Ten | newtmas

forty seven

"You don't seem very happy to be leaving," Mom says.

I don't answer until I'm sat on my bed. I'm on four, but I don't let her know that. "It's complicated," I say weakly.

"How? This place isn't good for you, Newt. You don't belong here, and I'm sorry I sent you in the first place," she says. She sounds emotional. "I'm so sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry," I say. "I needed it. I'm better now, aren't I?" It had almost nothing to do with Janson, but it is true.

"Either way, you should be home now," Mom says.

I look across the room at Chuck's unmade bed. "I know," I say. It's not her fault she doesn't know why this is so hard for me.

"Please talk to me," Mom says after a moment, stepping closer to me. This really isn't the time.

"Mom," I say, taking a deep breath. "I'm tired; really tired. So can we do this tomorrow?"

She's disappointed. I wish I could say I'm used to disappointing her, but I don't think that'll ever happen.

"Alright," she says. She looks behind her as if she's expecting someone to be there. "Your father is bringing the car around, so I should go. Please call if you need me, okay?"

"I will," I say. I probably won't.

"I love you. I'll see you tomorrow," Mom says. She looks like she goes to step closer, but decides against it.

"Love you," I say, forcing the words out of my exhaust ridden body.

She walks out, and I lie down, feeling defeated. Every bone and muscle in my body aches, and I don't want to be conscious. I don't want to feel this anymore. I don't want to face the rest of today, or tomorrow. The only things I do want are the things I can't have.

One more glance at the time, and then I sleep.

"Newt," I hear. When I recognize the voice, I want to keep my eyes closed. "Newt?"

I have to face him eventually. My eyes reluctantly peel open, and I attempt to prop myself up on my elbows, but fail miserably. "Sorry," I say, my voice barely coming out.

Chuck just stares at me as I sit up. "Medication time," he says.

I look at the time. It's ten. A jolt of anxiety helps wake me up quicker. I go to thank Chuck for waking me, but he turns and just walks to my chair. He's still mad at me.

As I get up, my count continues without me wanting it to. Chuck isn't looking at me. As much as I hate that he's upset, if hating me is the only way Chuck can get through this, I'll let him.

Before I sit down, I look down at Chuck. He hasn't asked, but he'll have to know eventually. "Do you want to know how the trial went?" I ask hesitantly.

He still doesn't look up at me. "Not really," he says. I physically feel my heart hurt. He rocks back and forth a little on his heels before he speaks again. "Just tell me."

I wish he knew just how much I hate saying this. How much I hate all of this. "They decided I'm well enough to go," I say.

Chuck is still for a moment. Then, he nods. His expression hasn't changed much. Seconds go by without either of us speaking, and I wish I could just hug the kid and cry with him about how unfair life is. But we just stay still.

Eventually, he finally meets my eyes. "Are you gonna get in or not?" Chuck asks, trying and failing to sound tough. It reminds me of Thomas. Chuck just hasn't learned how to pull it off yet, and I wish he never would.