SEVEN.
trigger warning: discussion of suicide
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I paced anxiously outside of the West Door, where Newt would exit the Maze that night. I couldn't bring myself to stand right at the edge in fear it would suddenly slam shut on my leg- a bit of an irrational fear, maybe, but it was still there. I stood about ten yards away from the entrance and walked back and forth with my arms crossed over my chest.
Alby had gone into the Maze after Newt in an attempt to find him and tell him to "hurry his shuck butt back to the Glade," as he so kindly put it. That was at 7:10. Minho and I had taken all of eight minutes to equip him with the bare essentials for a quick run- a few knives just in case, a watch, and a pair of good running shoes. There was no way Alby could move too quickly in his worn-out sneakers that were barely hanging on by a thread.
I glanced nervously at my watch for the millionth time in the past few minutes. It was 7:25, and neither of them were back yet. Five minutes.
Suddenly I became stricken with fear that maybe Alby didn't know his way around the Maze, though it had been essential for us to teach the routes to the two leaders. What if he had taken a wrong turn? All I had told him was that Newt was running in Section Six. What if he didn't know what way that was?
One of my hands subconsciously went up and toyed with the locket around my neck. The metal was cool in the darkness of the evening. My skin was hot. I kept feeling like I was going to collapse, and the invitation to lie down in the dewy grass became more and more appealing as the minutes ticked by.
"Look!" Clark shouted at the top of his lungs, effectively breaking me out of my trance and attracting the attention of the whole Glade. "Nick! Nick, look! Alby's back! He's back!"
Our leader came charging closer the moment his name was called. He towered over me as he paused beside me, taking in the scene before him. I couldn't bring myself to face forward. Instead, I focused on his face as his expression crumbled before my eyes. Nick, the boy who always seemed so collected, was falling apart and all I could do was watch.
After Clark's call, the entirety of the Glade crowded around the West Door, just at the edge of the grass where the stone met green. The suspense suspended in the air like a thick fog. I still couldn't push myself to look forward.
But when I did, I wished I didn't.
Alby was there, all right, and he was carrying a limp body in his arms that was most definitely Newt. I felt my stomach drop into a pit of acid as numbing shock spread through my veins. Alby had tears streaming down his face. Newt's leg was bruised and mangled to the point where it didn't look much like a leg anymore. He was so pale and still that I thought he was dead.
As two boys pushed through the crowd with torches in their hands, Alby came closer to the Glade. He was barely jogging at that point. It was more of a hurried hop more than anything, the movements of someone struggling not to fall to the ground. With the shadows of the Maze still over the two of them, Newt definitely looked dead.
"No," I mumbled so lowly that I could barely hear it. The numb shock turned into liquid that quickly filled my eyes, distorting my vision until it spilled down my cheeks. "No! No!"
Pretty soon that word turned into a mess of sobs that wracked my entire body. I could hardly stand. Weight was crushing onto my shoulders, almost as if I had been bestowed the burden of holding up the sky.
And when I actually did fall, Minho was there to catch me. He had pushed through the crowd until he found me at the very front and center. He grabbed my middle before my legs could give out on me and made an effort to hold me up. The tears were now pouring out of my eyes in such a constant manner that I never thought they'd stop. I had never cried like this before (except when the accident happened). I had never felt so heartbroken before- it was as if someone had taken my heart and repeatedly stomped on it with a spiked boot until it bled out.
Everyone else was standing completely still, stunned silent. Some people were whispering or trying desperately to contain their mutters of questions that no one could answer.
Minho pulled me closer in an attempt to console me; he had realized that simply preventing me from falling wouldn't do anything. My cheek pressed against his chest while one of his hands went against the side of my head. His fingers rested in my hair, aiming to run his fingers in a soothing manner to calm me down. The fabric against my face quickly became wet and cold with the stains of my tears. My fists curled around his collar, my body shaking.
As Alby came closer, the tear stains on his face became more obvious in the light of the torches. The orange glow illuminated enough of him to show that his eyes were still glistening. It was obvious - at least to me - that he was struggling to hold himself together even now. Alby, the boy who never showed any emotion, was openly crying in front of everyone.
Clint, our only Med-jack, rushed forward and took Newt from Alby's arms. The taller boy looked reluctant to hand his best friend over. A few incoherent mutters were exchanged between them before they opted to both carry him toward the Homestead. But just before he was passed over, Newt's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. It wasn't a movement, but it was a sign that he was alive.
"He's not dead," I whispered to myself between gasping sobs. "He's not dead."
Minho didn't respond, and instead continued hugging me to his chest.
--
"What happened?"
The door slammed shut behind me as I entered the Med-jack's room. Clint jumped, pushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes in exasperation. He looked horrible. There were bags beneath his blue eyes and purple bruises accompanying them from limited amounts of sleep. His hands were shaking. Clint, the boy who always had a calm disposition, was trembling uncontrollably.
Alby leaned against the window. He didn't appear much better. Ever since he had come out of that Maze last night, he hadn't even tried to cover up how despondent he was. It was so strange to see everyone as they really were again after a year of covering up our feelings. Every person was so vulnerable, so raw that people rarely spoke in fear we'd blow each other up.
Once again, I couldn't bring myself to look at Newt, lying completely still in the bed. It was astounding how ironic that was- I had barely slept because I wanted to check on him so badly. Clint and Alby kept the door locked for the entire night and part of the morning. Half of it was complete torture, and the other half was relief.
Alby sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. "Found him about one, two miles away from the West Door. He was in Section Six, alright. Section Six with a piece of ivy caught 'round his ankle as he dangled from the shucking wall like a spider on a thread of web. He--" Alby choked and put a hand over his mouth for a second. "He tried to kill himself."
It felt like all of the breath had been sucked from my lungs. The air was no longer inside of me, my heart beating slower and slower with each second I didn't breathe. All of the organs in my body seemed to stop working the instant the words left Alby's mouth. My eyes grew until they were so wide I thought they would pop out.
"H-He's going to be okay, right?" I questioned as steadily as I could. There was no response. "Clint, is he going to be okay?"
The Med-jack snapped out of it and ran a hand through his already unkempt hair again. He stood up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, gingerly placing a wet cloth over Newt's forehead. "Uh, yeah. He should be fine. His leg's gonna be messed up for the rest of his life, but it ain't as bad as yours. It'll just hurt for a little while and then he might have a slight limp. Nothin' too serious. He got lucky."
He got lucky.
My eyes finally drifted to the boy in the bed. The covers were pulled up to his neck, with his head flopped to the side and the damp cloth laid over part of his forehead. His skin was still deathly pale. His lips were almost colorless and severely chapped to the point where I thought they might bleed. Dark shadows lined his eyes. Newt, the boy who always had a smile on his face, tried to end his own life.
"I don't get it," Alby added quietly. I glanced to the left of the bed to see him shaking his head at the floor until he looked up at all of us. "He was always so lively, so carefree. Why would he do this?"
Clint tapped his foot on the ground like he didn't want to say what he was about to. He addressed me. "Alby told me about the things he gave you and Minho, and the note he left Alby. Those two objects were pretty close to him; he never took them off." A pause. "He - um - giving away personal possessions is a sign of suicide."
My left hand flew to my head, where it tangled itself in the hair pulled back by my ponytail. A strong weight of guilt pushed me down. I had taken it. I should have forced him to keep it, I should have--
"What are some other signs?" The question came out of my mouth before I could realize that I was the one asking it. Clint appeared taken aback by this question. He averted his gaze while he racked his brain for an answer.
"Um...there's mood swings, a drastic change in physical appearance, sleep problems, recent trauma..." Clint trailed off. "That's all I can remember."
I sucked in a breath at the mention of sleep problems. It was something I was going to ask Newt about before the Greenie Alarm blared. I should have asked him anyway. I should have.
"I should have," I mumbled beneath my breath before turning around and raking my fingers through my hair. The result was an awful mess of undone strands from my ponytail, but I could care less how my hair looked in that moment.
It's my fault. It's my fault.
"I need to go," I announced in a thick voice, my chin already starting to wobble.
"Nadia--" Clint tired to say, but I limped out of the room as quickly as I could. The door shut behind me, rattling the door frame and the wooden walls. My room was at the center of the hallway. All I had to do was walk a few yards down. I could do it.
I managed to stay strong for those couple of yards, but once I had closed my door and plopped onto my bed, the tears came. And they wouldn't stop. I tried leaning forward and putting my head in my hands to stifle them, but they always found a way to make themselves known. I felt sick to my stomach as the sobs tumbled out in waves and ran down my face like rivers.
It had to be a good ten or fifteen minutes that I sat there, bawling my eyes out and trying not to puke. My stomach twisted in the most awful of ways until I was sure I was going to be sick. My head started to hurt from how hard I was crying. It was as if all of the past tortures from the past week and a half caught up with me all at once and spared no mercy. On the other hand, it felt relieving to finally let it all out for real this time.
Once I calmed myself down and wiped my face with my collar, I shrugged on my red jacket and redid my ponytail. The struggle to get out of bed barely bothered me as I left my room and hobbled down to the first floor. The clean air outside hit me like a slap in the face. The atmosphere felt damp and heavy like it was about to rain soon.
Minho was out training the two Greenies - Alex and Theo. Theo was a nice enough boy, but our newest addition to the Glade was a whole nother story. They were running Section Four for the trial, which was the easiest out of all eight of them. It was the one we used when seeing if Newbies were fit for the job. If they didn't give out too quickly, we'd move onto harder sections to test their skills.
The sky above was a dark mix of grey clouds. It was as if the Glade itself was mourning Newt's suicide attempt. Nobody was really working, and those who were moved at a snail's pace.
I sighed, hopping down the step and landing in the grass. The damp grass soaked through the ripped soles of my sneakers and made my socks wet. Great. Just what I needed- wet socks.
I made my way toward the Deadheads to sit and draw until the rain came. However, a group of boys stopped me before I could make it halfway. I immediately recognized them as members of Alex's posse. How he had even managed to make friends was beyond me.
"Aw, has the Glade's charity case been crying?"
I stopped dead in my tracks, my neutral expression twisting into anger for a second before it disappeared. I turned and moved a bit closer to them. The three of them had amused expressions on their smug faces like they couldn't wait to see my reaction.
I surveyed the boys and stopped at one in particular. His name was Luke. We were fairly good friends - or, at least, we had been nothing but kind towards each other - and seeing him there shocked me. It was as if I was now living in some parallel universe where everything was flipped around.
"Hi, Luke," I greeted him in a sweet tone that was so fake I almost didn't think he'd buy it. He simply raised a black eyebrow at me, dark skin skin wrinkling at his forehead. "How're you doing?"
Even more to my astonishment, he barked out a laugh in response. He said to his group, "Ya hear that? 'How're you doing?' she asks, like we're friends!" He turned back to me. "Yeah, I don't associate with cripples like you."
My gaze turned back into one of steel and my jaw set to the side as my entire face hardened to stone. Giving him my sharpest glare, I warned, "You'll be sorry, Luke. One day you'll discover that you've pushed away all of your friends who actually give a damn about you, and don't be surprised when you find yourself alone with nothing but your quick wit and a sarcastic smile." I glanced at the two boys beside Luke before returning my line of vision to him. "Good thing you have such reliable friends, right?"
Taking a second to examine the expression of surprise on his face, I spun on my good heel and walked away from him with my back straight as a board. I stopped when I was about ten steps away and turned around.
"Oh," I added with a smirk, "but you don't have to take my advice. After all, who would listen to a cripple like me?"
And with that, I turned back around with a triumphant grin plastered on my face, sure that this was what Minho meant when he told that standing up for myself didn't mean I had to change entirely.
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nadia is such a smol bean and she's slowly gaining some self-confidence yes u go bby
fun fact i was gonna have nadia punch one of the posse members in the face but then i decided she's not ready for that yet and i'll have her slay them with some words instead
download her mixtape it's fire
-kristyn