Day 21

CHAPTER 15 Bellamy

It had taken a while to convince Clarke to head back to camp. She’d insisted on looking for more pieces of wreckage, for anything that would provide some information about the other Colonists. But as the shadows lengthened, Bellamy’s skin prickled in a way that had nothing to do with the chill creeping into the air. It was foolish to spend too much time in the woods with the Earthborns lurking about. Once their little spy told him where to find Octavia, Bellamy would go after them—spears and arrows be damned. But he didn’t want to face them until he was prepared, and certainly not with Clarke by his side.

After an hour of fruitless searching, Clarke had finally agreed that it was time to leave. “Just—one more second,” she said now, and hurried over to the edge of the clearing.

She stopped before a tree covered with white blossoms. It was fragile-looking, and seemed somehow too small for all the flowers dropping off it. Bellamy was reminded of how Octavia used to look when she put all their mother’s clothes on, layers upon layers of fabric, and paraded in front of Bellamy.

Clarke rose up on her toes, plucked a few of the blossoms from the tree, and knelt down to arrange them in front of each of the grave markers. She stood there in silence for a moment, her head bowed. Then she came and took Bellamy’s hand, leading him away from the lonely cemetery the rest of the world had forgotten.

Clarke was unusually quiet as they made their way back to the camp. Finally, Bellamy broke the silence. “Are you okay?” He extended his hand to help Clarke over a fallen tree, but she didn’t even notice.

“I’m fine,” she said, clambering over the log and landing neatly on the other side.

Bellamy didn’t reply. He knew better than to push. Clarke wasn’t the type of girl who played mind games. She would talk when she wanted to talk. But as he glanced at her again, something in her face tugged at his chest, fraying his resolve. She didn’t just look serious, or even sad—she looked haunted.

He stopped in his tracks and wrapped his arms around her. She flinched for a moment, not returning the embrace.

Bellamy started to draw back, but thought better of it and tightened his hold. “Clarke, what’s wrong?”

When she spoke, her voice was quiet. “I can’t stop thinking about those graves. I just wish I knew whose they are, how they died…” She trailed off, but Bellamy knew she was thinking about the sick people she’d left behind at the camp.

“I know,” Bellamy said. “But, Clarke, whoever those people were, they’ve been dead for over a year. There’s nothing you could have done to help them.” He fell silent for a moment. “And think of it this way—at least they got to be here, on Earth, even if it wasn’t for very long. They were probably really jazzed about that.”

To his surprise, Clarke smiled—it was a small smile, but enough to chase away some of the sadness lurking in her eyes. “Jazzed? What does that mean? Like you’re so happy, you’d be willing to listen to jazz music?”

“Willing to listen to jazz music? You must mean ‘happy because you get to listen to jazz music.’ So happy that your heart starts beating a jazz riff.”

“Like you know jazz,” Clarke shot back, still smiling. “Most of that music was lost centuries ago.”

Bellamy smirked. “Maybe on Phoenix. I found an old MP3 player with some jazz songs on it once.” He shrugged. “At least, I assumed it was jazz.” It had sounded the way he’d always expected jazz to sound—playful, soulful, free.

“So what does a jazz riff sound like?”

“It’s more about what it feels like,” Bellamy said, reaching for Clarke’s hand. He began tapping a rhythm up and down her arm.

She shivered as his fingers danced on the inside of her elbow. “So jazz feels like some weirdo tickling your arm?”

“Not your arm. Your whole body. You feel it in your throat…” He brought his fingers to her neck and tapped along her collarbone. “In your feet…” He knelt down and tapped along the side of her boot, and Clarke laughed. “In your chest…” He stood up, bringing his hand to rest lightly on top of her heart, and was very still.

She closed her eyes as her breathing grew shallow. “I think I feel it now,” she said.

Bellamy stared at Clarke in wonder. With her eyes closed and lips slightly parted, the afternoon light dancing over her reddish-blond hair like a halo, she looked like one of the fairies he used to describe to Octavia in her bedtime stories.

He bent his head down and brushed his lips against hers. She kissed him back for a moment, then pulled away with a frown. “Didn’t you want to get going?” she asked. “I know we’ve been gone for a while.”

“It’s a long walk back. Maybe we should rest first.” Without waiting for her to reply, Bellamy slid his arm down her back and scooped Clarke up in his arms, the way he’d carried her back last time. But now, her eyes were bright and focused on his, her arms laced around his neck. Slowly, Bellamy guided them both to the ground, which was covered in moss and damp leaves. “Better?” Bellamy whispered.

Clarke responded by twining her hands in his hair and kissing him. Bellamy closed his eyes and pulled her closer, forgetting everything but the feeling of Clarke’s body against him.

“Are you cold?” she asked, and he realized that at some point she had pulled his shirt over his head.

“No,” he said softly. He knew in an objective sense that it was cold out, but he didn’t feel it. He leaned back and looked at her, her hair spilling out over the grass. “Are you?”

He ran his hand lightly along her side, and Clarke stiffened. “Bellamy,” she whispered. “Have you ever…?”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. Bellamy took his time answering, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her delicate pink lips. “I have,” he said finally. He could tell from Clarke’s telltale flush that she hadn’t, and was a little surprised, given her history with Wells. “But just with one person,” he added. “Someone I really cared about.”

He wanted to say more, but his voice faltered. All those memories of Lilly were wrapped up in pain. And the only thing he wanted to think about right now was the beautiful girl next to him: a girl he would never, ever let go of, no matter what happened.

Clarke sat up so quickly, her head bumped against Bellamy’s chin. “Whoa,” he said, taking her by the shoulders. “Clarke, it’s okay. We don’t have to do anything right now.” He rubbed his hands in slow circles on her back. Her skin was cold through her thin T-shirt.

“It’s not that,” Clarke said quickly. “I just… I have something I need to tell you.”

Bellamy took Clarke’s hand and interlocked her fingers with his. “You can tell me anything,” he assured her.

She pulled her hand away, bringing her knees to her chest and hugging them tightly. “I don’t really know how to say this,” Clarke began, almost more to herself than to him. She stared straight ahead, unwilling—or unable—to meet his eyes. “I’ve only told one person before, and it didn’t end well.”

He knew instinctively she was talking about Wells. “It’s okay.” He reached an arm around her shoulders. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

She finally turned to face him, her expression stricken. “I wouldn’t promise that.” She exhaled, seeming to deflate, and then, haltingly, began to speak.

At first, Bellamy thought Clarke’s story about the testing was some kind of joke. He couldn’t believe what she was telling him—how her parents were researching radiation, how they were forced by the Vice Chancellor to conduct experiments on unregistered children. But one look in Clarke’s eyes and he knew that this was all terrifyingly real.

“That’s monstrous,” Bellamy finally interrupted, praying that she’d say something to make it all make sense, to explain why she was telling him all of this now. Suddenly, another thought made his blood run cold. “Octavia was unregistered,” he said slowly. “Was she next in line for your little experiments?” He shuddered in horror, imagining his sister locked in a hidden lab where no one would hear her cry—where no one would know she was slowly being poisoned to death.

“I don’t know,” Clarke said. “I don’t know how the children were selected. But it was terrible. I hated myself every day.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it? Why did your parents kill innocent children? How evil were they?”

“They weren’t evil. They didn’t have a choice!”

She was on the verge of tears, but Bellamy didn’t care. “Of course they did,” he spat. “I made a choice to do everything I could to protect Octavia. But you made a choice to stand by and watch a bunch of kids die.”

“I didn’t always stand by.” Clarke closed her eyes. “Not with Lilly.”

It took a moment for Bellamy to understand what Clarke was saying. “Lilly? That’s how you knew her? Lilly was one of your… subjects?” Clarke nodded, wincing, and Bellamy’s voice rose in anger. “She didn’t die from some mysterious illness. She died because your murderer parents performed experiments on her.” Lilly. The only person on the ship who’d cared about him, aside from Octavia. The only person he’d ever loved.

He paused as Clarke’s words sank in. “What do you mean, you didn’t always stand by?” When Clarke said nothing, he pressed on. “You mean you helped her escape? Is she still alive?”

“She was my friend, Bellamy.” Tears were streaming down Clarke’s cheeks, but Bellamy ignored them. “She told me how to talk to boys, and made me promise to wear my hair down once a week. I used to bring her books, and she would read them aloud in all these funny voices, until she got too sick, and then I read them to her. And then, when she asked me to help her, I did it, I had to, she didn’t give me a choice…”

“Help her how?” Bellamy asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“I… She begged me to make the pain go away. She asked me—” Clarke sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, her voice breaking. “To help her die.”

“You’re lying,” Bellamy said, feeling nauseous. An hour ago he would have insisted that Clarke was incapable of something like that, would have defended her honor to the death. But now the girl in front of him looked like a monstrous stranger. Lilly, though, he knew. “She would never have said that,” he snarled, rising to his feet. “She would’ve done everything possible to survive your sick game.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke started weakly. “You don’t understand—” She broke off as a sob rose in her throat.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I understand,” Bellamy cut her off. “I never want to see you again. Maybe you can offer yourself up to the Earthborns. Wouldn’t that be fun? A whole new population of children to experiment on.” He spun around and strode off, leaving Clarke alone and trembling in the woods.

He tore through the forest blindly, blinking back tears. He never should have trusted Clarke, never should have let himself get close to her. He’d learned long ago that the only person he could rely on was himself. And the only person who mattered to him was Octavia.

He’d wasted too much time already. It was time to get his sister back.

He was done playing nice with the Earthborn girl. He was done playing at all.