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At age thirteen, Bellamy Blake lay awake at night, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. He heard his mother sleeping close to him, but the sound of his sisters whimpering was louder, despite it coming from beneath the floor. He was tempted to climb out from under his covers and check on her but his mother warned him that they could do a random spot check anytime, and that it was safer to sleep – or, in Bellamy’s case, pretend to be asleep. Laying his hands across his chest, he laced his fingers together and twiddled his thumbs impatiently, waiting for daybreak. During school, if anyone asked him why he had such big dark circles under his eyes, he blamed it on his genetics. “Everyone in my family has it.” Bellamy dismissed, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t know the real reason was just his 4 hours of sleep per night. His teachers pulled him aside when he dozed off in class, but he blamed it on working so hard earlier that morning, helping his mother, and they gazed at him in pride. Idiots, the boy thought, they’re ignorant to the truth and seem to believe anything that means they don’t have to get involved. He didn’t care that much, but he worried that his mother would find out. Bellamy was a simple kid, who just wanted the least amount of attention on himself as possible. If lying to his elders was the only way to do that, then so be it. He just wanted to get through the day with enough energy to go back to his room and give his lovely, beautiful little sister a piggy back ride. And after that he would share his rations with her and tell her fascinating stories of Earth’s past, and promised her that someday she could smell the daffodils herself. The brother didn’t even know what daffodils smelled like, but he explained them as sunshine cloudy day (then, he had to describe what a cloud day was). This went on every day and night until he had to reluctantly lift the hatch to her ‘room’ and then shut it after she was securely in for bed. The reason he never slept was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw Octavia’s fear –etched face as she climbed back into her hole.
At age eighteen, Bellamy Blake lay awake at night, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. There was no noise but his steady and short breaths as he tossed and turned, trying to get some sleep in. But it was so hard fall asleep until he had passed out, with no recollection of it. Occasionally, he would stay awake and draw. That was something no one knew, and he intended on no one ever knowing. But he would draw his idea of Earth, based off the hundreds of history books he had managed to grab and read whenever he could. He was fascinated by civil wars and monarchies and democrats and music and dance, he couldn’t help it. So he would draw the ground, with trees and plants sprouting from the grass, and mountains covering the background with snowy peaks and rocky sides. He didn’t necessarily find his drawings good, not like the things he had seen by old artists like Leonardo Da Vinci and Van Gogh, but he piled them together in a shoe box, occasionally pulling them out to paint and color them. One day, though, Bellamy was so restless in bed, memories rattling his head like a jackhammer on cement, that he shot out of bed the minute he had an idea of what to sketch. This one was to be charcoal, he thought to himself. He drew line after line, as carefully as possible, with a picture beside him for reference. It had been so long that he needed the photo, and that hurt his heart more than the actual thought of her did. Although, the pain aching inside him didn’t halt his artistic ideas, and he scraped the black charcoal pencil on the paper for hours until every inch of the paper was used up. His muse was smiling in the photo, and he felt a tear spill from his eye and roll down his face, dropping off his chin and falling on to the corner of the piece. Carefully, he placed it under his bed, on top of one that he drew of a rose bud, and climbed into bed, ready to stare at the ceiling again until his brain finally shut itself off. The reason he never slept was because every time he closed his eyes, he saw his mothers comforting smile but sheer terror as Thelonious Jaha pressed the button that released his mother into the infinity that is space.
At age twenty-three, finally on Earth, Bellamy Blake lay awake at night, eyes open and staring at the ceiling. The sound of fellow campers were what he heard, but always dipped out of focus into his thoughts, and only became alert when he heard her name. Eventually, at around the same time every night, he heard her huddle everyone back to their tents, and put out the fire. Sometimes he would turn on his side and try to close his eyes tight enough that all he saw was black, but each time it failed. As well, sometimes he wondered why he still tried. Once he was sure she, and everyone else, were sound asleep, he would crawl out from under his covers, slip on his shoes and take a walk. He would go anywhere that he could do something without being too loud. Using his hands to work would always keep his imagination, fears, hopes, and day dreams at bay for an amount of time that was just long enough for his eyes to droop dangerously as he sluggishly dragged himself back to bed. On occasion, he wouldn’t even go back to his tent. Instead, he’d stay awake and at work until she emerged from her tent by the light of day and began her own daily chores, smiling at him that sweet smile that hooked him in the first place. But she didn’t know, and she never could. What Bellamy didn’t know is that she did know. Behind her glowing grin was worry. From time to time, she didn’t sleep either, and poked her head out of her tent as she heard his zip open and him step out. It was surprising, to her, that he never saw her watch him.
On a Monday morning, three weeks from when she first noticed these occurrences, she hustled everyone to bed like she always did and put out the fire. But instead of going to bed, she waited, sitting on a log off to the side. Just like she predicted, out came Bellamy Blake. He walked quickly, lacing his fingers together and twiddling his thumbs, and had just about reached the center of the camp when she put her hand on her shoulder to stop him. His eyes went wide with fear, but softened almost immediately upon seeing her.
“What are you doing up?” She asked as casually as she could.
“I could ask you the same thing. Go to bed, Clarke.” He mumbled, hoping she wouldn’t dig further.
“You do this every night, don’t you?” The blonde questioned much to Bellamy’s dismay.
“I might, but it’s none of your concern.”
“It’s all of my concern!” She exclaimed, stepping towards him. He stepped back, and begun to turn around. The brown haired boy could hear her following him but he wondered how long he’d have to ignore her for her to go away.
“I’m not leaving until you tell me why.” She begged, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away again.
“Seriously, Clarke, you have no reason or right to know.” Bellamy’s eyes pleaded with her, but he wasn’t sure if she understood through his stern voice that he was serious.
“No right? Bullshit. I’m your friend I have every right.” She claimed, yelling as loud as possible without waking the sleeping teens.
“You want to know why I stay up all night, Clarke? I can’t sleep. I lie awake and I can’t close my eyes because of the things I see. Throughout my life, sleeping has been the hardest thing to do other than have Octavia taken from me, and that didn’t help either. So I keep my hands busy until I’m too tired to move. I work or clean or do anything until my eyes close themselves and I have no recollection of falling asleep. And sometimes, I don’t fall asleep. I stay awake until dawn and continue pretending as if I've rested fully until dusk. Just because you don’t have trouble sleeping doesn’t mean I don’t.
“I see my mother quieting my illegal, baby sister. I see my mother leaving with the guardsman, and her face thinking I don’t know why she’s going. I see my sister crawling underneath of the floor, to be kept there until it’s safe. I see my sister laughing at the masquerade ball, dancing to the music and enjoying herself and then the absolute panic when the random spot check comes. I see her dragged away from me, I see my mother getting floated. And now, I’m stuck seeing you. I close my eyes and I see you being taken from me, being floated, being constricted. I can’t take it, Clarke. I can’t lose you too.”
Somewhere during Bellamy’s speech, Clarke had wrapped her small hands around his waist and hugged him as tightly as she could. And some time during Bellamy’s speech, tears streamed down his face violently, seeping into the corners of his mouth as he licked the salty water away. He hugged her back and closed his eyes, trying as best as he could to hold back the sobs that were pushing at his chest and dying to get out.
“You’re not going to lose me Bell, never.” Clarke whispered, and she meant it. She put all her emotion into it.
Now, Bellamy Blake falls asleep at night, tucked in bed beside Clarke and dreaming of days where they didn’t have to worry about food and safety every day. But worrying about food and safety was far more pleasing then losing sleep over whatever he thought was inevitable. All he needed was for her to prove him wrong.