Liar [Maze Runner Fanfiction]

sixteen

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage, against the dying light." - Dylan Thomas

~

Elizabeth stared down at Newt's sleeping form. Searching.

She didn't know what she was looking for, but she needed answers. It had been two days since Clint's confession, and Elizabeth was left with more questions than she could afford to ask.

'Strangle him.'

Elizabeth gasped, looking around the room. Who had spoken?

'Smother him with the pillow.'

It was a girl's voice, barely passing a whisper, taunting. It was vaguely familiar, but, like everything in her memories, it danced just out of reach.

'He hates you. You'll be better off without him.'

Her yes darted around the room, dismissing the possibility of having someone in the room with her. It was empty, save for the sleeping boy below her. It must've been some sort of device send by the "Creators." Maybe one of those beetle blades?

'Kill the stupid boy,' it hissed tantalisingly.

An uncontrollable urge seized her. Her hands itched to wrap around something, to squeeze until the last breath bled out; to be able to control life and death at the flick of a wrist. Her hands trembled, reaching out as she watched in horror, unable to control her actions. Her fingertips brushed Newt's neck, hooking underneath it, grazing the nape.

'I know you want to,' the voice teased, 'you want to be in control again. Don't you?'

"No," she whispered, her hands shaking, heavy as lead. Her thumbs pressed down on his windpipe, fingernails scratching the delicate skin. She could feel the blood pumping through his aorta, rushing around his body, delivering life. Thin fingers curled around his neck like pale vipers, squeezing... Killing...

Then, as suddenly as it came, the feeling was gone.

Elizabeth snatched her hands back, wrapping them around her shoulders, as if afraid they would reach out again. She clenched them tightly, nails biting onto her palm. She drew a long, shuddering breath, sinking onto the cold floor.

Strange things had happened since she'd arrived to the Glade, but nothing like this.

"Oh, it's you."

Elizabeth's eyes snapped upwards. She rose slowly from the ground, a breath catching at her throat. The accent was unmistakable, as she could feel her heart skip a beat.

"M-me?"

Newt sat on the bed, fully alert. A sense of deja vú made her mind flashed to the first time he had woken up, but this was different. His eyes were sharp and bright, completely different from the glassy, foggy stare from before. Thy darted around the room, and his lips were pressed into a thin, disapproving line, his eyebrows furrowed.

His expression was one of pure hatred.

"Get out," his voice was quiet, a small tremor beneath the icy tone. "Get out and don't come back."

"Newt?" she asked tentatively, shrinking back from his glare. She was shocked; she had expected anger, some confrontation or explanations being demanded, but not this cold, glacial glare.

"Don't shucking 'Newt' me," he snarled, "but that's what you want, isn't it?" He smirked, letting out a humourless laugh. "You gave me this bloody name!"

"What?" she snapped, incredulous, anger burning at the pit of her stomach. What was his problem?

"It's all your fault, Elizabeth! You put me in here!" he spat, "you put me in here to die!"