Heaven Can't Wait - Chapter 42
21 Nov 2020 09:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jennickels
Chapter Forty-Two - Deal With It
Bellamy doesn’t move for hours. He stares at the same scratch in the crate across from him—a near miss from Octavia’s sword. His body trembles from exhaustion and aches from the numerous blows his sister connected with his out-of-practice muscles. He should move. He knows that. He should get up, dust himself off, and go back to his room. He can’t just sit in this storage room forever.
Why can’t I?
For once, the voice has no answer. Bellamy isn’t sure what that means, but after another few minutes of his thoughts swirling with the same message, he finally forces himself to his feet. His knee pops, and his shoulder whines in complaint when he stretches his arm. Probably tore something. Maybe sparring with Octavia wasn’t the brightest idea.
He spends another twenty minutes straightening up the room before reluctantly realizing he’s stalling. He doesn’t want to leave because if he goes back to his quarters and Heaven’s not there then he knows this is real—she’s gone forever.
Oh, it’s real. Deal with it.
I am.
No, you’re avoiding it. You’re exhausted and need to sleep. Now you can without tiny feet kicking you in the side. Go home.
Bellamy takes three deep breaths then pushes the heavy door open. The hall is quiet, much to his relief. In fact, all of the corridors are quiet. What time is it anyway? He has no way to check.
Taking every wrong turn possible, he circumnavigates the entire station. Security check, he tells himself. Avoiding, the voice taunts. Eventually, the voice wins out, and he finds himself in front of his quarters again. The pain that’s been growing in his chest, hardens into dread. He punches in his number then stands there caught in a memory of pudgy little fingers shoving his hand away to do it herself because she already has the number memorized. How? She’s like two? But she did. And she was so damn proud of herself.
Tears prick his eyes just as a couple opens the door across the hall. He quickly wipes his face, darting inside before anyone sees his weakness. Miller must still be mad at him because the room is thankfully empty—nothing has been moved since he was here this morning. When he woke up to Heaven’s off-key singing and she washed his face with annoyance. He forces the lump in his throat down before gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed.
Why is this so hard? I only had her for…
He’s not really sure what day it is, but it couldn’t have been more than five or six days since they found her alone in the forest. He tries not to think of what would have happened had they not found her in time. A shiver runs down his spine as he fails miserably. He glances down through teary eyes and brushes missed crumbs from the half-made bed. The vice around his chest tightens. Everywhere he looks, he sees her. Hears her. Feels her.
“I can’t do this,” he says to the empty room. “I can’t be here.”
With his only thought to get away, he darts out of the room, breathing heavily. The halls continue to close in around him. He can’t breathe—he needs air. But where do you go to get air when you’re locked inside a tin can? The halls stretch and bend in front of him as he takes turns without pause or consideration of a destination.
“Young man, are you okay?” an older woman asks as he stumbles into her. He must look awful by the concern wafting off of her. He nods, steadies the woman then hurries away before her pity can overwhelm him. I don’t deserve pity. I deserve every miserable moment of existence from this point on. I never deserved happiness.
His breathing is ragged—shallow, little gulps that never fill his lungs. Everything spins.
Calm the fuck down!
The voice echoes in his head. Panic attack, it whispers. You’re having a panic attack.
Bellamy leans against the wall, head between his knees, gasping for air. He doesn’t know what to do but feels like vomiting might be on the list.
You should talk to someone, the voice says calmly.
Like who? Kane? Abby?
Close, the voice hints.
Bellamy shakes his head, standing straight on unsteady legs. I can’t go to Clarke with this—she wouldn’t understand.
If you can’t talk to your best friend then who can you talk to?
So, Clarke’s my best friend now, huh?
He doesn’t even notice he’s moving again as the voice chuckles deep in his head. Something like that. It sounds mocking. If anyone asked, he would say Clarke is one of his closest friends, but best friend? Bellamy barely knows how to have friends. His childhood never let him get close to anyone, and his adulthood hasn’t exactly been open to healthy relationships. He also knows he wants more than just friendship from Clarke and the fact that he’s not sure she wants anything more keeps them apart.
It wouldn’t be so hard if you just talked to her.
He wished the voice would stop making so much sense. He knows the voice is right. Obviously. He wants to talk to Clarke so he should go talk to her. So why does he have so much trouble moving in that direction?
Bellamy sighs. He knows why—because Niylah might be there. They’re best friends or something. They spend a lot of time together. He has nothing against Niylah personally. She’s nice and treats Clarke well and looks past Bellamy’s misdeeds despite their personal toll on her life. She’s damn-near perfect. Clarke deserves someone like that in her life. And yet, the thought of them being together makes him ill.
Jealousy is unbecoming.
Bellamy hunches his shoulders feeling childish. This is stupid. So what if Clarke is with Niylah tonight. She’s still his friend and wouldn’t send him away when he needs to talk.
Right?
Sure, the voice says in a less than convincing tone.
