Burned - Newt x Reader - Part II

43. Haunted

"Relax," I said hoarsely. "It's just me."

He looked me up and down and scoffed, "You look like a crank."

I stayed quiet. No smart remark. Not this time.

~~~

I couldn't eat. Even when I wanted to..when my stomach growled louder than a Crank's shriek...I couldn't. The appetite was simply gone.

Nightmares became routine. Janson didn't bother getting up anymore when I woke up gasping and screaming, but I knew he was awake.

He started to leave his door slightly open at night. Probably staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me... or why I was slipping back into that teenage phase when I was supposed to be a young adult. Little did he know..

Flashbacks dragged me back into that hellhole every night. Over and over. Reliving the same horrors again and again.

I was pale. Like a ghost. Dark circles under my eyes looked like bruises. At first, I tried covering them, but after a few weeks I just... stopped. No amount of makeup could hide it anymore.

This morning, when I tried to walk past him in the corridor, he shoved me back, blocking my path.

I looked up at him. He lifted his arms like.. start talking?

"What?" I whispered.

"What is going on?" he shot back. "You don't sleep, you don't eat. You're out there fighting cranks and you don't even bother to turn on your radio or call in. And I won't even ask why your GPS is off." His voice rose by the end.

I swallowed and looked down.
I wanted to tell him... I wanted to say that Sector C had destroyed me. Even me.
Me..the one who fights cranks daily. Me.. with one of the best scores. Me.. who's now on first place. Me.. who sees blood and death every fucking day.

I wanted to cry. To tell him everything. To feel understood..to be held for once.

I wanted to scream at him for just standing there watching while people burned and begged.
I wanted to demand how he could do that...how he didn't feel sick.

I was fighting back tears.
And I was so close..so damn close...to telling him.

But I swallowed it all again. I couldn't.

If he knew, he would find out about me and Thomas. Janson isn't stupid.

He'd stop moving him here every Wednesday. I might never see my brother again. And I know Thomas would get in trouble as well.

And so would Janson. Ava was already suspicious. If Thomas so much as breathed my name, she'd lash out at him immediately and she would kill me. This time definitely. And I couldn't risk everything I had. So I kept my mouth shut even if it was killing me.

So I shook my head, eyes glassy.
Then I stepped forward, resting my cheek on his shoulder, letting one tiny, salty tear roll down my cheek.

"I'm just exhausted," I whispered, knowing it was the dumbest excuse.

He didn't hug me back. But he placed his hand on the back of my head and gently ruffled my hair.

It made another tear fall.

~~~

I was officially grounded. For God knows how long.

A few days ago I pushed it too far. I went out killing cranks, exhausted, unfocused, weak, barely holding the machete... and I stepped right into a crank trap.
It looked like a bear trap honestly, teeth and all, but somehow my leg stayed attached.

Lucky, I guess. Lucky enough to keep the limb, unlucky enough to bleed all over the sand and scream myself hoarse.

I must have passed out. I don't remember the rest.

Since then, he grounded me like a child.
No access to weapons.
No car.
Every route out was closed for me.

I guess I pushed too many buttons... or he finally realized I was falling apart. And he thought it was because of the cranks.

And with no fighting, no running, no distraction...my mind wouldn't shut up. It kept replaying Sector C over and over.

It's been over a month since I last saw Thomas. We decided to lay low after Ava nearly caught us. So explaining to him what I saw? Talking about it? Out of the question. I was alone.

I was surrounded by people...soldiers, cranks, Jenson in the apartment.. and somehow I had never felt more alone. The city was always lit up, but I felt swallowed by darkness.

I needed to keep my mind busy. My hands needed to move.

So I cleaned the entire apartment. And I mean the entire apartment. Scrubbed every surface. Even reorganized the kitchen cabinets by height and expiration date. Everything except Jensen's room. I didn't want to go in there.

And when the cleaning didn't exhaust me enough, I bought paint.

I painted two of my walls blue.

But halfway through the first wall, I stopped.
Blue.
Sky blue.

The sky those people in Sector C would never see again.

My throat tightened.

So I grabbed another bucket. Yellow.
Maybe something bright, warm.

But halfway through, the yellow looked like the sun.
The sun looked like heat.
Heat looked like burning.

And suddenly all I could smell was flesh.

I dropped the brush.

So I grabbed the last color I could find. Pink.
It didn't remind me of anything.

So I painted over everything with pink.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand, leaving a smudge of pink across my forehead.

And then the door opened.

Jenson stepped inside.

Grey pants. Black shirt. Jacket half-on, half-off, like he rushed home.

"...What the hell," he said softly, "This looks like a crime scene committed by a toddler with emotional issues."

I shrugged. "That.. sums it up."

"And why pink?" he asked.

My voice cracked. "Because it didn't remind me of anything."

Jenson walked closer, stopping just a few feet from me. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"You're not okay," he whispered. Just... stating the obvious.

"I know," I whispered back, looking at the walls.

"And you still won't tell me why."

I looked down at my pink hands and my bandaged leg.
I couldn't tell him.
I couldn't risk Thomas.
I couldn't risk Ava finding out.