description - Despite having made it to Paradise, you keep having nightmares about your trials.
"For an experiment to provide accurate results," the Rat Man said, "one needs a control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could. But it's airborne and highly contagious."
Thomas had warned you already about how some of the people tested by WICKED were not immune. It kept chewing at your gut like a rabid rat. Control groups. What if you were one of them?
"Just bloody get on with it," Newt groaned. "We all figured we had the buggin' disease anyway. You're not breaking our hearts."
"Yeah," a girl named Sonya from Group B added. "Cut the drama and tell us already."
You clung to Newt's sleeve. He paid no attention to you, eyes fixated on Rat Man.
"Okay, then. Most of you are immune and have helped us gather invaluable data. Only two of you are considered Candidates now, but we'll go into that later. Let's get to the list. The following people are not immune. Newt ..."
It was like someone had taken you atop the highest building and slammed you down hard onto the ground below. Your vision blurred. Not Newt, you thought. Not my Newt. A thick knot settled painfully at the back of your throat, sucking the air out of your lungs until your chest threatened to cave in.
Thomas had a similar reaction. He doubled over in shock; it was a surprise your legs hadn't given out too.
"Tommy, slim yourself," Newt said. His voice was stern and hard, despite the grin he was struggling to keep on his face. "You too, (Y/N)."
You couldn't find your voice, but Thomas spoke for the both of you. "Slim ourselves? That old shank just said you're not immune to the Flare. How can you-"
"I'm not worried about the bloody Flare, man. I never thought I'd still be alive at this buggin' point- and living hasn't exactly been so great anyway."
It was like a jab straight to your heart. You let go of Newt's sleeve, shakily breathing out. After all that Newt meant to you - after all you'd thought you meant to him - you'd figured that even though the two of you had been through hell and back, at least you could say you've done it together. You figured wrong.
You bolted up in bed with a cold sweat down the back of your neck. Every muscle in your body ached from memory like they'd been doused in gasoline and set on fire; with each breath you took, you felt your chest contract painfully in protest.
You'd had the same dream again. Always the same dream. Without fail, the moment you closed your eyes was the moment every horror you'd ever endured replayed mockingly beneath your eyelids.
A sob escaped your lips, making you clasp your hands over your mouth in fear of waking up the boy beside you. Though boy didn't really seem like the right word to describe Newt anymore; he'd seen and lived through more than anyone else you knew. He was a man, whittled and beaten down, but still a man nonetheless. A warrior.
A survivor.
You found comfort in staring at him as he slept, even though he'd been the subject of most of your pain, as you were so carefully reminded by your subconscious only a few seconds ago. You hated those nightmares. Absolutely despised them. You were safe - there was nothing more to be afraid of.
Was there?
You and Newt had made it out alive; had found each other, time and time again; had fallen in love repeatedly, even when you both warranted nothing but hate. And yet he brought tears to your eyes again. You'd come so close to losing him - too close. And then where would you be?
Getting up slowly as to not wake him, you slipped on your shoes and headed out of your room, following the hallway outside with your hand dragging against the wall for guidance in the dark. When you reached the staircase at the end of the corridor, you followed it all the way down and went out through the front door and into the open air.
Paradise. It was much like the Glade, only there weren't any walls to keep you prisoner anymore. It hadn't taken long for the same kind of discipline to set in; only a few months ago, Minho had become the Leader of your new community and had organized a building committee to create about a dozen wooden communal houses, much like the Homestead in the Maze. And you reckoned it was a much nicer setting to live in; the Maze didn't exactly have an ocean view.
You headed down to the shore, kicking your shoes off as soon as you hit the sand. The sun was already beginning to come up over the horizon, lighting up your little slice of safe haven. As you sat down close to the water, your mind wandered off against your will to a time when things weren't so peaceful.
"I didn't think you'd lose it so fast, but glad you're back," Minho said. "We might need a Crank to sniff out these other Cranks if they really broke in."
You wanted to rip Minho's teeth out of his mouth with your bare hands. The tension had been building up for a while between him and Newt, but you never thought he would take a jab at the blond like that. They were supposed to be like brothers, especially after having endured all the terrors WICKED had thrown their way. It was easy for Minho to talk; he hadn't been the one whose entire sense of security and hope got yanked away from with just a few words. He wasn't slowly losing his mind, not the way Newt was.
"You never have known when to shut your hole, have ya, Minho?" Newt spat. "Always gotta have the bloody last word."
"Shut your shuck face," Minho replied. You wouldn't have known the two were arguing by the tone of his voice, but if looks could kill, they'd both be dead.
Newt moved towards Minho calmly - and then punched him in the face. All hell broke loose; Minho tackled the blond, who retaliated with more hits. It took several attempts for you and Thomas and Brenda to pull them apart.
"How stupid can you get?" Thomas yelled, restraining Minho's arms. "We're running from at least one enemy, maybe two, and you guys are gonna brawl?"
"He started it!" Minho shouted like a bratty child.
"What are you, eight years old?" Brenda asked, eyebrow raised in scorn.
Slowly, Newt got up. When he left, you followed, albeit reluctantly. You didn't like the person he was becoming, though you knew it wasn't entirely his fault. Still, you couldn't deny that you were scared to be in the same room as him. He was a lit fuse, ready to blow up at any second.
He had seated himself in the hallway with his back against the wall, a solemn expression on his face.
"I don't want to hear any of it," he said. "Whatever you've come to tell me, leave it alone."
You had half a mind to obey and go back with your tail in between your legs. But that was not in your character and he wasn't going to be let off that easy.
"I won't sugarcoat things for you just because you're being pissy, so listen here and listen good," you told him harshly. "You're the only reason I'm sticking around - the only damn reason why I'm still putting up with their shucking Variables and tests and things. And if you're not going to take this seriously, then you're letting me down and you're letting them down."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like such a child!" Your voice cracked miserably. "My God, Newt, it's like you've given up already! You're the only good thing in my life and now I'm losing you-"
"Slim it," he snapped. "Things are already messed up in my head. I don't need this gnawin' at me too."
His coldness towards you shocked you right down to your bones. You couldn't recognize the boy you'd fallen in love with anymore. You searched his bloodshot eyes for a sign of affection but found nothing. The stranger in front of you wasn't Newt. It couldn't be.
You cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself of yet another knot that had formed. "Well, if that's how you feel."
You didn't know how you found the strength to go back to Thomas and the others, but every step was like walking on glass.
"You promised you'd wake me if you had any more nightmares," you heard a voice say behind you. You didn't bother to turn your head until Newt took a seat on the sand beside you. He took your hand in his and kissed it, first the knuckles, then the tips of your fingers.
He was beautiful, though different from the first time you'd seen him in the Glade. He had faint scars on his face from his time in the Crank Palace, scars that seemed to slice your heart into a thousand pieces every time you looked at them. His hair was shorter too, having had to regrow the patches that had been ripped out previously by the other Cranks. But even so, he was still handsome the way he'd always been.
You couldn't believe he was yours.
"I'm sorry," you said. "You know I never will."
Newt lowered his mouth to yours and kissed you, slowly, firmly, lovingly. The hand that wasn't holding your own found its way into your hair and to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to his reach.
He laid you down on the sand, palms straying down to your waist and then to the curve of your hips. His fingers gripped the soft skin there a little harder, eliciting a gasp from you in which he reveled.
Still, as good as it felt to kiss him, your dream kept coming back to you in threatening flashes. You broke apart from him as if burned, sitting up.
"You're still thinking about it?" he asked. "Well, bloody stop. It's over, (Y/N), you know it is."
You clutched onto his sleeve the way you've always done. "Then why doesn't it feel like it?"
Newt didn't say anything for a while. The only thing you registered was your heavy breathing and the sound of the ocean's tide rolling in, and while the latter should have soothed you, it didn't.
"Do you remember when you and Tommy found me?" Newt began after a while. "I thought I'd already lost the better part of myself. You remember when I begged Tommy to kill me?"
You nodded mournfully. How could you forget? You'd been this close to losing everything that ever meant something to you.
"Then you also remember how you knocked the gun out of Tommy's hands," he continued, "and how you told me it had all been in my head, and that I was just like the rest of you - Immune."
"And you thought I was lying to you, but I wasn't."
"You weren't."
More silence. Newt wrapped his arm around you and kissed your forehead. "You saved me," he said. "Give yourself some credit for that."
"I hate them," you whispered, a fat tear rolling down your cheek. "I hate them so much for what they did to you. They let you lose your mind - let you think you were becoming a Crank - just so they could get more data for their stupid research." Your voice rose. "I could have lost you."
You buried your face in his shirt and cried until the sun went up. Newt said nothing, because no words could make you feel any better, not until you released all the poison you were feeling out of your system. You kept telling yourself you were both safe, but it only made more tears come.
You'd almost lost him. How were you supposed to get over that?
Newt's hand was in your hair again, tucking loose strands behind your ear. Finally, he pulled your chin up so you could look at him, blotchy eyes and all.
"You'll be okay," he said. "I'm here with you, and that's how it's gonna stay."
And it wasn't nearly enough, but it was a start.
[part 2]