"Focus, Thomas! I might end up killing you before Vince's friends do." I huffed, getting seriously frustrated with the boy who seemed to have somehow gotten worse at self-defense since yesterday.
Thomas groaned loudly, before hoisting himself up off the floor. I know everyone was drinking yesterday, but when I left, he hadn't had that much – and I told him not to go overboard.
Clearly, he did not listen to me.
"Ugh, sorry, I know. My head is just killing me." He replied, rubbing his temple in attempts to relieve some pain.
"I don't care, I told you not to drink anymore."
"I barely had that much more! It was just one glass – and another smaller one." He added the last part much quieter, still massaging his forehead.
"Mhm yeah, okay." I replied, sarcasm spewing out of my words.
He was moving slow, his eyes drooped and his shoulders more slouched than normal. If I didn't have Newt to go back to last night, there's a large possibility that I could be looking exactly like him right now.
I thought back to last night. It was actually very simple; his gesture. And yet, it is now the best memory I have.
"Maybe instead of hand-to-hand combat, we could focus on shooting today?" The boy asked, a glimmer of hope and desperation shining through.
I really did not have any patience for this today – especially since Thomas is hungover and basically incapable of doing anything physical. So, to be honest, his idea was actually a good one.
Contemplating it quickly in my head as I wondered if there would be anyone down in the shooting range, I nodded slowly with a sigh.
"Fine; an hour with guns, an hour with arrows and an hour with knives. Does that sound more reasonable?"
Thomas nodded immediately, his eyes lighting up at the suggestion of less fitness training and more target practice. I did plan to do some shooting precision soon, but today was not supposed to be that day.
I don't think Tom is even bad with his aiming skills; after all the run-ins with Wicked we've had, I thought he was rather good with a weapon. So, I had quite high hopes as we were walking down to the section Vince cornered off for target practice.
Our walk there was practically silent, a comfortable quiet hung around us like the smell of fresh baked goods. That was, until he broke it.
"What's going on with you and Newt?"
I snapped out of my thoughts instantly, shock flooding my system at the boy's abrupt question.
"I- what are you on about?" I asked, keeping my tone cool and not answering straight away to seem less suspicious.
"Oh, come on, Y/n. We all see how he looks at you, and how nice you are to him compared to the rest of us." He said, stepping down the path slowly to avoid falling, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.
"I don't know what you mean." I replied, blankly. Thomas scoffed, "Really? You're going to pull that card?"
I wanted to snap at the boy, as I really wasn't in the mood to talk about this. I don't even know what's going on between me and Newt; after what he did for me yesterday, it was difficult to keep a stupid grin off my face.
But of course, being forced to train a hungover Thomas sure did the trick.
"What bloody card?" I hissed, stepping nearer to him threateningly.
It's almost as if he forgot I was armed.
He gulped ever so slightly, but recovered almost immediately as he kept that constant 'I'm just trying to help' face on. "Look, it's fine if you like Newt, it's... great actually, as I'm almost completely certain that he likes you also and that-"
"Thomas, just shut the fuck up. This isn't any of your business, got it?" I spat, narrowing my eyes at the boy to create the exact reaction I received.
His mouth instantly snapped shut, and instead of pestering me further, he just followed me down the path to where we were going to practice.
It was nice, the silence. It made my head clearer and made it easier for me to plan ahead with what I wanted Thomas to begin with. I thought that maybe I should get him started with just an average pistol - I know he's handled them before and hopefully has a rough idea on how to use them.
And once he's slightly more confident on those, he can move onto throwing knives as I assume he will find those more challenging and will need more assistance than with guns.
And then finally we'll move onto archery, which I've barely done since arriving here but actually realised very quickly that I was very good at. And when I say good, I mean bullseye every single time.
My plan for our session was occupying my mind so much that I didn't even realise when I had walked past the shooting range, and it still took me a while even after Thomas yelled my name over and over to get my attention.
It seems Thomas isn't the only one distracted.
--
"I fucking hate archery."
Thomas huffed as he missed yet another target with his arrow, instead, piercing the wooden pole that stood tall behind it.
He was pretty good with a gun, all of his shots besides one hit the target, and almost all were on point. When it came to knife throwing, he wasn't bad – but using a pistol was definitely his stronger attribute.
But as soon as he picked up the bow and began firing, I realised that he really fucking hates archery. And is equally shit at it, too.
I showed him how to use the weapon properly, and how to make aiming easier on yourself before firing - and after about 80 minutes of him messing up all of his shots, I was seriously ready to call it a day.
"Right, with that then, I think we're done." I exclaimed, stretching out my legs as I stood from the stall, I perched myself on to watch Thomas.
"Thank God, I'm starving." The boy said, chucking the bow to the side as he too stretched out his limbs.
It had only just gone noon, as we had been practicing for a while. I promised Newt yesterday that I would come and find him after I was finished, and that was still my plan. So, after packing away the targets and throwing knives, Thomas and I walked back up the path to the more populated areas of camp.
The walk there was silent, but as we were about to reach the top of the path which led to the sleeping quarters, Thomas turned to me quickly and placed his hand on my arm.
I flinched at his touch, not used to anyone doing that unless that person was Newt, and he immediately realised and put on an apologetic face. "Sorry, I forget sometimes you aren't the most prone to physical touch."
I furrowed my brows as he removed his hand, and turned to me slowly while we both stopped in the middle of the path. "I wanted to ask you one more thing before we go up there, and don't worry, it's not about Newt."
I rolled my eyes, not planning on answering whatever invasive question he has for me now, but the words that came out of his mouth next shocked me much more than I thought they would.
"Did you ever figure out why you were put into the maze?"
My breathing stopped short, and I felt like I was about to collapse – that could be just because I haven't eaten anything today. Why was he asking this?
I won't lie and say that that question never lingers in the back of my head. Because the desperation to answer it is always there.
If you were with them, why where your memories erased and why were you put into the maze?
And it drives me crazy, because I still have no fucking clue.
Why did they try to recruit me again after doing so? Was it a mistake and they didn't realise until it was too late? Is that even possible?
I have no idea.
"No, I haven't been given any more information since that day at the Right Arm." I said, my hand automatically going down to my forearm to protect the Wicked mark.
Thomas noticed the movement instantly, clearly fueling him with more questions as he went on hesitantly, "Can I see it?"
My eyes snapped up to his in a quick instant, dropping my hand away from my arm as a reflex. "What? Why?"
Wasn't he the one who gave me a hard time for having it in the first place?
"I just- I dunno, I'm interested. You always wear clothes that cover it, so none of us actually know what yours looks like-"
"I wasn't aware everyone was so desperate to stare at my arms." I quickly interjected, feeling Thomas' exhale from here as he realised this probably won't be an easy conversation.
With everything that's happened to me because of that mark, I thought everyone would be a little bit more lenient with why I didn't want to show it off. Clearly, I was mistaken.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that- and I also didn't mean to snap at you like that back at the Right Arm..." He was rambling now, "But I dunno, I think I'm just curious, and so are a lot of people- I think anyway."
With my brows furrowed and my expression stern, I looked at the boy in front of me, apologising for something he probably doesn't even need to, as he asks to be more involved in a very sensitive part of my life. It made me wonder what his motivations where; that is, if he has any at all besides just being curious, as he put it.
Believing that he was just simply interested seemed difficult to comprehend – but then I remembered that Thomas basically makes all of his stupid decisions based on curiosity.
And it was that thought that finally penetrated my mind's tough exterior, lifting up my sleeve on my forearm quickly to show the boy the jet-black tattoo that sat shamefully on my skin. Tom's eyes widened at the sight, as he took in the mark that signified the reason we had lost so many friends, the reason we were kept captive our whole lives, and the reason Minho isn't here with us.
Because at the end of the day, I played a large role in all of it. And although I was young and naive, shown horrors no one should see – let alone a child, I was still responsible. I was still partially to blame for what happened to the boys in the Glade, and I was almost entirely responsible for what happened to Jorge's soldiers – and Vince's.
So, when I watched Thomas' face intently switch from surprise and horror to forgiveness and joy, I was rather confused. Shouldn't he be yelling? Screaming? Throwing insults my way for everything I had done?
But instead of doing all of that, the boy just simply said,
"You should wear short sleeved tops more often."