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It wasn’t death she craved, but if that was the only way to silence the voices, then she was prepared to die.
At least, he had been before her parents were executed.
oh shit thats different
The only person he could talk to about his mother was Glass, but she’d been strangely distant lately.
who is glass?
Humans had abandoned Earth during its darkest hour. It wouldn’t care how many died trying to return.
“Is he your boyfriend?” Bellamy pressed. “No,” Clarke said flatly. But then her mouth twitched into a questioning smile. “Why do you care?” “Just taking a census,” Bellamy replied. “Specifically, to determine the relationship status of all the pretty girls on Earth.”
Any spot on this planet was going to be infinitely better than the world they’d left behind. For the first time in his life, he was free.
“It’s incredible,” Wells said, turning to look at her with a smile she recognized from long ago. Clarke shivered. It was like seeing a ghost—a specter of the boy to whom she’d been foolish enough to give her heart.
Finally, Bellamy had been the one to point out that they were hooves, not paws, which meant that it was probably an herbivore, and therefore something they could conceivably catch and eat.
Just when it seemed like he might stab Wells in the chest, Bellamy flipped the weapon so that the handle faced Wells, and pushed it into his hand. “Breaking news, pretty boy.” Bellamy winked. “We’re all criminals here.”
He didn’t need to get pulled into a pissing contest, not when there was food to find. He swung the bow over his shoulder and stepped into the woods.
show bell loved to get in pissing contests lmaoooo
She knew she was doing the right thing, for once. She just wished it didn’t hurt so much.
He was close enough that Clarke couldn’t help but notice the faint smell of sweat clinging to his skin, blending with another scent she couldn’t identify but that made her think of trees.
“He really loves you, you know.” “Who? Bellamy?” Clarke asked, startled. “No. Wells. He came to Earth for you, Clarke.”
not bellamy *yet*
Clarke turned to Bellamy with a smile that made Wells’s stomach twist.
The girl he thought he’d lost was still in there, somewhere, and in that instant, he knew: He could make her love him again.
not if bellamy beats u to it
If he’d had to describe it, he would say it tasted like a combination of Earth and sky—and then he’d punch whoever laughed at him for it.
Bellamy brought his hands behind his head and tilted his face toward the sun, exhaling as the warmth seeped into his skin. It was almost as nice as being in bed with a girl. Maybe even better, because the sun would never ask him what he was thinking.
“For all I know, that might be your thing, doctor girl. I’ll take my chances.” She laughed for what Bellamy was pretty sure was her first time on Earth. He felt a surprising flicker of pride that he’d been the one to make it happen.
Octavia was the only person in the world who truly knew him. There was no one else he really cared about ever seeing again. But then he glanced over at Clarke, who was leaning over to breathe in the scent of a bright-pink flower, the sun catching the gold strands in her hair, and suddenly he wasn’t so sure.
screaming.
They were so different on the surface—Wells, whose belief in structure and authority had resulted in her parents’ execution, and Bellamy, the hotheaded Waldenite who’d held the Chancellor at gunpoint. But they were both willing to do anything to get what they wanted. To protect the people they cared about.
Exhilaration fizzed through Clarke’s body. Before she realized what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around Bellamy. He joined in her laughter as he staggered backward, and wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her up and spinning her through the air.
The colors of the clearing swirled, green and gold and blue all blurring until there was nothing in the world but Bellamy’s smile, lighting up his eyes.
Instead, he pulled her even closer, and before Clarke had time to catch her breath, his lips were on hers. A voice in the back of her brain told her to stop, but it was overpowered by the smell of his skin and the pressure of his touch.
Clarke felt like she was melting into his arms, losing herself in the kiss. He tasted like joy, and joy tasted better on Earth.
For a second, he let himself imagine that the rain could wash everything away: the blood, the tears, the fact that he and Octavia had failed each other. They could have a clean start, try again. Bellamy opened his eyes. He was being ridiculous, he knew. The rain was only water, and there was no such thing as a clean start. That was the thing about secrets—you had to carry them with you forever, no matter what the cost.
His stomach twisted strangely as he thought back to the scene by the fire, the flames flickering over Clarke’s determined face. He’d never known a girl who was so beautiful and intense at once.
Bellamy leaned back with a sigh and closed his eyes, wondering how long it would take until she stopped being the last person he thought about before he fell asleep.
“There was no way you’d make it,” Wells stammered. “I just—I couldn’t let you go. You would’ve been killed.” “So you let Thalia die instead. Because you get to decide who lives and who dies.” He started to protest, but she kept going, shaking with rage. “Tonight was a mistake. You destroy everything you touch.”
They all had ash in their lungs and tears in their eyes. But Wells had blood on his hands.
The fire hadn’t reached the trees, whose flowers stretched out to greet the light, blissfully unaware of—or unconcerned with—the tragedy below. But that was the thing about grief, Bellamy knew. You couldn’t expect anyone else to share your suffering. You had to carry your pain alone.
The hundred might have been the first humans to set foot on the planet in three centuries, but they weren’t alone. Some people had never left.
