," Bellamy said calmly. "Just . . . we're just gonna sit down, all right? Easy." He helped me to the forest floor and I dug my nails into the soft dirt.

He crouched in front of me and I felt a twinge of déjà vu, like we'd been here before.

"It's not fair," I hissed at him. "None of it's fair. It should've been me. I wish it had been."

Bellamy scoffed, but it wasn't with his usual attitude. This seemed forced, like he was mocking me for my own benefit. "Then they'd just be sitting here instead of you, blaming themselves for your death. That might make you feel better, but not them. It's selfish."

The rain pounded around us,so hard and alive I wondered how it could ever end. I looked from Bellamy to my drawn knees. My lip wobbled and a tide filled me up like a bottle; the spark to a fuse. I wanted to tell him that he didn't have to stick around for this, but the emotion clogging my throat choked me off. I gasped for air I didn't need and finally let the tears fall freely.

I expected Bellamy to move away. Maybe even leave.

But he didn't. To my surprise, he just pulled off his jacket and draped it over my knees.

Then he sat down beside me, and waited for both storms to pass.