bellamy blake (whoweneedtobe) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-03-25 10:28:00 |
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He spent a lot of time, in the original aftermath, reaching and feeling with the Force. As if he could find her somewhere and it wouldn't be real. He spent a lot of time wandering around the village and trying to decide who had been the one to take her and how he could get away with killing them without being caught. The longer he did that, the angrier he found himself and his muscles began to tense with the urge to fall back into that violence he so often liked to lean on. He killed dozens of grounders because his girlfriend died - Bellamy wasn't above laying waste to an entire planet for his sister. But his anger was continually drowned by his grief. Neither one could truly win out and he was left in an emotionally limbo that was draining. He was paralyzed by it. All he could think of was Octavia. Her first cries as he shushed her, their mother unconscious at his side. The feel of her tiny body curled up against his as he struggled through learning to read by reading aloud to her. The way she looked in the glow of the light reflecting from Earth for the first time. An enthusiastic 'we're back, bitches!' at the top of her lungs.
He hadn't cried. Not in the way he thought he would anyway. Instead, his home bore the brunt of his grief. Anything not nailed down was now flipped over - the table sat on its side, a broken leg dangling from the top corner. A chair was splintered beneath the dent it left in the wall. In the bathroom, the mirror was busted, dried blood black in the cracks were his knuckles split. Every room was a disastrous reflection of his current mental state. Every room but hers. They hadn't been here long, not really. But it was the room she'd slept in when she was here, so Bellamy hadn't touched it other than to curl up in the bed and sleep fitfully when his grief exhausted him. He shouldn't have made a post. His holodevice was now across the room where he'd tossed it - a distant part of him relieved it hadn't broken. He did it on a whim - not sure if he was looking for sympathy or a fight, though the condolences he got left a bitter taste in his mouth. And now he would have to deal with Clarke. Of all the people, Clarke was the last person he wanted to see - if only because she was also the first.
The door to his home was unlocked and slightly ajar - because who cared if anyone came in? If it was someone looking to hurt him in the way they'd hurt Octavia, he could kill them and feel vindicated. Killing never made him feel better, but it might make him feel something different. So Bellamy cared little about whether or not someone could easily gain access to his home. It worked out now, because he wouldn't have to move to let Clarke in. He sat on the floor of the room Octavia had used, staring blankly at the wall in front of him with his back against the side of the bed and legs stretched out in front of him. He considered moving, trying to look more put together and above it all. Corralling his emotions was something Bellamy worked at tirelessly. He didn't like people to see him wrecked - which was the only way to describe the wild state of his hair, the disheveled state of his clothing, and the circles under his eyes. But it didn't matter. So what if Clarke saw him like this? This one time, this one situation, Bellamy was entitled. Octavia was his to mourn however he wanted. The only siblings in living memory. She was his in a way no one else on the Ark could ever understand and if he wanted to fall apart, for once he was justified. So he sat on the floor and he waited.