Bellātor | BELLAMY BLAKE

five

ғɪᴠᴇ : ʀᴇsᴄᴜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ
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The rag-tag group that Clarke organized only included Clara, Bellamy, and Murphy—whom Bellamy invited. That's why, as they leave camp, Clarke allows Wells to join. She tries to keep her distance, though he attempts to match her pace several times. Clarke's clear distaste towards Wells makes her wonder what she has against him, and she knows it's more than the reason everyone else seems to hate him.

Clara isn't really close to anyone in the group, so she hangs around towards the back as the others march through the woods in front of her.

Bellamy, wielding his gun like it's a toy, says, "Hey, hold up, what's the rush? You don't survive a spear through the heart."

Everyone slows to a stop. If looks could kill, Bellamy would be six feet under from the look Clarke shoots him.

Beside Clark, Wells says, "Put the gun away, Bellamy."

"Why don't you do something about it, huh?" Murphy taunts, every word that comes out of his mouth making him look more like Bellamy's croon.

Clara, who stands a few yards behind Bellamy, watches the exchange quietly. It's like she's not even there, which is fine considering they seem to be at each others' throats constantly. She picks at the dirt under her nails as she waits for the group to get moving again so they can hurry up with this rescue. The faster they find Jasper, the better.

Clarke ignores Murphy's words and says, "Jasper screamed when they moved him. If the spear struck his heart, he'd have died instantly. It doesn't mean we have time to waste."

The image that pops into Clara's head at Clarke's description isn't pleasant at all. She quickly shakes her head to get rid of it, the lingering image sending chills down her spine.

Before Clarke can spin around and continue on with their journey, Bellamy's hand shoots out and snags her wrist. "As soon as you take this wristband off, we can go."

Clarke wrenches her wrist out of his grip like his touch burned her. She sneers, "The only way the Ark is gonna think I'm dead is if I'm dead. Got it?"

Bellamy cocks his head, feigning being impressed. "Brave princess."

"Hey!"

The voice coming from behind the group startles Clara more than it should. She jumps and spins around, her eyes wide and her hand flying up to her chest. Finn steps over some fallen logs and joins the group.

Glancing at Bellamy, he says, "Why don't you find your own nickname?"

Bellamy's upturned lips dip into a scowl.

"You call this a rescue party?" Finn asks. "We got to split up, cover more ground. Clarke, you're with me." He doesn't waste any time and already heads off.

Clarke raises her brow but follows nonetheless, muttering, "Better late than never."

With Finn and Clarke off on their own, Clara looks around the remaining group members: Bellamy, Murphy, and Wells. She raises her hand and asks, "So, are we splitting up, too?"

Wells turns around, his eyes finding Clara with masked surprise like he forgot she was even there.

Bellamy storms ahead, tucking his gun into his waistband. "No."