Shucked Up || Newtmas AU

4☂ teresa

We accept the love we think we deserve
__________
Thomas (these chapters will be mainly Newt with the occasional Thomas)
__________

"Okay, whatever." Newt shrugs casually while taking in a deep sigh, which hinted he wasn't too sure about his new arrangements.

"See! This is a bad idea, Tom!" Teresa picks up on Newt's anxious body language too.

"Shut up! I know what I'm doing!" I finally snap, after listening to her nagging all day.
I've had enough.

"Excuse me?" Newt twitches, frowning at me as I walk through the doorway, my suitcase and Teresa in tow.

"Sorry I-" I rub my forehead in concentration, but Newt cuts me off.

"Schizophrenic? Right?" Newt smiles sadly, pushing his bed from the middle of the room to the furthest wall, still not making eye contact with me.

"Well, that's what everyone says." I throw my hands up in surrender, Teresa bustles past me, rolling her eyes.

Everyone says she's not real.
They say she's dead. That she took her own life.

But why did she try and leave me?
And why is she still here?

In the very same clothes I saw her body in, on the concrete pavement beneath that building.

I sometimes summon up the courage to ask her, why can only I see her?
She just yells at me and storms off.

The court didn't believe me.
When I said Teresa killed Chuck, right in front of me.
They also told me she was already dead.

Yet she killed Chuck, because she thought he was going to make me spend less time with her. She killed Chuck, yet I'm the one in trouble for it.

I was almost sent to juvy, Mom told me.

The court ruled me insane.

"I don't like it here. This place sucks." Teresa grumbles, folding her arms.

Choosing to ignore her troubles, I push my suitcase underneath the spare bed, on the opposite wall to Newt's.
One thing I've learnt is that everything is so simple here.
Basic.

The two single beds have white duvets and pillows and a light wood frame. The walls are white, the floor is light wood planks.
So boring.

Dwelling on what to say next, I dare to ask; "If I'm a schizo-what's-its-name. Why are you here?".

Newt ignores me, instead he smoothed out the creases on his duvet, humming to himself.

I ask him the same question after dinner, when we're both sat on our beds, at opposite ends of the room.

"You don't know much about this place, do you, Greenie?" Newt smacks his lips together.

He continues, before I can answer, his cheeks pink "I'm known for not talking. I don't have friends. I've been here a year. You're the first person I've actually had a conversation with. So forgive me for being quiet, but this is a lot for me, okay?" Newt splutters out his words like he wants to say them as quick as possible so he could shut up again.

He looks kinda cute.

The single-sentence thought pops into my mind like a bubble bursting.

An awkward silence blankets over us as I retrace over my last thought, did I think Newt's cute?

"Since you asked," Newt cracks the silence with his shaking voice "My parents think I'm depressed, and the doctors said I developed OCD because of all the drugs I took." .

For once I find myself lost for words.

Newt took drugs?

"Oh come on, don't look so shocked. You were high as a kite every time we smoked crack. You loved it."
Teresa curls her top lip, her knees tucked into her chest as she sits on the floor, beside me.

"How about you leave! You made me!" I cry out, making Teresa pull herself to her feet and stomp out the room, slamming the door behind her.

"Sorry," I blush, running a hand through my hair.

Newt shrugs it off, "I can't wait to get out of here." He mumbles, laying out on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Don't you have to get better first?" I ask, glancing at him, doing the same as Newt and lying out too.

"I was never sick. People just needed to leave me alone. Everyone's better off that way, alone." Newt sighs.

Alone?
Why does he want to be alone?
Should I go?

"Sorry, I didn't mean it personally, Tommy. Goodnight." Newt states, switching off the light on his bedside cabinet.

I notice how he doesn't tuck himself under the duvet, he curls himself up instead, shivering.

Spending the next half-hour or more watching Newt sleep and sitting by our bedroom door, waiting for Teresa to come back.

When I feel my eyes weigh heavier, as sleep skims over me, I finally get up off the cold floor, and walk over to Newt's bed.
He's quietly snuffling in his sleep, goosebumps covering his bare arms.

I hover over him, and without thinking I kiss his forehead lightly,
like my Mom used to do to me before I went to bed every night as a kid.

"Goodnight Newt, thanks for being my friend." I whisper.

Suddenly the door swings open, and I hear footsteps.
And that voice, that voice that's ruined life, that voice that's dragged me through hell and back.

Teresa.

She glares at me with intimidating eyes, her mouth dropped open in shock.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"