╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
Well, then who killed then
stupid thing?
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝
The sunlight shines a bright golden glow into my eyes, and I shield the rays with my hand, obscuring the sun from my view. Dried tears stick to my face, and I nuzzle further into Newt's chest — he stirs momentarily before dropping back to sleep, his breaths evening out.
The empty void of nothing that Ben left behind was slowly starting to ebb away, replaced with a newfound sense of optimism I'd never experienced before. To me, Ben died that day in Deadheads. The boy who we banished wasn't really him. That wasn't Ben. It was a warped version of him — almost as if someone had tried to draw him on a scrunched up piece of paper blindfolded. I'd spent hours that day Alby shot him staring at what I thought was his corpse, drowning in the realisation that Ben was now gone.
That was when he died.
I look up into Newt's face... and it's devoid of any emotion. He's completely and utterly relaxed — a welcoming change after seeing him crying last night. His long eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as his soft breaths fan over my face.
"Get up!" Chuck shouts, rocking the hammock and jolting me. Newt groggily opens his eyes and leans into me, shooting Chuck a death stare.
"Really, Chuck?" he grumbles.
"The doors are gonna open."
I scoff, tightening my arms around Newt and say, "The doors can open when I say they're gonna open." Newt's chest shakes as he lets out a silent laugh, brushing the hair from behind my ear.
I don't want him to stop. And he doesn't.
I smile to myself — I know exactly what game he's playing. He thinks if he shows enough affection while Chuck's here, then he'll will get disgusted and go away. I don't care whether Chuck was here or not, I never want this moment to end. Unfortunately, the boy wrinkles his nose at us but refuses to leave.
"You're not a god," Chuck argues.
"I beg to differ."
Newt sighs, continuing to play with my hair gently. I allow my eyes to close, enjoying what time I have left until I have to get up. "It's pointless to argue with her, Chuckie."
"You leave me no choice. Payback!"
In one swift motion, Chuck grips into the fabric of the hammock and flips it over, sending Newt and I toppling to the floor, and I throw my arms out to catch myself but land painfully on top of Newt's chest.
Sometimes, one experiences a moment where time completely stops; where it's as if the world would pause just so you could experience it in every excruciatingly wonderful second. It feels like that when I look into his deep brown eyes lit by the soft golden rays of sunlight. Looking down at him, the sun eradicating the woes of last night, his hair glows under the light. I smile softly.
He looks like an angel.
He raises his eyebrows, almost as if he expected an apology; the biggest prompt I'd ever had to roll my eyes.
"Sorry?" I say half-heartedly.
Newt scoffs and says, "That was the best bloody apology I ever heard."
I smile to myself before leaning down, placing my hand on the side of his neck. As our lips brush against each other lightly, I allow the warmth to consume me, wrapping me in comfort. This kiss isn't heated with passion like the one before, rather soft and gentle, as though we were afraid the other might break in our arms. Newt smiles into the kiss, making butterflies swarm throughout my entire body.
"Is that a better attempt?" I say when I pull away reluctantly, smiling down at his awed expression.
"Yeah," he whispers. "I'd say so."
That's when I realise that Chuck was there. Newt and I exchange an embarrassed glance before bursting out into laughter at his face.
"That backfired miserably," Chuck groans.
"Sure did, Chuckie," I laugh, standing up off of Newt and offering my hand to pull him up. "You can't prank me."
"I'll take that as a challenge."
"I'll leave you with the devil," Newt says, playfulness creeping in his voice. "I've gotta talk to Greenie. Make sure he knows what's gonna happen today before it does."
"Cheery," I mutter.
"Ain't it always?" Newt flashes me a small grin before shaking Thomas awake, who scowls at him and rubs his eyes. "Get up, ya lug."
❀
"What's going on?" Thomas asks while we're sat on the wooden benches outside the Kitchens. I'm surprised at the calmness of his voice — so far everything Thomas had said was only filled with angst. I'm sure that by now Thomas has accustomed to odd developments in the Glade, and, like the rest of us, has learned to accept that nothing is going to be the same anymore.
Newt nods towards the Maze, where a group of Gladers are milling almost aimlessly around the Door. My vision flashes white... and I'm immediately taken back to the banishment of Ben.
I can see myself from afar, gripping the pole dangerously tight in my hands... but worst of all, I see Ben again. I see him again. I see everyone's pained faces, hear Ben's screams louder in my ears than they ever were before. I think the echoes will last a lifetime.
Chuck waves a hand in front of my face while Newt looks at me, eyes narrowed in suspicion. I shake my head at him, and with a hesitant turn of the head, he draws his attention back to the Door and explains what's happening to Thomas, who seems buried in a tranquil trance.
"Just seein' off Minho and Alby — they're going to look at the buggin' dead Griever," Newt says before eating his breakfast.
"Hey," Chuck says suddenly beside me. I ignore the pieces of food flying out of his mouth, however Thomas grimaces. "I've got a question about that."
"Yeah, Chuckie? And what's your bloody question?"
Chuck shuffles in his seat, almost uncomfortable as he cranes his neck to look at Alby and Minho chatting to the boys crowding around them. "Well," he says slowly, "they found a dead Griever, right?"
"Yeah," Newt scoffs, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Thanks for that bit of news."
The boy taps his fork absentmindedly on the table before tearing his gaze away from the West Doors. "Well, then who killed the stupid thing?"
"Very good question," I mutter. I lift my head and look at Newt, who falls into a silence. Thats not very promising.
He doesn't know either.
❀
Hank and I run side by side through the Maze, darting around the corners, leaving a cloud of unsettled dust behind us.
Once the bright light of the Glade fades into view, Hank and I slow down, allowing ourselves to regain our regular breathing patterns before we emerge from the Maze, surveying the Glade with a suspicious eye. An air of trepidation covers our home which engulfs Hank and I into a perturbed spell as we jog over to the Homestead, where a small gathering of boys are chattering worriedly amongst themselves, their every action alive with animation.
My eyes land on Newt, who's pacing thoughtfully, isolated from the gaggle of teenage boys. Hank and I exchange a drained look before we pick up the pace, running towards the group of boys, who barely acknowledge our arrival. What's wrong now?
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you?" I say to Newt, who raises his head and relief brakes out over his face.
His eyes flick behind us, almost as though he were expecting someone to be there too. I raise an eyebrow. "Thank love you and Hank are here," he breathes and jogs up to the two of us.
"That's what we tend to do... come back?"
Newt rolls his eyes, the previous relief in his demeanour vanished along with the hope that whatever he's about it say is any form of good news.
"Spit it out, then," Hank huffs.
"Alby and Minho haven't come back, shuck-faces," Newt snaps at the two of us.
Shit.
"They're still out there and should have bloody been back hours ago."
"I didn't see them when we were out," I say gravely while my mind is spinning with all the possible scenarios of what they could be going through right now. They could be lost. No, Minho knows the Maze better than anyone. They could be trapped. Or dead. But there's not a chance Alby would let that happen... is there? Determination radiates from Alby, and I know as well as the next shank around here that it'll take a lot for him to give up. I just hope he hasn't yet.
"Thea," Hank says, snapping me out of my daydream. "Map Room."
I hesitate, my gaze flicking to Newt's anxious disposition before trailing back to the concrete building at the end of the Glade. Hank's right. Standing here worrying about the missing Gladers isn't going to solve anything, or help them in any way. We all need to take our minds off of it with the only thing that works — our jobs.
"Right," I decide with a nod, before placing a hand on Newt's shoulder. "They'll be back, Frog-face."
I hope that's enough to convince him.
Because it sure as hell wouldn't convince me.
❀
The dinner that night was solemn, and I doubt any shank dared to talk, barely enjoying Frypan's food which usually lifted the spirit. Newt insisted on the rest of the Gladers to go and get their dinner, including me, but I don't think he expected me to go with them anyway. Newt and I run between the doors silently, and while I manage to keep my panic below surface level, anxiety emits from Newt's every move, which only heightens my concern. I've never seen him this worried before.
We haven't spoken so much as a word to each other for an hour, both rapt in the possible scenarios that could play out. Although I've played every possibility twice over in my head, I still don't know how I'll react if... when Minho and Alby get back.
I convince myself that they're already back, yelling and snapping at the Gladers as they usually do to try and distract me from their absence, however their lack of presence haunts the air. It doesn't feel like the same Glade anymore.
Newt drags a hand down his face as Thomas and Chuck run up to the two of us, torches illuminating their faces. "Where are they?"
"Why don't we send out a search party?" Thomas suggests stupidly. I fight the urge to laugh at how idiotic the notion is. From Chuck's eye roll, I can tell that this isn't a genius idea Thomas has only just come up with, rather bothered the boy with ever since we found out they weren't back.
"Bloody he— we can't," he says, taking a deep breath to compose himself. "Okay? Don't say it again. One hundred percent against the rules."
"Especially with the damned Doors about to close," I pipe in, leaning my head against the wall, allowing my eyes to close. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I listen to the rest of their conversation.
"But why? Won't the Grievers get them if they stay out there?" Thomas persists. "Shouldn't we do something?"
"Shut your hole, Greenie! Not a bloody week you've been here!" Newt shouts, his eyes alight with fury. "You think I wouldn't risk my life in a second to save those lugs?"
"No... I... sorry," Thomas says quietly. "I didn't mean..."
Newt's hard gaze softens before speaking slowly to him. "You don't get it yet, Tommy. Going out there at night is beggin' for death. We'd just be throwin' more lives away. If those shanks don't make it back... Both of 'em swore an oath, just like I did. Like we all did."
Newt shoots me a glare, no doubt remembering the moment where I barrelled into the Maze to help Minho. I roll my eyes. "It was one time."
"You still did it."
"This was a month ago! And I hadn't even taken the oath yet."
"What're you talking about?" Thomas asks hesitantly, exchanging a perplexed look with Chuck.
"Nothin'," Newt dismisses. "You'll have to swear the oath, too, when you go to your first Gathering and get chosen by a Keeper. Never go out at night. No matter what. Never."
Newt stares at Thomas until he gives him a small nod, confirming his compliance.
"Newt won't say it so I will," Chuck says gravely. "If they're not back, it means they're dead. Minho's too smart to get lost. Impossible. They're dead."
They're dead.
___
I apologise for the delay, schools a little mad at the moment, but since it's the easter holidays starting soon, I'll be writing much more frequently. The support recently has been absolutely mental, so I just want to say THANK YOU SO MUCH!
It means the world.
And also, a special thank you to those who vote and comment, y'all make my day.
Have a wonderful day/night <3
~ sophie xx