( she's been awake for six hours already and yes, she is counting. when Clarke had first woken up, her heart had been racing -- not only after dreaming of home, but what came after as well; watching the spire burn, the machines decimating the land in front of her with Bellamy at her side. the whole experience had been surreal, really. it felt like she was back on the ground, back with their people, back with-
her throat closes and another wave of nausea and panic washes over her, ice cold down her spine, a weight in her chest she just can't shake. she can't think about Finn, she can't.
instead her eyes fall back over Bellamy where he continues to sleep, where he can't be roused awake. she's heard of it, the enchanted sleep that people don't wake from; it can last a week or, in some cases, those who fell to rest and haven't woken again since the network shut down. the idea that it could have been her, that it could be Bellamy now- that's what has her more upset than anything else, she's sure.
the thought that he might be asleep for an eternity and that she'll face this alone, without his constant presence at her side, without the comfort of his hand in hers.
(she continues counting, it's been almost seven hours now, and she stays put sitting in the bed next to him, back propped against the headboard.)
Clarke forces her attention back to her sketchbook. she's filled four pages already, trying to draw out everything she saw in the vision of the Drabwurld. of monsters and mazes of fire, of smoke that burned down her lungs. she fills the pages with memories of a future that she hopes never come to pass, but then-
but then she stops focusing so much on what she's doing. draws hands and fingers she's long memorized, draws familiar eyes, draws the smile that she's seen more frequently during their time in the Drabwurld. she draws Bellamy, because she's scared, and because all she wants is for him to wake up. )
late february
her throat closes and another wave of nausea and panic washes over her, ice cold down her spine, a weight in her chest she just can't shake. she can't think about Finn, she can't.
instead her eyes fall back over Bellamy where he continues to sleep, where he can't be roused awake. she's heard of it, the enchanted sleep that people don't wake from; it can last a week or, in some cases, those who fell to rest and haven't woken again since the network shut down. the idea that it could have been her, that it could be Bellamy now- that's what has her more upset than anything else, she's sure.
the thought that he might be asleep for an eternity and that she'll face this alone, without his constant presence at her side, without the comfort of his hand in hers.
(she continues counting, it's been almost seven hours now, and she stays put sitting in the bed next to him, back propped against the headboard.)
Clarke forces her attention back to her sketchbook. she's filled four pages already, trying to draw out everything she saw in the vision of the Drabwurld. of monsters and mazes of fire, of smoke that burned down her lungs. she fills the pages with memories of a future that she hopes never come to pass, but then-
but then she stops focusing so much on what she's doing. draws hands and fingers she's long memorized, draws familiar eyes, draws the smile that she's seen more frequently during their time in the Drabwurld. she draws Bellamy, because she's scared, and because all she wants is for him to wake up. )