Ten | newtmas

eight

Thomas walks in and looks over to the table. Thomas, the boy that could comfort Chuck out of a night terror by just saying his name. Thomas, the boy I saw in the hallway.

He's only slightly shorter than me by an inch or two but with a wider build, seems to be my age. Brown short hair, turned up nose, big brown eyes. Still the same slightly lost face.

Thomas comes over to the table and sits directly across from me, which makes me squirm for some reason.

Thomas looks up into my eyes and my heart feels like its stopped beating altogether.

"Hi," Thomas says.

"Hi," I say, letting go of my breath that I'd been holding. What's wrong with me?

"Thomas, this is Newt," Chuck says.

Meanwhile, Thomas and I have not broken eye contact. I decide its gotten past weird so I look down.

"I saw you in the hallway yesterday," Thomas says. I look back up.

"Oh, yeah," I say. I'm an awful liar so it doesn't come off convincing. Obviously I remember. But if they notice they don't say anything.

"I was there!" the boy Zart says.

"No, you weren't," Winston says, before turning to me. "Zart's a pathological liar," he says. I go to nod, but decide against looking insane nodding ten times.

"So whats wrong with you?" Minho says.

"Minho-" Chuck starts.

"Chuck, its fine," I say, surprised I was able to get it out. "I'm here for a few things. Mainly O.C.D.," I explain in a lower voice.

Lifting my head up, I see Thomas looking at me, nodding. Usually if someone did this, I would describe the look as 'piercing'. Because when anyone looks at me, it basically feels like a knife. But not when Thomas looks at me.

Suddenly, I become painfully aware that I never finished snapping my ten.

And that I forgot which number I was on.

Now this is what I was afraid of. It's a mental institution, it shouldn't be weird. But here I am with the normal-er people and the first thing they'll witness me do, is having an anxiety attack.

What are my options? I can't get up and walk away, because I still haven't finished the other ten. This, of course, makes absolutely no logical sense, but its ruled out anyway. I could always start over, which would send me into an anxiety attack anyway. Then I could ask Chuck if he was keeping count but he probably wasn't.

How could I let this happen? I've never ever forgotten what number I was on. It's like forgetting to blink, it's just not done. How on Earth could I forget this?

I clench my fist and try to concentrate, to see if somehow it's in my head still, somewhere back there. After a couple of seconds, I give up.

Maybe I can just do another ten and then that'll get me to over ten on my last one and I'll still have done another ten?

I try to keep a normal face but I feel like all of my systems are shutting down. Except my right leg, which seems to have started spazzing out because its shaking like crazy. One of my nervous habits. I focus on my breathing to prevent breaking down in front of everyone.

"Hey, Newt?" I hear. I look up and Thomas is looking at me concerned.

"Yeah?" I say, but it comes out more as a pained statement, more than it does a question.

"Are you alright?" Thomas asks. Chuck notices and turns to me.

"Newt are you okay? Do you need anything?" Chuck asks, putting his hand on my back. I wince, people touching me while I have anxiety is a pressure point of mine.

"Chuck don't touch him," Thomas instructs. I look up at him, and he looks at me. Chuck removes his hand and put my hands down on the bench. I can't believe this is happening now. Of course I couldn't be normal for just a half hour.

"What happened?" Chuck asks. I want to tell him, but not with the rest of them around. I wave him closer to whisper in his ear.

"I, uh, forgot what number I was on," I say. I feel so stupid having anxiety attack over something so small. I'm surprised Chuck doesn't laugh in my face. He nods.

"I know where the wheelchairs are, I'll get you back to our room if you want to," Chuck says.

"I don't wanna come off badly," I say. Chuck laughs.

"Trust me, you won't," he says, getting up. "I'll be right back."

"Where's he going?" Minho asks.

"Nowhere; don't worry about it," Thomas says. Minho shrugs, then goes back to his conversation.

Thomas leans across the table to me.

"Listen, Newt, I know how you're feeling right now. I get it. I don't know what caused it, but I get it," he says, surprising me. Turns out Lost Boy Tommy isn't so lost at all.

"I, uh-," I try to start, before Thomas cuts me off.

"It's okay, you don't have to talk," Thomas says. It's like he can read my mind. Without thinking, I nod. I mutter a curse then nod nine more times. For the first time that I've seen, Thomas laughs. Despite it all, I laugh a little too. Mostly anxiety induced, from nerves, but you can't help but laugh at it.

Chuck comes back with a wheelchair and stops it in front of me.

"Chuck, you can barely push the door open. Let me do it," Thomas says. Somehow, that doesn't help at all as I get into the chair. My heart starts racing faster and my legs are shaking a mile a minute. Thomas gets behind me to push me to the room.

"Hey where are you guys going?" Winston asks. Minho nods in agreement of his confusion.

"I said don't worry about it," Thomas says more sharply this time. Minho puts up his hands in defeat and turns away while Thomas starts wheeling me away, my head spinning.

"Just hold on, we'll be to your room in a minute," Thomas says. I don't answer, but my thoughts drift to last night. I wish he could rock me back and forth and take this away like he did for Chuck. But I know it doesn't work that way. This boy is obviously a hero to Chuck. What's wrong with him, then? Why is he here?

Finally we get back to the room and he opens the door, pushing me in with him and closing the door behind us.