No? And what made Murphy think they wouldn’t have to have this talk? It seemed like he wasn’t going to learn anything from just little talk. Bellamy couldn’t help it, he hated that how easily Murphy could make him feel like this, so fucking disappointed, and only thing he could do was to try insult him. He knew it wasn’t going to work, Murphy’s grown too strong for them to hurt but he didn’t care.
Bellamy let out a low groan as Murphy took his wrist, he wanted to bite him, bit that tongue that was lying to him. It was the only way. “Maybe I do but you don’t really give me much other option, do you? Always fighting against me, us. Always doing things you should be paying for,” he spat and clenched his fist after Murphy had freed his wrist. He stepped closer, Murphy wasn’t going to get anywhere.
“My attention?” he growled, and in a second he was again on him, slamming him against the wall. “You think running away gets my attention? Congratulations, you’ve certainly succeeded. You must be so fucking happy now!” Bellamy shouted to his stupid, annoying face as his grip around Murphy’s groan tightened. “You want to know what I do to whores like you?”
He got that? Then why the fuck did he go outside of the camp? Why did he just disappear and let people to come and tell Bellamy that Murphy was gone, again? Why did he let him groan in frustration, let him want to punch his face over and over until he couldn’t tell him anymore lies. He didn’t need those words, he didn’t need them. He wanted to get that boy who he had been ready to call as his second-in-command back, he wanted to trust in him but Murphy was making it way too hard. Bellamy didn’t know what to do, Murphy was too close and if he seriously wanted to hurt him, he would have to shove him away a bit first.
Horse. Where had he found a damn horse? If he dared to tell him, he had been visiting Grounders, he would literally kill him. No one of them needed this, they didn’t need a boy who they couldn’t trust, who ran with fucking horses because clearly he wasn’t occupied enough here. Bellamy was tired of this, he was tired of fighting Murphy, he just wanted to pound hell out of him.
But then he mentioned Bellamy’s sister. Octavia. He had met her… First thing that came to his mind was if Octavia was hurt. But it wasn’t relevant, not now. “Such a shame that horse didn’t kill you,” Bellamy spat. He wasn’t going to believe Murphy had just met Octavia and that was it. “What did you do? I don’t think she just offered to go hunting with you!” he growled.
“We don’t need to have this talk, really,” Murphy snapped, and
then bit the inside of his cheek, feeling more than a little ashamed; he was sick
it all, sick of his guilt and vices. He had since learned to cloak his sadness
with anger and his loneliness with snark, but this confrontation was really trying
him. Bellamy’s ensuing words were an insult, the kind of insult Murphy had been
raised to repay with fists and steel, and yet—Bellamy’s face was as much
agonized as angry.
“Oh, fucking hell, now you’re just mocking me. What, you
think I can’t hunt by myself? Go float yourself, Bellamy,” Murphy said. It was now his turn to take a step forward,
sliding a hand down to grip Bellamy’s wrist, leaning in harder. Bellamy could
overpower him if he so wished; although Murphy was strong in his wiry way,
Bellamy had the leverage and the muscle to overpower him in an instant. “Look, I saw your sister, her horse tried to kill
me, I left. But no, go ahead: assume the worst. You always do.”
He abruptly relinquished his grip on Bellamy’s wrist and took a step
back, back flush to the wall. He let his head lull forward so he didn’t
have to look at Bellamy’s stupid fucking
face. “This is ridiculous.” A bitter laugh slipped from his lips,
and he closed his eyes; he could feel Bellamy’s gaze on him like a fucking noose. “You know, everything I did, I
did to get your damn attention.”
Once the door was closed Bellamy let out everything that had been building up inside him on his way here. He couldn’t believe how easily Murphy had just left, how he had actually believed him when he had claimed that he had changed. That boy hadn’t changed at all, he was exactly same than ever, he just hadn’t yet had a good chance enough to create a completely chaos around him. And Bellamy knew they didn’t need any more chaos that they already had. Wasn’t war good enough?
“It wasn’t like that? Oh yeah, do tell me what it was like then?” he growled, his steps heavy and loud as he approached Murphy who was occupied with his backpack. Bellamy frowned but glanced down anyway, his eyes widening a bit at a glimpse of fresh meat. That was a lot and they hadn’t had fresh meat for ages. But it wasn’t a damn reason, they didn’t need more food, not yet. And now Murphy thought he could just offer piece of meat for them like they were just hungry dogs?
“It was an accident? Please, tell me how wandering outside the camp is a damn accident?” Bellamy huffed and stepped closer but not to take the backpack. “How does getting out of the camp help any of us? We don’t need more food!” Not yet. “You think you can just offer it and think you’re forgiven? You broke the rules and you’ll pay for that!”
He grasped Murphy’s shirt to pull him close enough he could even feel his breath and smell… hang on. “Why. Do. You. Smell. Like. A. Horse?” Bellamy snarled and shoved Murphy away. “What the fuck have you been doing there?”
“Yeah, I get it, alright?” The tension in the air was palpable. Murphy clenched and unclenched his fists, and Bellamy huffed and
crossed the threshold; his expression stung more than his words ever could. His fist found
Murphy’s shirt, and the boy’s heart went into overdrive.
“Yeah, great. This
is what I get for trying, but go ahead,” he said, the last words drawn as a
gasp from his own lips. He quickly bit down on his own tongue. There was
nothing about this display of anger and control that should have been exciting, and yet – fuck, he could feel his blood surge, the faint burn of colour high
in his cheeks betraying his thoughts. It was fucking stupid; this reaction was fucking stupid;
he should not want Bellamy, should not want to kiss his sneering mouth almost
as much as he wanted to slam his fist into it. He felt angry and conflicted,
and his heart pounded wildly as Bellamy lent in, freckles like nebulas or dying
planets or astral light. However, the moment was short-lived: Bellamy’s eyes widened
and Murphy blanched, and it was over. Murphy’s entire life was over. Because of course he smelled like that stupid
horse, and now Bellamy was probably going to kill him. Great.
“Listen, Bellamy–” Murphy’s voice was choked; he expected another struggle, but
Bellamy broke his grip and shoved Murphy backwards. He staggered, wincing, and dropped his backpack. Old, disgruntled anger simmered in his veins. “Relax, I was going to tell you.” However, he couldn’t tell Bellamy about the
Grounders. It wasn’t an option; he’d be kicked out of camp and left to fend for
himself in the wilds. And that never ended well. Instead, he told a half-truth. “I
ran into your sister. And no, I didn’t touch her, but her asshole horse tried
to kill me. ”
The word of that Murphy was back reached Bellamy fairly fast. How did he even dare to come back? He had made it very clear for him, either he was one of them and actually stayed in the camp or he was out. Now he thought he could just come back from his little wandering, who knew where he even had been. Had the Grounders caught him, had he just decided to feel free again and do what the damn he wanted? Bellamy clenched his fists as he walked inside to find him, knowing they were already checking him. That self-absorbed bastard.
He didn’t bother to knock , only slammed the door open and stepped inside. People around Murphy raised their gaze, nodded to him telling the boy seemed to be alright. No damage had done except that Bellamy had lost his final faith on him and he wasn’t sure if he could forgive him. He had given him an opportunity to become one of them again and he had turned that opportunity down just days after.
“Get out,” he growled, watched how only he and Murphy were left in the room. The last one closed the door after and he approached the fugitive. He didn’t eve try to look calm, his look seeping mix of disappointment and anger.
“What did you think you’re doing? I told you the rules, I told you you’ve got no permission to go outside the gates, that if you want to become one of us again, you stay here! You stay like anyone else, you…” Bellamy slammed his fist to the table wishing it would’ve been Murphy’s face. “Why do you have to do this? Every fucking time…”
With one swift, abrupt movement, the door slammed open and
rattled against the frame. Taken off guard, Murphy reeled back and bumped into the guard behind him as Bellamy finally made his entrance. Bile instantly forced its way up the back of Murphy’s throat. Bellamy’s
reaction was worse than Murphy had feared. Hell,
when he first saw Bellamy, he fancied himself looking at a fucking wildfire. His hair fell like soot along
his brows, and his freckles spread out across his body like embers; he was burning,
seething, simmering. The fire could be traced, bit-by-bit, to the catalyst – to
the boy standing right in front of him. Murphy gulped. He was so screwed.
The other sky people quickly retreated—cowards, all of them —and
Murphy feigned indifference, despite the fact that he’d never been this afraid
of Bellamy; not since he’d kicked the crate out from beneath him. The last guard
finally left, and Murphy stiffened and prepared for a thorough lecture. Just
like that, Bellamy erupted. The room seemed to resound and shudder with
each and every syllable. Murphy bit the inside of his cheek, feeling more than a
little nauseous. Bellamy looked so god-damned disappointed in him
—
Murphy could handle anger, sure, but this was infinitely
worse.
“Woah, Bellamy, wait, wait,” his
words tripped over and over themselves. “It wasn’t like that.” Murphy was sick of being punished, sick of everyone being better
off without him, because yeah, he’d
fucked up; it didn’t take a genius to see that he should’ve stayed inside the camp. Though honestly, he
didn’t regret acting out so much as
he regretted being caught.
He fumbled with the clasps of his backpack for a
moment, before snapping them open and revealing a large quantity of fresh deer
meat. The Grounders from Gona had kept their promise. “Look,
see? And yeah. Yeah, I should’ve stayed inside.” Murphy held the bag out
like a peace offering. “There’s rules, I get it. It was an accident, alright? I
was so fucking stupid to leave camp.I know the drill. I was only trying to help.”
With a fair share of fresh game stuffed in his bag, beneath
the weight of his gun, Murphy mock-saluted Octavia and started at a jog up the
hill; she had dropped him a short walk from the camp. He immediately felt an intense need to get inside, and he was aware,
somewhere in the very forefront of his mind that he could be shot at any
second. By the time he’d gone twenty feet, his neck bubbled with sweat.
Camp Jaha sat like a collapsed lung at the top of the knoll.
Its winking lights were like a dozen angry eyes. You have been seen. Murphy’s gut twisted, and he moved quicker. His
pack felt suddenly insubstantial, and the reality of his actions finally sunk
in. He’d left camp. Fuck, he didn’t
even wait a day before leaving the safe confides and seeking out Mbege’s stupid, stupid, stupid memorial stone.
Bellamy had trusted him (I believed in you)
and Murphy had left camp and encountered Grounders and trekked his sorry, sore
ass to a foreign village in the middle of nowhere, and now he’d have to deal
with the repercussions.
It came as a surprise to Murphy that Bellamy didn’t greet
him at the gates with his usual scolding: Murphy was able to slink right up to
the camp without so much as a glimpse of him. However, there were armed guards waiting behind the
barrier, though thankfully none of them thought to shoot him. Yet.
He was begrudgingly dragged inside and subjected to a
through look-over. He smirked, sweat drying, as they checked his eyes for
disease: like he was a fucking weapon
all over again. Some childish part of him still wanted to turn around and run to
the end of the earth and over the edge into oblivion or whatever awaited the
soul of a foolish asshole like
himself – if only to avoid the inevitable confrontation with Bellamy.
