The Demons Within

Chapter 2

"Her being gone left me in a state of constant distress, as the world seemed to spiral out of control at a slow, torturous pace."

I ran into the medical bay, my eyes frantic, searching for Abby Griffin. Within seconds, I caught sight of her, crouching down in the corner, organizing syringes.

"Abby," I called out, as she stood up quickly and turned to face me. She could sense my urgency, her dark, tired eyes looking at me questionably.

"What is it, Bellamy?" I swallowed thickly before answering, "She's here." 

 Her eyes widened, face full of disbelief as her jaw slackened. She tried to respond, but not a sound resonated from her open mouth. I nodded at her, and she looked to the ground, inhaling deeply. 

 All of a sudden, she snapped out of her trance and ran to a nearby counter. Grabbing a small medical kit, along with a coat and gloves, she raced to the entrance, clasping my elbow as she stammered, "Thank you." I nodded, and she smiled as she continued out of the med bay, me in tow.

 The wind whipped furiously at our bodies, the heavy whistling sound enough to drown out the loudest of noise. Yet, not loud enough to mute the voices who screamed out in rejoice, a whole pack of delinquents sprinting to Clarke. I ordered two guards to follow them, and assist Clarke, as she limped her way up the hill towards the front gate. From afar, I saw her mother enter the mob, crashing into her daughter with deep earnest. I felt a slight pang in my chest at the thought of Abby weeping over her daughter's absence; something that had occurred much too often. Their reunion may not have healed Clarke's broken heart of remorse, but it sure as hell relieved Abby's. The chatter was consistent, even as Clarke was heaved onto a stretcher by the guards and Abby led the group to the medical bay with increased urgency. I looked at the nervous faces that surrounded Clarke, their voices silent, and their eyes frantic. Something must have been severely wrong, and I felt myself growing anxious.

 I had worried about Clarke ever since she left, worried about her condition and whether or not she was healing or slowly dying in a place all alone. The pressure of her absence weighed heavily on me each passing day. I worried about her, and I worried about the camp. My responsibility heightened each day, as winter drew in, and as more delinquents' shrill cries of terror and fear woke me from my own nightmares. Her being gone left me in a state of constant distress, as the world seemed to spiral out of control at a slow, torturous pace.

 I felt like I was going mad, that no matter how many shelters we built, and no matter how many times we hunted and gathered for food, none of it would be enough. None of it would be enough for winter, for all of us to survive. I couldn't trust my own judgement because it felt clouded without her around. I worried and I worried, and I worried about everything, especially about her.

 But now that she was here, I was shocked to find hardly any relief, as a deep anger surged through me. I couldn't control my emotions by that point, as they had piled up within me every moment of every day. All the things I wanted to say to her, all the things I intended to. All the ways I could have made her stay, and the ways in which I should have. All the guilt, all the responsibility, it was too much, knowing that she wasn't there. And now that she was, all I wanted to know was if she was okay, and if she was going to stay. For good. I wouldn't have time to ask her that as I glanced at her briefly before she was rushed into the med bay, the door slamming in front of me.