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You don’t really notice until he’s gone.
Of course there’d been the tightness at your throat, the catch of your breath there before, when you’d- well. You’d felt it then, but it was nothing like this.
It starts with the feeling of scratch marks on your calves and thighs, then your arms, shoulders, back. They’re not especially noteworthy, just small stings, and when you check yourself after each one there’s never any mark left. Just a vague sense of discomfort. It’s not much different than all of the times you’ve scratched yourself on some twig or branch out in the woods, so you tuck it away, don’t let it bother you until-
You’re throwing the radio in the lake and walking away, feeling all too self-satisfied all things considered, when you feel fingernails clawing down your face. You choke on your tongue, gagging, and then it’s gone. You raise a shaking hand to your face, and nearly throw up for a second time when you pull your fingers away and find nothing on them. A quiet little grunt escapes your mouth. Your thoughts turn to your mother, hunched over the metal table in your room in the Arc, her soft cry of pain when your father was floated. And- oh…
You dig your fingers into the soft dirt of the Earth; there’s a scream that aches to burst through your mouth but you keep it hidden. Clarke’s probably out looking for the dropped pod. She’s going to find the girl, and she’s going to know you threw out the radio. You need to be ready. You can’t- there’s nothing to come from this. So you stand, and make your way back to camp, walking against the knives pulling on your skin.
When you were younger, your mom told you it was rare that anyone found their soul mate anymore. She said she was one of the lucky ones. And fifteen years later, as you feel each one of your fingernails pull from your skin, you can’t help but think she was wrong. There was no luck in this, only pain.
You spend the next two days fading in and out. Moments of clarity strike, where there is no pain, and you can smile at Octavia and mean it. There are other things you need to focus on though, and you’re almost grateful for the rapid pace of events keeping you occupied. It’s only when Dax is on the ground, dead, and you’ve finally come back to full consciousness -no hallucinations, no pain- that you realize what’s happening and you break down. You’re thankful Clarke is there. She listens to you blabber, and then she calms you. She makes you wonder why you even thought about leaving.
And then it’s Unity Day, and Exodus plummets to the Earth.
Hallelujah.
You don’t know for sure until you see him again. Clarke’s hunched over, cleaning him up, and you can see the marks on his face, the cuts on his arms.
“His fingernails were torn off. They tortured him,” Clarke’s saying, but you can barely hear her over the roaring in your ears.
Murphy’s hovering over you when you wake up, and for a moment you think he’s going to try to kill you. Instead, he holds out a glass of water. You jerkily shove it away.
“Hey, I’m trying to help you. You think I wanna feel like shit? Drink it,” Murphy says.
You stare at him, realization sinking in.
“Yeah, I know, I’m not an idiot,” Murphy rolls his eyes with what looks like an inordinate amount of effort. “I’ve known for awhile.”
“How…”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” Murphy says, suddenly looking embarrassed. He casts his eyes downward, shifts uncomfortably.
“What do you mean you don’t-,” you begin to say, but then Clarke’s entering and Murphy’s moving to the back of the ship.
A day later he actually is trying to kill you, so, really, what does it matter knowing.
You’ve never felt less lucky in your life.