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Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled through the woods. Newt's voice grew fainter, the sound of your name leaving his lips turning into grumbled curses as he tried to follow.
You knew he wouldn't be able to. You'd thought you'd known everything about Newt. The way his snores sounded in the early morning, the way the muscles of his back felt when you gave him a massage after a hard day, the way he smiled and laughed even at your bad jokes, the way he always wanted to help. He always wanted to help! Any of your problems, he was right there for you, solid as a rock.
Tree branches scratched your arms. You ran on.
You hadn't known all of Newt. If you had, he wouldn't have been kissing the Greenie.
Your lungs burned as you picked up the pace. The crunch of your sneakers against the dirt fueled you. You wanted to kick something. A tree wasn't good enough. You wanted to push the whole damn earth.
Newt wouldn't catch you. He couldn't catch you. You didn't know him, not anymore, but you knew that.
You burst from the trees into the quiet of the Glade at night. Boys slept in hammocks mere feet from where you passed. Some stirred, but none woke up, so you continued running, heading for the walls.
In your mind, Newt and Margaret kissing played on repeat. He'd had her pressed against a tree. How many times had he done that with you? Over 10? Over 20?
How many times had he done that with her?
You could see her hands running through Newt's hair. Your breath caught in your throat, a sob threatened to break free, and you ran faster, until the only way you could breath was with a shuddering inhale.
Panting felt good. You ran harder, sprinting to the section of the wall where names littered the surface.
You slowed to a stop in front of it. Your whole body felt alive in the cool air. Sweat clung to your skin. Your chest heaved. You were crying harder, so hard you couldn't read the names, so hard you couldn't even see the names.
His name was to the left of yours. The image of it interspersed the video in your mind of Newt and Margaret.
You wanted it out of your head. You wanted him out of your head.
Rubbing at your eyes until you could see, you scanned the wall, immediately finding Newt's name. There was your name, right next to his, and there was Margaret's, sprawling over both of them.
The stone was rough under your trembling hand. You traced the letters of your name. You could imagine the heft of the knife, the feel of Newt's body so close to yours as you carved.
