Conflate | Bellamy Blake ¹ ✓

✯ | chapter three

❝until such time as the world ends, we will act as though it intends to spin on.❞

-nick fury, the avengers

♛

I PICK BOREDLY AT my nails with my back against the metal wall of the cell. I find it almost ironic that I'm a prisoner once again, even though I've been given the illusion of freedom while on the ground. The truth is, I've always been a prisoner and I always will be. Nothing will change that.

Letting my mind wander is dangerous, so I've taken to counting the open wires hanging from the ceiling and trying to calculate if I could make a weapon out of them and escape. I wonder how Raven is doing, where Finn and Bellamy are, and why I've been locked in this tiny room when the person who threatened to murder me is still roaming free.

My mom is dead.

The realization of that sends another stab of pain at my heart that strikes right through it. I wince at the stinging sensation that comes about every time I stop thinking about something other than the fact that my mom really isn't coming back this time, that I'm an orphan, and I have no clue if my best friend is still alive.

I think about Clarke and the others more often than not. I think about Monty and Jasper and Harper and Miller, and where they are and why. I think about Octavia; I hope she's safe with Lincoln. If she isn't, I'll never be able to forgive myself. The crestfallen expression on her face as he carried her away is still fresh in my mind. 

I look up from my hands when the sound of the double door sliding open catches my attention. Kane saunters in, making me roll my eyes and look down again. He stops near the center of the room.

"I'm sorry about your mother."

My eyes squeeze shut and I tense up at the mention of her. Hearing it out loud causes a stronger sense of hurt than just thinking about it. Other people talking about her demise makes it too real for my mind to currently comprehend.

"You're not sorry."

The words are flat and harsh, but they're true. I do not open my eyes and I do not make any move to stand up to see what he wants.

"Yes I am," Kane replies somberly. Maybe, just maybe, there is an ounce of sympathy in his voice, but instead of comforting me, it ignites a fire of anger inside of me like his words are a lighter to the gasoline in my veins. I burn with rage and fury so intense that I'm worried it'll consume me and I'll be nothing but a charred memory.

"You're not."

"I saw it with my own eyes. Of course I am."

I will not cry in front of you, my mind chants. I will not cry in front of you. I will not. I will not. I will--

A tear rolls down my face before I know it. A glistening pool of water fills up behind my eyelids and I suddenly feel the urge to sob again, to douse out the fire in my bones. I hate him for making me remember when I've been trying this whole time to forget.

"Please," I whisper, opening my eyes and clenching my fists so hard that my nails dig into my skin. I meet his eyes; my gaze is filled with vulnerability so I can get him to cut it out. "Just stop."

Kane nods in understanding, seeming slightly taken aback at my raw emotions. He gestures to two chairs that sit facing each other in the middle of the room. It's obvious he has some questions, but I don't feel like answering. However, I know that the possibility of my release lies in my decision to respond or not, so I may as well give him what he wants.