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Running away was something Bellamy became accustomed to over the years. Well, he knew how to run better than facing the scars he etched into his skin and the fresh blood that dripped from his fingertips.
His fingers were currently clenched around the car wheel as he continued to race over the speed limit. Crouched over in a slump, a forceful pounding rang through his head. His thoughts were forming dark clouds all around him; so much so that he’d lost all knowledge on how fast he was going.
Something inside him just told him to keep going–faster, faster, faster.
He couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t. How could he go back and face the damage he had caused? The darkness of the night surrounded him on the outside of the car as if it was about to swallow him whole, so he kept his windows up in the chance of it creeping in.
The road was empty as it is only during the early hours of the morning. The stars weren’t even present to keep him company. He’d been out this late a few times before with Clarke, but her presence was lacking. He tried to remember the smell of that sweet perfume she wore sometimes, but all he could remember was a scent that left a foul and vile taste in his mouth. He felt like he was going to be sick as a tight knot formed in his stomach, crushing his insides.
Bellamy had never been the best at handling difficult situations. Even when he was younger, he would run away from home and hide out in the woods, adrenaline rushing and hands shaking. Isolation has been his friend for many years, taunting the dark parts of his mind. He has always known what it feels like to be alone – he has learned to find solace in the quiet.
From the likes of this situation, he could swear that he was starring in a movie - something he often liked to pretend to do with Clarke - but he hasn’t acted out this scene before.
He’d done something, something so unlike him that he couldn’t look at himself in the reflection of the car mirror. A ghost with green pebbles for eyes and a cold heart stared back at him; when did he become this?
Clarke started hanging around with Finn again - just as friends and nothing more this time, but that didn’t stop envy from spreading its roots inside of his rib cage. Bellamy gritted his teeth at the thought of him, pressing down harder on the accelerator.
That night, though, Bellamy decided to spend with Raven. A burning sensation emerged in his throat at the thought of her, at the thought of what they had done. There may have been one or too many drinks involved with a lot more talk about undressing. They had sex - it was fast and rough, their bodies slamming together in necessity - as Bellamy whispered black filth into Raven’s ear; but by the time Bellamy realised his mistake, he was already sweating and gasping for air. They both used each other for pleasure, and although Raven wore a coquettish smirk on her face afterwards, Bellamy could not force himself to look as he hid his face in the palms of his hands. Raven made no attempt to comfort him, unlike Clarke who would have wrapped him in her arms to keep him safe.
He remembered Raven as his breath sharpened–how her body fit with his, how he pressed her down into the mattress using his arms, how she kissed him sparingly, teased him. She convinced him that Clarke was probably off fucking Finn, that she didn’t give a damn about him anymore. Bellamy knew Clarke would never be so reckless and hurtful towards him. Perhaps it was the alcohol that dangled him over the edge, but he’s the one that jumped.
The road ahead seemed never ending. But he kept driving. He couldn’t shake the thoughts from his head as they, like he, ran around in vicious circles. He was scared for her. Finn hurt Clarke in the past, badly. She was left an inconsolable mess and for hours on end as she would cry by Bellamy’s side whilet he played with her hair to calm her down. He would hold her in a warm embrace whilst he cradled her in his arms. She would look up at him with kind eyes as he wiped the tears from her face. Being protective runs in his veins - after acting as a father figure to his younger sister - so he took it upon himself to keep Clarke out of harm’s way. She wasn’t convinced that Finn would do anything to harm her again. It was now Bellamy who was going to cause her pain, agony and misery.
Still a little intoxicated, he picked up his phone and dialed Clarke’s number. He didn’t want to speak to her; he just wanted to hear her voice because he might never hear it again. At least, he wouldn’t in this way.
The phone rang a few more times before she finally answered, “Bell…Do you know what time it is? I was sleeping, you’ve woke me up!” She sounded agitated, and Bellamy felt a sharp pain in his side.
“I’m sorry, Clarke. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated a few times slurring his words. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“What’s going on? Are you drunk?” Her tone was one of concern, and Bellamy had to roll down the window to let some fresh air in. The darkness stayed on the outside of the car as the cold air hit his now burning face.
Bellamy took a few deep breathes before speaking again, “I’m a little drunk, yeah, but that doesn’t matter. I just need you to know I’m sorry, okay? I just, I need to go.”
Silence rang through the phone for a moment. Bellamy thought that she’d hung up or drifted off to sleep just as she replied, “Is that an engine I hear running? Do not tell me you’re driving! You’re drunk! Get the fuck off the road!” If this was Clarke caring for Bellamy, then he wouldn’t like to see her when she gets a taste of what he’s done.
“I told you,” his voice grew aggressive as he continued, “I need to go. I. Am. So. Sorry. You deserve better than me, I love you.”
He closed his eyes as Clarke said something in reply through the phone. In that moment he forgot that he was driving and let go of the steering wheel and with his free hand, brought them both up to cradle his head. As he did so, he drove over a substance that covers the road in a deadly black patch. His foot was still pressed to the accelerator, and in a frantic motion, the car went spinning out of control. Panic struck. Bellamy’s head was thrown back and smacked against the open window frame - blood spilling from behind his ear. His hands moved to shield his face but they flew in the same direction as the car. Every bone and every fiber of his body went up in flames.
He forgot why he was running; he didn’t think about his stupidity; death wasn’t on his mind; he had only one thought–Clarke, Clarke. Out of control, the car crashed instantly into the barrier that separated the two lanes. Glass shattered in every direction and painted the road in broken pieces.
Silence fell.
Bellamy’s body was lifeless in the front seat. Blood drowned him in the colour of deep green. Who knew that jealousy could be so deadly?
“Bellamy? Bellamy!” came crying out from the phone now discarded on the floor of the passenger seat. How come the phone was intact while everything else was shattered?
Clarke waited for Bellamy to answer the phone. He didn’t.