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After it’s all said and done. After they get Clarke back and she watches them have their reunion and ache, she leaves Jordan with Picasso and she slips away.
She finds herself further down the shore, far enough away that they are but specks. She stops by a fallen log, considers it, decides against, settles among the sand and stone instead, leaning back against it. Her knees come up, arms around them to hold her together against what it she knew would come.
She stares out into the water, listens to the waves, wonders if she drown in the sound. Wonders if she should have hidden in the forest instead. Remembers her little home in the forest, decides against it. She starts to tremble, slow and minute. She remembers:
Morning lessons with her mama at the table, maths, reading, history. She remembered the afternoons the three of them spent out in the gardens, the lessons Aunty O taught her in her own ways. The adventures they all had. The tracking lessons from Aunty O and fishing with mama. Making dinner, chopping vegetables but never allowed near the flame. Cuddling with Aunty O while mama sang her to sleep. The three of them together, content. A family.
She is still trembling, violent. The tremors start at her core, shake her out and until she knows not what is inside of her and what is outside. They grow stronger still. Now starting at her shoulders, working down her arms like a tumultuous avalanche until she cannot feel her fingers from the cold. She pauses her mind, flinches. She cannot feel her fingers indeed, but that is from gripping too hard. She cannot bring herself to let go.
Her chin, too, is trembling, causing her teeth to clack together resonating down her jaw. That may be what’s causing the ringing in her ears, but somehow she doubts it. She knows that if she were to touch her face it would be wet, tears cascading down her face, her own torrential downpour. She considers, again, drowning in the sound of the waves.
Something shifts, she jerks. Someone sits next to her, she does not settle. With effort, she turns her head, there sits Octavia gazing out into the waves. She settles. Her trembling lessens, but still her teeth clack.
A touch, at her wrist. She looks down, Octavia is guiding her hands apart. She feels the blood rushing to her fingers, now intertwined with Octavia’s. She watches still as Octavia brings their joined hands up, up, up to her mouth. Feels the kiss Octavia drops, feels the warmth as Octavia hugs her arm close. Knows neither are ready, yet, for a hug.
Ever so slowly, she feels herself tip and then settle against Octavia’s side. Neither say anything. Slowly, still, she brings her other hand up, up, up to Octavia’s face, cups her cheek, brings their eyes together, followed by their foreheads. She is contorted, uncomfortable, but that is not important. She knows that if she asked Octavia would give her the comfort she so wants. She knows too that would not be enough.
She is used to being alone, Octavia is used to mourning alone. She stares still, sees something crack in Octavia’s eyes, knows she understands. Her trembling has settled or perhaps it has travelled over into Octavia for now she starts to shake in her grief. She has had to be strong, even in her grief, she has not yet had the chance to crack herself open and expose herself raw. Unable yet to mourn the little girl she once was and that no longer exists for without her big brother, she no longer has a childhood, no longer has that hero he once was.
She sits there, contorted, lets Octavia mourn her big brother, mourn her blood just as she had. Octavia’s eyes slip close, she follows suit, acting like she is giving Octavia some semblance of privacy. But she knows that she cannot handle seeing her Aunty O at her weakest. She can feel their tears mixing on their cheeks, sliding down onto their hands, still linked together.
The trembling stops, she does not know how much time has passed. She opens her eyes, looks at Octavia, an understanding passes between them. They turn inwards, joining together in a hug, sharing heat and feeling comfort. She knows this is Octavia mourning her mama in her own way. Here she is squeezing close the only connection she has left to Diyoza, the woman she raised a child with for ten years.
Eventually they part, turn back towards the water and collect themselves. Their hands are still intertwined between their bodies. She sniffles, wipes at her nose, drops her arm back to her side, feels the stones beneath her palm.
She looks down, searches, picks up a stone. With a flick of her wrist, she sends it skipping into the water. She speaks too, recalls a memory from early on with her mama. She finishes, swallows, waits. A second later, a stone skips into the water, followed by Octavia’s voice, retracing a memory a hundred years in the past when her whole world was a room, her mom, and her Bellamy.
There they sit, leaning against the log and amongst the stones. There, they skip stones and speak until their voices are hoarse and their hearts settle.