❝ Hell isn't where you go when you die.
It's what you become when everything you love has been taken away. ❞
[ sequel to 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ]
[ the 100 / season two ]
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Treachery;
𝐄very muscle in her being burns and throbs and stings.
She rests on her back with both legs outstretched, green eyes glued to the moss-clad ceiling. Her teeth irritate the inside of her cheek, a prominent sigh fleeing through her nose.
A gentle tug on her hair makes her frown. She means to sit up when a hand clutches her shoulder, guiding her back down.
"Lay still."
A small chuckle escapes her dry lips. Her voice is as sore as her muscles, escaping in a hoarse rasp. "What are you doing?"
Octavia remains silent, her green eyes focused on Clove's knotted locks. "Making you look less like a cave dweller," she ultimately teases.
Clove hums in amusement, allowing a soft smile to stretch across her features.
"God knows you need it."
Her attention drifts to Bellamy. He's standing by her feet, arms crossed and his trademark smirk as prominent as ever. However, underneath the forced humor in his tone and expression, concern peaks through.
The blonde rolls her eyes, playfully reaching her leg out to kick him away. He effortlessly catches her ankle, the smirk crinkling his eyes. "Nice try."
She fails to suppress her amusement as she shakes her head, mimicking his stand by crossing her arms over her chest. "Thanks," she shrugs.
Bellamy keeps his palm locked around her foot as he sits down, bringing them both onto his lap.
Safety.
Despite their absolutely terrifying situation, she feels safe.
"And... all done," Octavia announces. As she raises to her feet, Clove takes the opportunity to sit up. The action has her coming face to face with Bellamy, who's now holding onto the tips of her combat shoes.
The blonde rakes a hand through her hair, searching for whatever the younger Blake had created. Her fingertips travel down the length of the loose waves, eventually settling on a smaller, braided section of it. She brings the single braid towards her face, the length of her hair easily reaching her eyesight.
She flings the brunette a knowing smile, "actually looks good."
"I know," Octavia winks before turning to leave the two.
After casing her yet another smile, Clove's focus wanders back to her hair, spinning the end of it around her finger. Even though it's simply one small braid in the mass of her blonde locks, she finds herself genuinely liking it.
