"You are damaged and broken and unhinged.
But so are the shooting stars and the comets."
( the 100 ) ( season 1 ) ( book 1 of the hazel hudson series )
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HAZELTWISTED one of the electrical wires around her pinky finger, glaring at it while the blue casing pinched against her skin. She had to concentrate on breathing, forcing herself to take in one jittery breath after the other.
Even if she wanted to create some sort of elaborate contraption and use it to contact the Ark, it was impossible right now.
She couldn't think straight. All she could think about was Wells. Hours had passed since his death had been confirmed, but Hazel was stuck. Stuck in an endless battle with her own turbulent thoughts.
Why did he have to die? Why him?
Her teeth ground together in frustration as rage burned bright in her chest, scalding all but two emotions. She hardly felt sad any more.
Just angry.
And confused. Extremely confused. Hazel thought she had made up her mind, that contacting the Ark was the best decision. But, it was a hard decision.
She wanted to believe it was so hard because she wasn't ready to give up her revenge, or her freedom...but deep down she knew the biggest reason that she couldn't make up her mind was inside the walls of their camp.
Bellamy.
If the Ark came down, they would kill him. He shot the Chancellor after all.
Damnit, Bellamy.
"Hazel?"
The timid voice calling her belonged to the last person Hazel wanted to talk to. Only her eyes moved as she shifted them to glance upwards. Clarke stood just a few feet away, looking desperately disheveled. Evidence of the copious amount of crying the girl had done was painted all over her face in glimmering streaks.
"Hey," Hazel muttered, unable to produce any other words. She watched as Clarke crouched down next to her, paused, then sat crosslegged amidst the the tangled mess of wires the mechanic had created.
The blonde rolled up her jacket sleeve, revealing an empty wrist. Her tracking contraption was gone, replaced with itchy sores where the needle points had once dug in. Hazel leaned forwards, staring in confusion at what Clarke had done.
"What? Clarke...why?"
"I know now what Wells did, how he let me believe all this time that it was his fault my father died. When really it was my mother's," her voice broke, but she quickly regained it, "I feel like my mother thinking I'm dead is the only way I can get back at her for all of this."
