Monroe’s teeth were beginning to ache from how tightly they were pressed together. Uncontrollable anger was beginning to seethe inside her, threatening to bubble up and make her snap. Her eyes narrowed at Murphy and she shook her head, refusing to let him go just yet. “Maybe it should be justified if you explode by me asking a simple question. I just wanted to know why.” She swallowed, not caring about the poison in her voice “It’s cowardly. And stupid.”
Maybe could have kept it together if he hadn’t spoken the last part. But the more Murphy went on the more angry and hurt she got until the top of that bottle she pushed her emotions into popped off. How could he go there? How could he say that? The was another pause as the anger visibly rose, showing on her expression and countenance as the girl stiffened. “You-”
Monroe’s voice caught, she was too livid and shocked to form a complete sentence. Her hand balled into a fist and she found herself responding the only way she knew how. The fist was brought up to Murphy’s nose in a quick and flicking motion, making contact with a sickening thud.
Murphy wasn’t new to violence. In fact, he was intimately
acquainted with being attacked. He was, however, new to the full brunt of
Monroe’s fist. Her knuckles bore into his cartilage, flint on flint, and pain
rippled through his face upon impact. Blood dripped from nose and spattered his
shirt as he stared at her, wide-eyed and wounded.
This was inevitable. Monroe’s betrayed expression got into
his bloodstream; the edges of his vision blurred and blackened slightly, and
his nose was crooked and streaming. He tried to muster the conviction he’d felt
when he’d decided to stay. He tried to remember his pride and justifications.
However, the only thing he remembered was that he was a coward and Monroe was the only thing that made the idea of dying
more devastating. He wanted to hit her. He wanted to hit her and make her pay, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t. His
emotions were everywhere, everywhere, like a serpent trying to escape him, like
he was being consumed. She was right, she
was right, he was a coward. Months and months worth of pent of misery poured out of his eyes and skin and mouth.
“What, that’s all you got?” he croaked, and then his voice
rose. “You want me to stay,
huh? Well what if I can’t? ‘Cause there—there’s so much death,
all around me, and I just—I just can’t…I just-” with a hysterical laugh, he instinctively
wiped his hand under his nose, and tears gushed over his eyelids and slid down
his now blood-smeared cheeks. “I feel it in my Goddamn head
and it’s killing me! It’s killing me. That should’ve been
my execution.”
Finn’s execution was
still a fresh wound, and tied into his low blow regarding Sterling. Despite
everything, Raven had been right to offer him up. He may not have pulled the
trigger, but he killed Connor and Myles, and tried to hang Bellamy. Murphy wrapped his arms around his stomach until
his lungs felt as if they were being wrung out.
“I’ve kept all this inside me for so long, and
everything is fucked up and there’s nothing I can do about it,” he shouted.
“I’m not allowed to anything, I can’t act out: I’m just supposed
to crawl into a hole like the obedient
dirt I am and take it. But I can’t do this forever! My father,
he—he died for me. And I—I can’t do this forever. I can’t do this forever, I
can’t-”
Monroe’s teeth pressed together tighter at Murphy’s words as comprehension entered her eyes. There was a silent pause, filled with the sound of her quickening breath. She shook her head at him and didn’t even try to mask the betrayed expression on her face. How could he? Murphy was one of the only friends she had left. The only one that understood.
“You two…” she muttered, failing to keep the pain out of her voice. She didn’t understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to understand how he could stay and align himself with people like Kane, with people who were willing to look the other way at mass murder. Monroe still gripped Murphy’s sleeve, trying to even out her voice. “Why?”
“Oh come on, I don’t
have to justify anything to you!” snapped Murphy, trying not to under Monroe’s
harrowing stare; those eyes, struck with betrayal, were on the verge of a catastrophe.
She gripped his sleeve – a familiar gesture that soured into something painful.
Murphy’s thoughts were mangled stands, torn to shred and
spilling around him - like blood. He had always resented the Hundred for the
way they excluded him. But not Monroe. No, Murphy enjoyed her company, enjoyed
her subtle humour which was almost on par with his own, her empathy which made
him think of better times, and even her anger, for it was something familiar to
him. But regardless of their comradery, Murphy was full of sharp edges. Monroe
had finally been cut.
Murphy was sick of
living his life like an apology. And this was his last shot at redemption. If
he remained, if he fought, then his
sacrifice would wash away all the wrongs that he’d done; if his father and
Bellamy had done it, then why couldn’t he? He
wasn’t a coward.
“What do you care? Look, If I stay, you’ll get over it,” He wasn’t
a coward. He kept telling himself this. He cared about her. And maybe that’s
why he was so fucking driven to drive her away. He could lose himself, but he
couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t—he couldn’t lose her too. “I’m not Sterling. You’ll
forget I was even here.”
Monroe sat up on her elbows when she heard the laugh, raising a brow at Murphy. Her brows furrowed slightly at his aggression and she clenched her jaw tight. She sat up all the way and eyed the young man coldly as he finished speaking, her gaze following him a moment after he hopped down. She swallowed, how could he just walk away? Everyone was walking away from her her and she couldn’t just let Murphy do it too.
Monroe slid down from the bunk and hurried forward, grasping at her friend’s sleeve. “Hey!” she tugged on his arm to make him look at her. She felt her chest tighten as anger and betrayal began to build inside her. No, she wasn’t going to cry about, instead she wanted to scream at someone, something. “Where are you going?!” she asked in an edged tone, trying to swallow down in the lump in her throat.
Monroe chased after Murphy and grabbed his sleeve, demanding
his attention; he couldn’t escape this confrontation. Finally, he stopped, and reeled about to face her—a jerky,
abrupt movement that set his waspish eyes ablaze. The sound of her voice
tightened around his throat – and hell,
did it hurt. The only way he knew how to deal with sadness was to do something
bad for attention, and maybe this was it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Murphy croaked, and then his voice
rose. “I’m staying here.”
There. It was out in the open. He couldn’t do this forever;
this had always been inevitable, no matter how hard he tried to be good. It was
right for him to die by the hands of Grounders.
As Jaha would say, it was his destiny.
He had imagined it vividly when they’d tortured him. Every step of his journey
had led him to this exact moment. His father had been brave enough to die for
him, and now he was going to return the favour. He’d die for them, for these useless cowards. For Clarke. For Bellamy. For Monroe.
Camp Jaha had begun to fall into a busier bustle than usual between those packing to leave and those readying themselves for war. All Monroe had left to do was wait. Wait for Bellamy to die. Wait to have to leave Tegan. Wait to be forced into an unfriendly environment and watch her people be killed. She felt like she was losing her mind, but she’d already tried drinking it down. She just had to wait.
The girl wandered into the dormitory, not sure what she was looking for until she spotted Murphy on the bunk above her own. She approached the bed and nimbly climbed up next to him, dangling her legs off the side. Monroe laid back and turned her head to look at him, eyeing the belongings littered around bedding. She furrowed her brows slightly before asking “Why aren’t you packed?”
The bustle was annoying as hell. Murphy closed his eyes in a futile attempt to shut out the commotion that surrounded
him. These skaikru were sniveling cowards. Most of the fleeing delinquents were the same ones who orchestrated his execution and supported his exile, and yet they couldn’t even stay loyal to their cause. To their leader. Pathetic.
Eventually, someone new encroached on Murphy’s bunk. The footfall was familiar, and Murphy slitted one eye open and considered
hiding beneath the covers until Monroe left. Unfortunately, she was persistent,
and she soon climbed up and settled next to him. She asked why Murphy had not
packed, and he laughed like she’d told a joke instead. Oh great, here it comes. He was not in the
mood for this conversation.
Murphy leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees, and he refused to make eye contact. “The hell would I pack?” he deadpanned, finally turning to face her, and – nope, he wasn’t having this
conversation; Monroe’s half-hopeful eyes inspired something guilty and painful within Murphy’s chest. He’d already made up his mind, and she wouldn’t like it, and that hurt. “Go annoy someone else, Roe.”
Murphy promptly jumped off the bunk with all the grace of a
flea-ridden alley cat, and slowly sauntered towards the mouth of the dormitory.
