When Thomas got out, it felt like waking up from a dream. He barely remembered what Newt said, but what he did remember was the look on his face, the hopeless, angry look. He's only seen that look once.
On a screen, just before Newt got his limp.
Was it starting again?
The desperation, the hurt.
Thomas didn't let himself believe it.
There was still hope, he told himself. There had to be. He couldn't lose Newt like that, not after all of what they've been through. Newt was stronger than that. He had to be.
He remembered the Rat Man's offer, the strange certainty in his voice when he told Thomas they could save Newt, but only if Thomas went back to WICKED. He almost did. He almost bolted right out that door to deliver himself complete with a thank you note and a ribbon. But the others had dragged him away, and they were right, of course they were, if WICKED hadn't saved Newt yet, if they watched and let Newt suffer through all the things he has, then what makes them so sure that they could save him now?
He'd never regretted their decision. They couldn't, couldn't go back to that merciless hellhole. Newt wouldn't have wanted him to.
But just now, inside the building...
It's the first time Thomas wasn't so sure anymore. He'd spent hours staring into those eyes, but that time, there was something he'd never seen in them. An edge of insanity. A loose strand of control.
(A/N: At this point I would just like to point out that it's exactly 250 words into the chapter. You may carry on. Or cry, it's your choice. I'd personally choose the 2nd option.)
He stuffed his hands into his pocket as he shuffled along behind Minho. His fingers scraped against something, a torn piece of paper, in his pocket.
The sudden realisation hit him like a punch. The note... Newt had told him to open it when the time was right.
Was it?
Wasn't it?
With quivering hands, he took it out. One side was familiar; my own handwriting. I love you, it said. His note to Newt before he had been thrown into this mess, back when he was just WICKED's pawn.
The other side was crimson.
He saw the similar words he'd written on the back, but they were now splotched by glaring red.
There were other words written below it, messy but legible in the splatters of ink.
Not ink, he realised, choking on a sob, blood.
Kill me. If you ever loved me, kill me.
He felt the wind knocked out of his chest.
He was certain he heard the tearing noises of his heart being ripped apart. No, not ripped apart. Shot through, by a burning bullet, the edges of the hole raw and ripped.
So that's why Newt had been so angry. So- so hurt. Because of Thomas, because of his idiocy, as always. Except this time, this time there was nothing to be done. It was like an angel had touched him, taught him what heaven felt like just enough to leave him wanting more; then left, leaving him to pick up pieces of himself where he'd so hastily dropped them. Newt was an angel; always had been.
He should've read the note earlier. He should've-
He wasn't sure he would have been able to do it. To kill the one that meant so much to him.
Was this worse than death, though? To see Newt grow insane, and not be able to do anything to help him? To watch him become the thing he hated so much?
YOU ARE READING
Silver Lining (Newtmas)
Fanfiction(NOTE: CONTAINS SPOILERS) Thomas had always stared at Newt behind the screens of WICKED. When Newt was sent up, he gave up all hope of ever seeing him again. As things got worse, however, Thomas was tasked to go up to the Glade himself. But every cl...
