SAVIOUR, BELLAMY BLAKE ( 1 )

FOUR

"Course," she whispers, slowly lowering herself to the ground. She hisses when her wrists bend an awkward way but she pushes away Miller's hands when he tries to help. "It's fine. I got it."

"You should really go to medical," Miller grumbles, his eyes on the bruises.

"Yeah, right," Grace scoffs. "Maya gave me pills already."

"And do you take them?" Miller asks, though he already knew the answer. Grace's smile falters until it's gone completely and she shakes her head. He sighs. "Grace—"

"It helps me focus, Miller," Grace runs a shaky hand through her head and wiped her eyes with two quick wipes. "Sometimes, when I'm just sitting and my mind wanders back to— back to him and everyone else we've lost and my vision gets blurry and I feel like I can't— can't breathe. So, I squeeze my fists until they hurt and then it goes away for a little while."

Miller watches the girl with a broken hearted expression. She knew it wasn't okay. She knew that causing herself harm wasn't okay, but it helped her get by. Miller didn't even know what to say besides, "stop."

She turns to him. "I can't."

"Yes, you can. Bellamy wouldn't want you doing this and you know it," Miller's voice was firm, yet reassuring. Her chest tightens and her heart felt like it had ripped itself out and rolled down several flights of stairs before being stabbed multiple times with a rusty fork.

"I know," she whispers, biting her bottom lip in an attempt to stop the sob that almost escaped. She pulls Miller into her, her face pressed firmly into his chest as his arms circled around her. Tears stream down her face as a small sob finally escapes. "I'm sorry."

Miller presses a short kiss to the top of her head. "I know, Grace. I know. Just don't do it again."

"I'll try," Grace mumbles, pulling away and dropping her gaze to the ground. She wipes her eyes and let's out a small, fake laugh. "Yeah, okay. I'm going to go get some clean clothes. I'm gonna go to psych, see if they'll let me see Clarke."

Miller nods his head, ducking down to sit on his bed. "Yeah, tell me how it goes."

Grace nods and grabs the pile of clothes Harper had picked out for her before making her way to the bathroom. "Course."

✦

The psych ward was completely white and kind of like quarantine. Grace briefly wondered how in the hell seeing only one colour all the damn time would make you even remotely sane but then she saw a desk at the end of the hallway and it left her mind.

She jogged down the insanely long hallway and stopped in front of the desk, her eyes taking in the woman sitting there. She glances up and, weirdly enough, she actually looks familiar.

She has these pretty brown eyes that are extremely welcoming and kind; silky brown hair that was thrown into a bun that was so tight, Grace wondered if she felt like her skin was being ripped off from the back; and these plump lips that were growing into a smile when she saw the redhead.

"How may I help you, Grace?"

Confusion and distrust filled the girl immediately. "How do you know my name?"

The woman's smile falters briefly before it widens even more than before. Grace's eyes drift down to the woman's desk. A silver plaque displayed a name in bold letters; Isabella Byrne. Why the hell did that sound so familiar?