I almost laugh at the hypocrisy of it- judging Octavia for her relationship with Lincoln, only to turn around and run into the arms of my own Grounder. I told myself that it was still okay, that she was different. She had to be- nobody else, not even my parents or my own people, risked their life and their tribe to hunt and cook me dinner, to let me take the leftovers back with me, to teach me how to build a smokehouse and to make blankets out of pelts.

She taught me how to survive, what to kill and where, how to cure things with herbs and how to know if something was deformed from radiation if it wasn’t obvious. She taught me where to find a horse and how to gentle it. I think about all of this as I ride through the gate to your usual meeting spot by the river. She’s already there, already naked and stretching out on the rocky shore.

She smiles and begins to undress me. It’s not in a way that feels lustful, but that might be because I know she’s doing it so we can bathe together. She has no qualms against being naked, so she’ll always let me stay behind her so I don’t have to that potentially exposing myself. I lean in for a kiss, and I let myself sag into her arms as we slowly submerge our bodies in the lake.

She sits on a flat rock and holds me in her lap, rubbing her battle-calloused hands over my skin. I feel her press a kiss to my shoulder, and I smile. This whole situation is hell, absolute hell, but a pretty girl can make anything better, right?