𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

Stop pretending it's just
you who's hurting.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

My eyes mercifully flutter shut as the sun is rising in the sky, the stars fading from my view. The bird's soft tweeting lures me into a relaxed state as I drift off — unaware of a sudden warmth that envelops me.

When I awake, I almost forget about the horrors of yesterday, and my eyes close once more as I inhale rain, forest and vanilla — a scent that immediately relaxes me.

Yet nothing can scrape my memory clean of Ben's corpse.

Groggily, I reopen my eyes to find Newt's blanket wrapped around me, covering me in comfort. I snuggle into the hammock and wrap the blanket closer around me, as if it could protect me from the memories of yesterday. As if it could be my shield from what I'd seen. My mind is still tainted with the sight of Ben with an arrow lodged in his head, yet the memory feels distant... unreachable. It's almost as though that memory wasn't mine, as though it belonged to a different person.

"Come on, Thomas," Chuck groans beside me, pulling Thomas's arm while he's still half asleep in his hammock.

"Not now, Chuck."

"You're starting your jobs today, shuck-face. Slicers always a nice ol' job, right, Thea?"

"Yeah," I mumble, sinking further into my hammock. "If you're a psycho like Winston."

Just at that moment, Winston walks past my hammock and flicks me on the head, making me scowl at him. "I'm not a shucking psycho," he informs me.

"That's heavily debatable." I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone — not even Newt. I pull myself out of my hammock in a trance, as though I wasn't in control of my body, like I'm a prisoner trapped in my own body. Seems that I'm not in control of much anymore.

Leaves crunch underneath my feet as I follow Chuck and Thomas into Homestead, the world blurring around me. Thomas looks like klunk — his face drained of all colour and the bags underneath his eyes more prominent than ever. The chaos of the kitchen snaps me out of my dreary state of mind and anchors me back to reality, the boisterous shouts and sniggers of the Gladers ringing in my ears. I'm glad everything is like normal. I don't know if I'd be able to cope if it wasn't.

I spot Newt in the back corner, staring at his porridge, not even bothering to touch it. The bags under his eyes are even worse than Thomas's, if that's even possible. I don't think any of us managed to get even a shred of sleep last night. I can't even imagine how Alby must be feeling. Alby.

Despite everything I've ever thought about the First in Command, only one thought spins around my mind, playing over and over again in an agonising song. Murderer.

Although I want nothing more than to run out of the kitchen's and ignore everyone, I know I can't. I still remember the words Newt told me in my first week here. That's why we run this place all nice and businesslike. You get lazy, you get sad. Start givin' up. Plain and simple.

So, instead of giving up, I walk over to Newt soundlessly, though moving just enough that I wouldn't startle him. He glances up at me anxiously, searching my face with concern as I attempt at a small smile and slide in next to him, making him visibly relax. We don't say a word.

We don't have to.

We both know exactly how the other is feeling. Instead, we sit in silence, our legs touching and staring at the wall in front of us. I know I shouldn't hate Alby for what he did. But the rage bubbling within me can't be put out... he killed a Glader. He killed my friend. He killed Ben.