Bellātor | BELLAMY BLAKE

eighteen

ᴇɪɢʜᴛᴇᴇɴ : ɪ ᴀᴍ ʙᴇᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ
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After stuffing her face with berries and nuts and taking a much needed power-nap, Clara checks in with Clarke. The blonde has already gotten over her illness, so she was ready to help. She stitches up her side again and spreads some home-made cream made from the red seaweed in the nearby river on her burns before wrapping it up. She also disinfects the cut on her arm before it also gets infected, and soon enough, Clara is good to go by her standards.

It is still very painful to walk—or move, really—but she slowly makes her way into the drop ship where the last of the sick kids are quarantined. She immediately finds the boy she's looking for and limps over to him.

Bellamy is just waking up, his mouth and nose crusted with blood. His face is ghostly pale, making his dark freckles much more prominent. Murphy notices Bellamy stirring and walks over with a cup of water. Clara smiles at the sight of Murphy. She may not particularly like him, but she has to admit, it's nice to see him alive.

"Here," Murphy says, leaning down and handing Bellamy the cup.

Bellamy's eyes glare daggers at the boy. He sits up and shoves him away. "Get the hell away from me."

Murphy sighs, annoyed. "Bellamy, you're sick, okay? I'm just trying to help." He offers the cup again. "Here."

"When I get better, if you're still here—" Before Bellamy can finish his threat, Clara finally approaches the boys.

She takes the cup from Murphy and says, "I'll handle him, thanks."

Murphy's eyes soften on her. He nods, then comments, "It's nice to see you alive."

"You too," she replies, smiling kindly.

Murphy gives Bellamy one last glance before turning and walking away to help the others. Clara sits beside Bellamy and extends her arm with the cup.

"Here."

Bellamy's eyes linger on her before he take the water from her. He takes a sip, then turns to the side to cough. It's a horrible sound that must hurt his throat. Bellamy cringes at the blood on the inside of his elbow.

"You shouldn't be in here," he says, voice hoarse.

"I'll be fine, Clarke thinks I'm immune." Clara takes the cup back after Bellamy takes another sip. She sets it aside. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Bellamy replies, but then coughs into his elbow again. Clara frowns and reaches out, rubbing his back gently. When he's done, he takes a deep breath and wipes off the blood around his lips. His bloodshot eyes flicker to Murphy aiding the other sick kids. "So, you trust him now?"

Clara looks back at Murphy. He looks much better than when she last saw him. His face isn't all bloody, and he can actually take a few steps without collapsing. When she turns back to Bellamy, she says, "We shared a cell for a little while; it makes a person grow on you a little, I guess. The last I'd heard of him, he was screaming so much I thought he had died when the grounders didn't bring him back."

Bellamy sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. "How about you?" When Clara gives him a questioning gaze, he clarifies, "How are you feeling? Have you gotten something to eat yet?"