Heaven Can't Wait - Chapter 23

[jennickels]

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Chapter Twenty-Three - Last Chance to be Happy

The earlier crying wears Heaven out, and eventually, she goes slack against Bellamy’s chest. Trying to get comfortable is difficult with thirty pounds lying across his bruised ribs, but he manages as best he can. His hand smooths down her hair like he did that first night. She moans, reaching out for him but doesn’t wake so he slides her higher until her fingers twist in his hair and she lets out a sigh.

The infirmary is quiet. That should be a good thing—no new catastrophes today—but it’s leaving Bellamy with nothing to do besides think. And remember. That’s always dangerous.

He’s lost track of how many people he’s directly and indirectly killed. Hundreds at a time by misguided decisions. Dozens by his own hand. He shivers, remembering the first.

But that was in self-defense. Right? I saved Clarke’s life.

That was only the first, though, and he hates to admit it got easier after that. Taking a life should never be easy.

It is for you if you’re being honest with yourself. Remember those two soldiers you shot in cold blood? Easy. Just like massacring all those people on that field. Point, squeeze, boom. Dead.

Bellamy screws his eyes shut against the memory, willing the voice to go away. But how do you escape your own conscious?

His headache grows, hammering in time with his racing heart. The anger builds, but there’s nowhere to release it and only himself to blame. Why did I listen to Pike?

It’s a question he asks over and over, never liking the answers.

Because you were angry.

Because you were afraid to lose anyone else.

Because you needed someone to blame. Someone you could hurt back.

None of them are legitimate excuses, but they’re all he has. The problem, though—the thing that keeps him awake most nights, berating himself—is that he knew it was wrong. At the time they were on that field, he knew what they were doing was despicable and disgraceful. Dishonorable.

And I did it anyway.

He swallows hard, but it does nothing for his churning stomach. Nothing ever does.

Bellamy glares up at the ceiling, and the lights glare down on him—harsh and unyielding. He doesn’t blink until he’s blinded and tears slide from the corners of his eyes.

He takes Heaven’s hand. It’s tiny compared to his. Alarmingly tiny. She’s so small and fragile, and damn, he’s going to cry again. He closes his eyes against the press of burning tears. The feeling eventually passes as he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand, watching her sleep. She looks peaceful. Like a child should when they’re sleeping.

“You deserve so much better,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead. “So much better than what the world’s given you so far. Better than what I could ever give you.”

You don't deserve her. And never will. The voice is relentless.

He didn’t know a heart could break multiple times—shattering into slivers he’ll never fit back together. This time he doesn’t try to stop the tears. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Why does it have to be so hard?

Exhaustion sets in even though he’s slept more in the last few days than he has in a long time. He doesn’t fight the pull, drifting off with Heaven in his arms for maybe the last time.

Cold.

There’s snow. Wind dragging across bare arms with a million tiny needles. Stealing his breath.

Quiet.

Animal, insect, and man—all deep in slumber. All but them.

Sneaking, careful where they step. The ground crunches with frost.

Burning.

Fires casting shadows on the tents below, flickering and dancing.

Heat wavering in the air. Smoke drifting into the silent night.

Unsuspecting.

A voice on the radio. Go, go, go.

Screams.

Wracked with pain and surprise. POP POP POP

Blood.

Metallic tang stinging his throat. Coating his hands. Spraying his face.

Death.

Everywhere, death. The dying, the dead. Still in their beds.

Wrong.

So, wrong.

No witnesses to their dirty sins. If something moves, shoot it.

For Mbege and Roma. For Diggs and Drew. 

For Finn and Farm Station; Gina and Monroe.

For the countless others they’ve lost.  To save countless more.

But.

It’s.

Wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

A man.

Pleading. Dark hair and eyes, begging. A daughter all alone.

Please, let me go home to her. She has no one else.

Only good Grounder is a dead Grounder. No witnesses.

BANG.

Bellamy wakes—heart slamming painfully against his ribs. Sweat dampens his shirt and hair. The terror threatens to suffocate him as he gasps for air that never seems to fully fill his lungs.

He reaches for Heaven—desperate for that reassurance she provides. Except there’s nothing but bed next to him. He sits up, eyes darting everywhere for a head of crazy dark hair. The infirmary is deserted—the lights off in Abby’s office. Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

She’s gone.

“Heaven?”

It’s the first time he’s said her name out loud, and it catches in his throat. He hops off the bed, looking under furniture and behind equipment. “Heaven, where are you?” Come on, don’t do this to me. Please.

He finds her shoes and socks on one of the tables. He doesn’t know why they’re not on her feet. Ice cold panic races through his veins, making him tremble. The door to the office is locked, leaving nowhere else to hide. She’s not in Medbay anymore.

Did they come and take her away while I was sleeping?

The thought terrifies Bellamy more than it should. He should be okay with that. He’s not. He’s as far from okay as he can get. He can’t deny it to himself anymore.

He has no idea what to do. Where would they take her? Why wouldn’t they wake me to say goodbye?

Because Indra hates you.

But Abby would never let them-

The runaway train of thoughts grinds to a halt when he exits Medbay. Heaven is down the hall, happily scribbling on the wall with a blue crayon she must have stolen from Clarke. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding—the relief almost painful.

“Heaven,” he chokes out, and her head whips around to him. She smiles then goes back to her drawing. He wills his heart rate to slow as he walks over to her, but he’s pretty sure he came close to a literal heart attack in the last few seconds. “What are you doing out here, sweetie? You can’t just run off like that.” You scared me.

Please don’t scare me again.

She slaps the wall impatiently, getting him to look at her masterpiece of swirling color. There’s a line from the drawing back to the door of Medbay. She looks so damn proud of herself. He runs his hand over her head. “It’s really pretty, but you’re supposed to draw on paper, not the walls.”

She takes his words as approval, apparently, because she goes back to scribbling, tongue caught between her teeth in concentration. He gently pulls the crayon from her hand getting that familiar dirty look. “I have an idea, but first you have to put your shoes back on. Okay?”

When she sees her shoes, she drops to the floor and sticks out her feet, wiggling her toes. God, she is so damn adorable. He remembers the bath and starts tickling her feet. Her giggles sound even better than Clarke’s. His face wants to smile, but his heart is breaking over and over as he ties her laces. This is almost over. The last time he’ll tie her shoes. Last time she’ll grace him with those giggles. Last time he’ll have a reason to smile.

Last chance to be happy.

When he’s done, he takes her hand. “Come on.” His voice is strangled. “I know where we can find some paper. It’s a lot better than walls, I promise.”

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