HOW TO BE A FRIEND

Sweat dripped down her forehead as she dug further into the ground, flinging the dirt carelessly behind her. She didn't pay attention to the wriggling life forms in the dirt, or the rope like roots sometimes blocking her path. She just carried on, powering through despite her aching arms and laboured breaths. The sun had risen far higher in the sky, dominating the empty space above them with it's blinding presence. It beat down on Cassie, searing into her body and punishing her. Why wasn't I there to save him? This thought spiralled in her head. Throwing the shovel into the ground again and aggressively throwing the dirt over her shoulder, she tried to battle against the screams begging to rip out of her throat. 

Cassie can't remember what she was doing when she found out. 

She might have been talking to Jay, head in her hand as she listened to him mindlessly drone on about how he had found different shaped rocks and collected them. She might have been helping finish the wall, bones aching as she lay the barrier around them, shielding them in a cage. She might have been asleep. 

All she knew is that she nearly broke when she heard Clarke shriek the news. 

Wells was dead.

All hopes of being pardoned, her get out of jail free card had perished. At least, that's what she told Jay when he asked if she was okay. In reality, she couldn't stop her eyes from drifting to the woods where they screamed for hours on end, or from the rock where they sat when she gave him the meat, or from the drop ship where Wells fell to the ground, defeated. 

She'd lost a friend. Or what felt like the start of a beautiful friendship.

Cassie stopped, leaning on the shovel gasping, wiping at the sweat on her forehead. The hole was deep enough where she would have to climb to get out of it; she nearly smiled. He'd told her that he wanted to be a part of earth, and now she was going to make him as close to it as possible. 

"Thank you." Cassie jumped, flipping the shovel into her hand and swinging it in the direction of the voice. A cry and the shovel whizzing through the air warned her that she hadn't hit the owner of the voice. Cassie raised it again to attack, the voice snapping. "It's Clarke, Cassie." 

Cassie's grip on the shovel didn't lax. Clarke eventually came into view, her arms crossed over her chest and her looking down at Cassie. She had a single brow raised at Cassie's tense position. "You can relax now." 

"I can never relax," Cassie sighed, casting a hesitant glance at Clarke. She subtly nodded her head - Cassie reluctantly propped the shovel against the ground. Her fists shook but she knew she had one advantage over the privileged blonde - she hadn't ever had to break her knuckles to save the one she loved. "For all I know, you're the one who stabbed Wells in the throat." 

Clarke visibly reeled back. Her burning glare did nothing to Cassie's icy exterior, a frown setting deep into her forehead. "You believe I could have killed my best friend?" 

"Oh that's rich, Blondie." Cassie snickered, shaking her head. The shovel was just at the corner of her eye. "He's your best friend but you treated him like shit? Even I know that's not how you treat a friend, and we all know I'm an insensitive bitch." 

"It's not like that!" Clarke exclaimed, throwing her arms up. 

Cassie let another sinister laugh escape her body. "It's exactly like that. And now you're crapping yourself because you just realised the moment his heart stopped beating that he wasn't the bad guy you were making him out to be. If I were you, I'd take a long look in the mirror, because I know the only bad guy here is you." 

"You're such a hypocrite!" Cassie halted, snapping her head in the direction of Clarke's venom, straight into the line of fire. "You treat Jay like that the entire time! Do you think we don't notice how hard he tries to make sure you're okay, and how you brush him off? But the moment he talks to someone else you get pissed off because you know that if he decides not to be your friend anymore he'd have people but you'd be left all alone."

Clarke's laboured breaths fell into pattern with Cassie's. Cassie felt like she'd been hit in the gut; a feeling all too familiar to her. She dug her teeth into her lip, heaving a sigh as she looked up to Clarke. "Anything else you want to add? Go on, I dare you. There's nothing you can say to me that I don't already tell myself every day." 

Clarke' mouth opened and closed - the true effect of her words dawning on her. It was too late. Cassie was already climbing out of the hole, uncaring about the dirt staining her clothes and the distinct aroma of stale sweat following her. She snatched the shovel out of the hole, turning around to Clarke. 

Clarke flinched. 

Cassie pretended not to see it; it was already scorched into her brain. She huffed, shoving the shovel into Clarke's grasp. "If he's so dear to you, why don't you finish the job? I was getting bored anyways." 

She started to walk away, hands in her pockets. Cassie didn't particularly care that she'd left Clarke outside the wall with no protection, especially with the grounders on the loose, and Wells' murderer still running around unpunished. Why should she stick around when no one protested to her going by herself? Even Jay didn't say anything, which was a feat in itself. 

When did she stop chasing her goal? When did she stop playing the game? She needed as many allies as possible, and leaving them behind to be grounder meat wasn't the way to go about it. 

Cassie groaned, spinning on her heel and walked back towards Clarke. At Wells' grave side, Clarke was stood at the edge. Her shoulders shook slightly, small cries emitting from the girl. Cassie stopped in her tracks, unsure whether or not to intrude on the private moment. 

The crack of a stick under her foot made the decision for her. Clarke spun around, clutching the shovel close to her, eyes scouring the land for a threat. When her eyes landed on Cassie, she could tell that even from a distance they were bloodshot, and already had begun to puff. 

"What, come to kill me?" 

"Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you Blondie?" Clarke frowned, sniffling. "To be proven right." 

Before Clarke could question her further, Cassie strolled to the grave. A body wrapped in cloth was lain in the bottom, a slither of dark skin free from the covering. Cassie had to swallow the lump in her throat. "You're not as weak as you look. Dead bodies are heavy." 

"I'm sure you know that far too well," Clarke remarked, still holding the shovel. Cassie nearly laughed aloud at the sudden change of events - now it was Clarke on the offensive. 

"What I know far too well is the feeling of my knuckles crumpling against someone's cheek." Cassie collapsed to the ground, crossing her legs one over the other. Clarke remained standing. "I'm a fighter Clarke, not a killer. Though sometimes around Murphy, I'm tempted to cross that line." 

Clarke snorted, a small smile decorating her mouth. "Just sometimes." 

Cassie joined Clarke's laughter. "Yeah." 

They fell into silence. Clarke shuffled on her feet, constantly glancing between Cassie and the mound of dirt waiting to envelop Wells' body. Cassie could sense that something was lingering in her mind. "Spit it out." 

"Why... Why did you come back?"

"I'm asking myself the same question." Cassie stared down at the grave, the lifeless body of an ally, a friend, sprawled below. "I guess I wasn't going to allow a brat like you ruin the last time I see him." 

Clarke didn't speak for a long time, gaping at Cassie. She pretended not to notice, ripping up strands of grass and playing with them. Every now and then she'd catch sight of the scars scissoring her hands and have to resist the urge to be repulsed. They were a part of her, as much as she hated them. Maybe that's what made her hatred even worse. 

"You cared about him, didn't you?" Clarke's voice held an almost dream like tone. It didn't belong to this world of murder and pain. 

Cassie shrugged, focusing on the green strands she pulled apart ruthlessly between her fingers. "He was a good guy." Clarke sent Cassie a strange look. "Just because I'm not doesn't mean I can't recognise a good person." 

"He was more than a good guy. He..." Clarke choked, voice wavering. "He didn't deserve this. No one does." 

Cassie shifted, gnawing at her lip again. Impulsively, she reached out, grabbing a hold of Clarke's hand. She was surprised at how soft they were, how few imperfections were on them, how smooth they seemed to be. She was so entranced by them that she didn't notice Clarke talking. 

"Cassie?" Her voice finally triggered something within Cassie. She coughed awkwardly, withdrawing her hand and staring straight ahead. 

"Yes?" 

"Why did you do that?" 

Cassie couldn't control the red blush spreading across her cheeks. "Um, I was trying to comfort you. Probably freaked you out more than anything, right?" 

"You're trying, that's what counts." Cassie could sense another meaning behind the words but remained silent, choosing to ignore it. 

"The longer we leave this, the more it's going to hurt." Cassie gestured to the mound of dirt, ready to swallow Wells' body, leaving behind only disturbed dirt and fond memories. Clarke shook her head.

"I'm not sure I can do it." 

Cassie clambered to her feet, gently prying the shovel out of Clarke's grasp. No words were spoken as Cassie walked towards the mound of dirt, digging the shovel into it and flinging the dirt over the body. She carried moving in this dance. 

Dig. 

Flick. 

Dig. 

Flick. 

A poem she'd learned on the Ark was being recited in her head. It wasn't long until she found herself speaking it out loud. "Grief is a mist. It can blind you. It can make you swerve away from your path. It can be so thick that you choke on the shear emotion. But yet it passes and one day you forget about the mist entirely." 

All that could be heard was Cassie's recital, the faint chatter of the delinquents and the thud of the dirt smacking the body. It didn't stop Cassie from talking in memorised words. "Grief is an ocean on a stormy day. It consumes all land. It attacks the rocks. It swallows all things living. But yet once the storm eases," Cassie heaved a breath, forcing the final words out. "The wounds finally heal." 

"That was beautiful." Clarke moved next to her, gazing upon the freshly disturbed ground before them. The entire grave had been filled - Wells was no longer a part of the living. Cassie ignored the pang in her heart at the thought. "Who wrote it?" 

Cassie sheepishly ducked her head - she couldn't help it. One of her most guarded secrets had been revealed without a single thought. She couldn't back out of it now, she was pretty sure Clarke had read all of the poetry books and learned about the only poets the Ark had records of. Since they selected only a few poets to survive, it wasn't that hard to become familiar with them all. 

"I wrote it myself." A beat passed. "You ever tell anyone that and I will not think twice about slitting your throat." 

Clarke blatantly ignored the threat, grinning. "Wells would have loved it, he was a sucker for that kind of thing."

And just like that, it all came crashing down. 

"Wells would've loved to be alive too." 

Cassie sulked off before anything else could be said.