― 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆.
❝ how do you make a monster
stop feeling so monstrous?
you give her something
she can hold in her palms
without crushing.
you give her something sweet,
and tell her to keep it.
...
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LOST IN FIRE (book three). °• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO •°
" YOU KNOW ME. PAIN IS PAIN. "
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Harleyhates watching everyone say good-bye as she sees Abby embrace Jackson and instruct him and Miller to take care of each other. She's still openly bitter that Bellamy won't let any of them wake Octavia up. It's not fair. She feels like the odd one out carrying her sword in a sheath along with a knife on her belt that Echo loaned her for easy access. She doesn't take a gun, not at first, mostly because she's too stubborn to want one, but Miller is insistent. Everyone has to be armed with something other than a few blades, so Harley reluctantly accepted one, for now. Her head turned when Bellamy comes down the long hall with a large bag stuffed with supplies after speaking to Miller, calling out to the few behind him like Raven and Shaw who were embracing one another. "Alright, let's load up!"
"Right behind you," Clarke promised before speaking good-bye to her mother while the group waited patiently in the airlock chamber.
Murphy is fidgeting with his own bag before he nudges his sister. "How's your leg?"
Truthfully, Harley hasn't looked at her leg since she woke up. It still hurt every time she put too much weight on it, but after algae and getting her bandages changed, it becomes a dull ache and easier to ignore. "Peachy," she responded honestly before eyeing the other. He was hurt worse than herself. "What about yours?"
Harley's brother flashed her a grin before he shrugged. "Eh, you know me. Pain is pain." And once the pair outside is finally done and Clarke joined them, her eyes still connect with Abby's as Bellamy hits the red button and the doors shut. "Feels familiar, huh?" Murphy voiced.
Clarke quirks a small smile back as they enter the ship as a group. It's large, spacious, with many seats and control panels. Harley does feel a sense of familiarity as she thinks back to a memory that happened hundreds of years ago, some of which she wasn't awake for. It's not as if the ship was built anything like the dropship she entered when she was freshly seventeen and surrounded by other delinquents.
She had her brother to thank for that. Now, Harley has Monty to thank, she thinks as she lowered herself into a seat and strapped the two yellow seatbelts over her chest, clicking them into their buckles. The thought of Monty alone made her smile too as she turned her head to see Murphy a few feet to her left. "Must be," Shaw commented from where he had sat at the pilot's leather seat. "Hundreds of years later and we're making the same choices."
