In The Maze

Chapter two Alby

There are mentions of depression, self-harm, and suicide in this chapter. Please skip it if that could trigger you in any way.

The boy Julius is named after Julius Caesar, Arthur is named after King Arthur, and Teddy is named after Theodore Rosevelt.

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It was greenie day. A day that everyone seemed to look forward to except for Newt and me. It was one of the few days we got where we didn't have to work aside from basic animal care, cooking meals, and sorting through the supplies brought up from the box. Working day in and day out was tiring both physically and mentally, and most of the boys were eager to relax and goof around.

Normally, everyone would be present to welcome the new greenie into the Glade. Many of the guys treated it as a game, even placing figurative bets on what job the greenie would get stuck with. Even the runners got this day off to rest up and try to enjoy themselves.

Minho decided to run the maze anyway, citing that he was feeling restless and that running would help tire him out. Of course, I didn't believe him. Minho was a great runner with extensive endurance; rarely did he return fully winded even after mapping the maze for half the day. The slinthead was cocky and bold but never had trouble taking a load off when given the chance.

The real reason he'd been going out in the maze every day, even on his scheduled days off, was because of Newt. Those two are brothers and have always looked out for each other. Ever since a few of us had woken up in the middle of the Glade, those two had been close. Before Newt's injury, they had even been running partners. Newt easily kept up with Minho and was one of the few who could tolerate him for more than a few minutes.

Minho would never admit it, too afraid of breaking his snarky, tough-guy persona, but he was afraid for Newt's well-being. Terrified actually. And so was I.

Both of us had found Newt unconscious and in excruciating pain; blood coated his head and his right leg was wrapped in ivy, mangled, and clearly broken. It was a struggle getting him back into the Glade before the doors closed but we managed, dead set on keeping our dearest friend alive. When asked, we both lied saying a griever had gotten to him and no one questioned it. Grievers rarely came out during the day but it wasn't unheard of.

Little did we know that the real struggle had only just begun.

It became a constant battle day in and day out just to get Newt to eat and drink. He's naturally tall and thin but somehow got even skinnier. It got to the point where we could see his ribs more than normal and his joints stuck out skeletally in a way that was thoroughly disturbing. He was in unimaginable pain yet he refused any type of medication. I had to force him to let Clint and Jeff monitor his injuries and, as much as I hated it, had to bully him into answering our questions. Then, once he was cleared to begin working again, he went right back to the habit of overworking himself and ignoring his needs in favor of helping others. Ever since we pulled him from the maze a little more than two months ago, Newt remained reticent and cold; so unlike the selfless, welcoming, and compassionate person he truly is.

Seeing our closest friend - our younger brother - fight an internal battle within himself physically hurt. All we could do was stand there and watch.

But nothing hurt more than the guilt. No matter what I said or did I couldn't escape the crushing weight that had been dropped on my shoulders, making it difficult for me to function properly or carry out the most menial of tasks. I couldn't help but wonder if this was how Newt felt, not that he ever talked about what was going on in his head.

Suffering for the sake of others, I thought dismally. That's definitely Newt's MO.

We noticed Newt struggling for months prior to his attempt and had done nothing. Many of the boys noticed the changes in Newt and showed some level of concern, but clearly, it hadn't been enough. It was Gally who had hesitantly approached me one evening, shuffling from foot to foot, wringing his hands as he quietly stuttered out that he'd seen bloody cuts on Newt's right wrist. By the time I managed to corner Newt he had a fabric band tightly wrapped around his thin wrist and a blank look on his face. After several minutes of pleading with him, he reluctantly agreed to never harm himself again. It might have seemed like a small stepping stone, but it was a huge step towards recovery.