Beatrix Blake and John Murphy share an intricate history of bitter resentment, as the lines between love and hate blur, they grapple with shared histories, betrayal, and the unpredictability of their feelings.
SLOW BURN enemies to lovers.
The 100.
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"how fucking dare you."
Beatrix refused to show her vulnerability, instead, as she and Clarke silently retraced their steps back to camp, Beatrix wore a mask of cold detachment, her jaw clenched so tightly it began to ache.
Amidst the grim reality of what had just taken place, her mind was full of conflicting thoughts, racing almost as fast as her heart. Every step back to camp felt heavy, burdened with the weight of her actions.
"They'll understand." Clarke interrupted the silence, making Beatrix jump. "Eventually."
Beatrix didn't know how to respond, she felt like she was in a surreal haze as she nodded, biting back tears.
Clarke's attempt at reassurance seemed distant, almost surreal amidst the gravity of the situation. Beatrix didn't know how to respond, but she held onto it like a lifeline.
As they approached the gate, a sudden surge of panic gripped Beatrix, and she instinctively reached for Clarke's hand. "I can't do it," she confessed, desperation flashing across her face.
Clarke met her gaze, reading the distress in Beatrix's eyes. "Yes you can." She reassured, building a plan to settle her anxiety. "Go straight to my tent, I'll meet you there soon."
Beatrix nodded, as her expression turned blank and devoid of emotion. She exchanged a glance with those nearby the gate, noticing the fear in their eyes.
The fear in their eyes. It almost felt powerful.
She had barely walked through the gates as Raven threw herself at her as her fist connected with Beatrix's face.
"Raven-" Beatrix began, her voice tinged with regret as she held her cheek in her palm.
"Fuck you Beatrix." Raven yelled, tears staining her face. And Beatrix couldn't take it, she was so angry. At the world, and at herself.
As Beatrix's hand made contact with Raven's cheek, a stunned hush fell over her friends, over the entire camp. Her slap echoed in the air, a physical manifestation of her frustration. Raven stood in shock before her face twisted in anger.
She lashed out, her hand connecting with Beatrix's jaw, and she staggered backward, crashing into one of the tents. Her cheek burned, and a metallic taste filled her mouth as she tasted her own blood.
It was getting increasingly difficult not to cry as Beatrix looked at her friends faces. "I will never, ever forgive you for this." Raven spat before turning to leave.
Beatrix's throat tightened as she struggled to suppress the emotions threatening to spill over. It took all of her strength to maintain her cold composure in front of her friends, but the tears welled up, blurring her vision as she turned away, running to Clarke's tent.
