The 100 Imagines

Octavia #1

"Octavia wait!" You run through the trees, desperately ducking out of the way of branches and scrambling over fallen trunks. You dare not take your eyes off the flashes of green through the trees and the loud crashes, betraying Octavia's position. Your breathing is getting out of control, but you know that above everything you must catch up with her. You can't lose her again. It's been four months now since Lincoln was shot, but she's been withdrawing more and more ever since. After finally helping out the surviving members of the Ark you thought she was on the path to finding peace, but she took no hesitation in taking off this evening, under the cover of darkness. Your thought process is disrupted when you're hurtled off your feet and slammed into the nearest tree. The first thing you're able to register is her face angrily staring into yours.

"What do you think you're doing?" She hisses, her eyes drilling holes into yours.

"I-I- I'm bringing you back home, Octavia." Your voice shakes and your eyebrows tilt as you plead with your eyes. She shakes her head, whipping strands of her hair into your face. This close you can see a scatter of freckles across her nose that you hadn't noticed before. You breath shakily, trying to contain your concentration on her eyes but then get distracted by the hint of hazel towards the centre of her eye. She releases a hand from your arm to brush some of her hair behind her shoulder and a scent of earth and fresh grass overpowers you.

"I have no home anymore. There's nothing for me there." Her voice is so venomous that it pains you to listen to her say those words. You desperately want to give her a reason to stay, the words are on your tongue but you know that it's not the right time. How can you tell her that she's all you think about when you wake up in the morning? That she's your last thought at night? That for every single time she's touched her hair, you've imagined your hand moving the exact same way through it? There's no way to say it. Because she's not ready to hear how much you care for her. Not when she still grieves for another and has a heart to heal. So instead you bow your head and break the eye contact, and do the hardest thing you've ever had to do. Octavia steps back and raises an arm in warning. "Don't follow me." She demands before bursting through the trees again. After a second the noises disappear and you can let out your shaky sobs. Your back scrapes against the tree as you slide down to the floor and pull your knees to your chest. It's one thing to lose someone without a choice, but to choose that they will be better off without you is a different thing entirely. When she's ready for love, you'll still be there but for now, all you can do is treasure the memory that she has left behind; the glare of determination in her eye and her dry, sarcastic remarks. That, and hope that she will return soon.

"May we meet again."