Newt Imagines

Her. (P5)

When I wake, she is gone.

Rubbing my eyes of the tired morning haze that chokes my vision, I look around the empty room. With the morning light splashing through the cracks in the windows, all of its contents are soaked in a golden glow and the details previously veiled by darkness are now finally exposed. If I could forget about the night before, I might feel some semblance of excitement or pride. Only hours ago this building was as much of an enigma as the world outside the glade, shrouded by mystery and gossip. We knew nothing of what it contained, merely that it was where she retired each night. And now, I was waking inside alone with the chance to uncover its secrets. I should be excited. I could be proud. That is, if it weren't for her.

Without Y/N, the unmade bedsheets are lonely. The stationary on her desk yearns to be used, and below the overflowing trashcan throws a tantrum in her absence. Even the dust on the windowsill appears to miss her touch, having clearly been neglected by her for a small eternity. The very air I breathe lingers in anticipation, hesitant to flow without her. I wish I could focus on any of the objects in the room, uncover more of the girl I know so little about, but no matter where I look, I see it. I see the red glowing eyes in the shadows under her bed, I see the grotesque limbs in the tools in the corner. Even the scrunched up paper on her desk looks like the creature's bulbous body, and I wonder how she sleeps at all.

The very pillows I spent the night on had belonged to previous gladers, people just like me who had simply vanished beyond the walls. She had not only been alone here before us, but had been forced to do so whilst mourning her friends. As I sit in silence wrapped in the bedsheets of ghosts, everything else becomes irrelevant. No wonder she had fought so desperately against the boys' suggestions to explore - she was only trying to protect us. And how did we repay her kindness? By reducing her to tears.

The more I think about last night's revelations, the less I feel I know. The hopeless confusion and suffocating fear festers into pointless anger, directed aimlessly at the unknown creators of this nightmarish place. Had they knowingly caused this much pain to someone like Y/N? Of course they had. You can't put someone in a cage like this beside those creatures without having some knowledge of its torture. I cannot imagine a world where such cruelty can be justified, especially with Y/N as it's victim.

As I busy myself folding the strewn blankets, I attempt to calm my racing heart. At the very least, I had succeeded in the mission I had originally set out to complete when I left the homestead last night. I had shown her she wasn't alone, supported her and comforted through the tears we had brought on. If I could find solace in that, I could push the dreadful notion of her story aside, and focus on my tiny success. Despite my efforts, it's a difficult success to claim, especially without knowing whether or not it stuck. I slowly release the breath I'm holding, careful not to disturb the frozen room. There's only one way to find out whether last night had carried through to the morning.

•••

The tension in the gathering is palpable. Between breakfast and the bathhouse, I still haven't seen her this morning. Though none of the boys are in a particularly conversational mood today after the previous gathering, it turns out no one else has seen her either. I don't know what I would say, but every part of me yearns to see her, as if simply speaking could fix anything that she told me the night before. I doubt it could even fix the constant nausea I've felt in my stomach since I woke, but I still wish I could try. Even without her in the room now, no one dares speak a word. It's a stark contrast to the chaotic revolt of the night before, and an almost impossible feat for group of teenage boys. All of this uneasiness, I'm surprised my breakfast hasn't made a reappearance yet.

As usual, I feel her presence before I see her. The soul of the room is sucked up by all thirty boys holding their breaths at once, and an eerie chill envelops us. To an outsider, it would appear as though she is the only living thing in the room; though to me she barely looks alive.  She stands with her signature regal poise, her scythe held perfectly straight by her side. Such a weapon mere days ago had seemed so threatening, but after the creature last night looks like little more than a child's toy. I doubt even the sharpest of blades would even scratch any of its horrific limbs. Still, they boys all stare at her with wide eyes, unwavering. Despite the insecurities she admitted last night, Y/N's authority is unquestionable. I can't decide whether it's the absence of warmth in her eyes, or the steel frown that replaces her usual smile; but I barely recognise the person in front of me.