Ten | newtmas

sixteen

I don't see anyone for two hours after I get back, going back to my room to reflect on my therapy session while everyone else is in classes.

    Every time I go to think of what was discussed, the only thing that rings through my mind are his last words. Be careful with Thomas.

What could he possibly have meant? In what way should I be careful? Is he less "normal" than he's let on? What if he's a liar? Hundreds of questions race through my head, my paranoia increasing.

Maybe the Thomas I know is just an illusion. Someone I created in my mind to fit what I wanted him to be. After all, I really don't even know anything about him. Does Chuck? How would he do this to everyone?

The notebook I was given sits on the bed next to me. If I can't trust Thomas, maybe I should take to writing my thoughts and feelings.

Eventually five rolls around, second medication time—which I manage to sneak through without being seen—then six. Dinner.

    I groan to myself as I get out of bed, wishing I didn't have to do anything. Therapy, while not entirely helpful, is draining. Especially when you try.

    It takes me a while to get to dinner, the lack of motivation being a main reason for it. But when I get there, the tone is jarring. At first glance, the whole Normals table is nothing but quiet.

    If I had anywhere else to sit, I'd sit there now. I'm looking for an empty spot elsewhere when I hear Chuck.

    "Newt." I turn to the boy who's now patting the seat next to him, same one I'd used the day before.

    I walk over in larger steps with dread seeping into my brain, having to only pause once before making it over and sitting down. A few of them look up to nod greetings, but other than that they're eerily somber as I uncomfortably finish my tens.

    My gaze absentmindedly switches to Thomas, who hasn't looked up from his plate. Almost none of his food has been eaten, the boy just staring at it and occasionally pushing it around with his fork.

    "Here you go," I jump when I hear the voice from behind me. It's Frypan, setting down my plate in front of me and nodding.

"Thanks," I say so softly I can barely hear it before awkwardly picking my fork up, thankful for a distraction.

Tension builds up for another five minutes like that. Fry joins us at some point, but he eats in silence too, not helping the situation. Finally, Minho breaks the silence.

"When are we going to hear something? It's been an entire day at this point, and what, they expect us to believe nothing has changed?" he nearly yells. I feel Chuck tense up next to me and the urge to hug the kid suddenly overwhelms me.

"They'll tell us something," Thomas mutters, still staring down.

At least I have an answer now. Of course, it's Winston that they're all upset over. They really haven't heard anything by now?

"Why would they? We're not even people to them," Minho says angrily, his volume not lowering. "They're not gonna tell us—"

    "That's enough." Thomas cuts him off sharply, finally looking up from his plate. He looks at Chuck, his face softening. "You alright, bud?"

    Chuck nods, looking embarrassed but grateful for Thomas' interjection.

    Minho seems to calm down slightly, pulling himself back. "I'm sorry, Chuck. I am, I just... I wish they would tell us. It's not fair."