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-”
Octavia glanced over her shoulder after Murphy’s words. They almost sounded like he was… nice and not making fun of her. She was about to smile at him but then the limb almost threw him to the ground. Ouch. That must hurt, he bushes weren’t always too kind for riders. “You might want to watch in front of you, being higher than usually is sometimes more dangerous than you think.”
She sighed and slowed down to a trot. “That’s the plan. I’ll drop you once we’re close enough and you can probably walk a few metres alone without facing another Grounder,” Octavia replied. “I’m not going to get too close you know. I don’t need any new… troubles.”
As Octavia still remembered how awful it had been after her first ride, she decided to give Murphy a small break. Hopefully his ass wouldn’t be completely ripped of after this. “How are you going to explain this all? I don’t think anyone in the camp is too happy to hear about your little trip.”
“Yeah, a little late
for that,” deadpanned Murphy. He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward a
little so his hair – free from braids and tangles – curtained part of his face.He was bleeding, but that was of no
great concern – it was only a scratch, and he had enough marks on his face
already. The only thing at risk was his dignity. And his ass. Still, they rode,
and the thick, clammy spring air filled Murphy’s lungs as he clutched the saddle
for dear life; wind lashed through his hair and ruffled Connor’s mane.
“Sounds good, boss.”
‘Thanks, Grounder
Pounder, I had absolutely no idea,’ Murphy thought, but held back the jest
at the look on Octavia’s face; her demeanor had softened, and he was in no
position to test her patience. Time to sheathe his claws. “Yeah, they’ll
be thrilled,” he said, attempting to look as friendly as he could while
gripping onto a horse for dear life. “I have a little something to shut them up though – and no, it’s not a weapon. Me and my Grounder pal scored a deer. That’s why I helped him with. Told you
I wasn’t lying.”
Adele gave the young man a smile, no wonder the guy was so skinny. She failed to fully suppress her snorting laugh at Jason’s reaction to John. She probably shouldn’t have found it funny, but she did. She covered it with a cough and wandered back over to her work table. The woman busied herself with gathering up her materials and beginning to clean up the station, doing more busy work than anything else. She eyed the two men as she did so with a lingering smile.
Murphy was already half-asleep when Jason nudged his thigh,
interfering with his plans for a quick five-second nap. He huffed and dragged
himself to his feet, suppressing an eye roll. All things considered, dozing off
in a Grounder’s abode probably wasn’t a good idea in the first place. He took a few steps and bent down, opening his pack, and fetched his own blade. It had a satisfying heft to it: a weight in his
hand that was exactly right.
“Don’t worry,” said Murphy as crossing the threshold “I’ve done
this before.” The deer’s faces were oddly calm, its twin mouths soft and slack as its
dead eyes stared at the floor. It looked like it died with a sigh on its lips
instead of a scream. Jason had already cut
through the pelvis and up to the rib cage, and Murphy bent over and examined the exposed stomach cavity. It was a fat doe. It’d make for a good meal.
The delinquent’s hands were deceptively graceful as he cut
through the last binding strings of fat and sinew. He pulled the entrails out
in one swift movement, secretly enjoying the wet slide of blood against his
hands. Once the guts were put aside, he stood back and admired his handiwork. “You know…” he started slowly, following a moment of silence. “I’m surprised you nabbed a deer so close to Their territory.”
“I did warn you” Camila looked at him while rubbing her cheek where he’d gotten a punch in. “You really shouldn’t be so cocky, next time I’ll break something, got it?”
“You’re insane,” Murphy deflected. He slowly stood and spat blood at his assailant. Shit. Fury burned in tandem with his dignity. His nose was bruised and streaming, and he smeared blood across the back of his hand. “This isn’t over, Rivers.”
Murphy yelped and tried to twist away from Camila’s sudden onslaught, but was
struck down by a kinetic fury. He snarled and lunged, nonplussed by the blood
gushing from his nose and chin, staining the grass haemoglobin red. Most of his
punches missed their mark, but his knuckles eventually bore into her soft flesh
first, then the hard, creaking paster of her cheekbone last. They fought, fast and fierce, exchanging blows in cadence to their heartbeats. Eventually, he was struck down and stayed down. “Get your hands off me, you crazy bitch.”
