THE FREE FALL ⇘ Bellamy Blake. [1]

| xxix. WHAT HE'S DONE

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CHAPTER TWENTY NINE;

WHAT HE'S DONE.

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THE FIRST THING HAVEN NOTICED UPON WAKING UP WAS THE SEARING PAIN OF THE BURNS ON HER CHEST. Two oddly shaped strips of raw skin haloed where her heart beat beneath; one above it, one below it. Each sting felt like hellfire, amplified by the fact that the upper burn overlapped her pre-existing surgical scar, making it twice as sensitive. Surely, she must've died–but how the hell had she been saved?

The second thing she noticed was Bellamy Blake.

Alive.

There he sat, beside her cot, his eyes closed in peaceful repose, freed from the clutches of the virus. He appeared lost in slumber, leaning against the cot's frame with an air of exhaustion clinging to him like a cloak. Violet shadows rimmed his undereyes, etching the weariness of his soul onto his face, as if this were the first moment of rest he had allowed himself in days.

        As Haven stirred, Bellamy tilted his head against the cot, his curls gently brushed lightly against her fingertips. Then, as if fully processing that she was actually awake, his eyes widened in sheer relief at the sight of her. With a quick motion, he rotated to face her, tracing every delicate contour of her features as if to reassure himself of her presence.

A faint smile graced her lips. "Hi."

"Hey." Bellamy's voice emerged as a gentle sigh, a release of pent-up tension more than an actual word. Yet, he returned her smile with a tender one of his own, a glimmer of warmth amidst the shadows. "How are you feeling?"

        "Not dead anymore," Haven quipped, her words carrying a touch of wry humor as she shifted on the cot, aligning herself to face Bellamy more comfortably. A fleeting wince betrayed the pain of her injuries, but she dismissed it with a casual blink. "So...pretty good, I think."

        Bellamy rolled his eyes with a fond shake of his head. "Cute," he huffled softly. Despite knowing exactly how she would respond, he couldn't help but be enchanted by her familiar wit—every damn time. "I'll grab you some water."

        Just as he was about to rise, Haven's slender fingers snaked around his wrist, anchoring him in place.

        "No," she blurted, promptly eliciting an odd look from Bellamy. "I mean, not yet. I...I don't really remember what happened." As she spoke, she felt the involuntary tightening of her fingers around his skin, a sensation that made her acutely aware of her own uncertainty. "How'd I die this time?"