ONE WAY RIDE | Maze Runner

➭Chapter 10: Where's my love

TW! Suicidal thoughts, graphic descriptions of a seizure.

"Cold sheets, oh, where's my love?
I am searching high, I'm searching low, in the night
Does he know that we bleed the same?
Don't wanna cry but I break that way"
Where's my love – SYML

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Days passed, weeks passed, months passed. And now he definitely had lost track of time a while ago.

His mind was numb, his body numb, his emotions numb. Numb ... Numb ... Numb.

He can't find Newt, where was Newt.

No.

Where was himself, he couldn't find himself.

He was long gone since the night everything went to shit.

He was not ending his life just because there was that tiny spark of hope inside him. That maybe, maybe, they'll find each other again, and leave this place together. But it was a really tiny spark.

His rounds of experimentation had ended for the day, really the only comforting feeling he had nowadays. He could almost enjoy it if it wasn't of how sick his body felt, or how unfamiliar his own mind was to him.

He has another room now, more secured, tons of cameras on his hallway (Or the entire floor better said), the door is locked while he is inside, and the meals are passed through a small hole flush with the floor. It's so lonely here.

As soon as he stepped inside the bedroom, or cell as it's the best term to use, he collapsed on the hard, uncomfortable mattress, letting out a strained sigh. He was growing a headache already, today had been really, really hard. It wasn't so different to the others, always the same kind of simulations, but he just didn't feel good. He didn't like to think that while he was reviving some painful moment of his life made a hundred times more painful, a machine was drawing out his blood, only to put it back on but without the components they needed to investigate. Pretty much like dialysis, but instead your mind is in the worst place imaginable.

He curled up on his side, shivering while he kept his arms close to his chest in an attempt to keep a little warmth on his hands. He had blankets, but he was extremely exhausted to approach them to his freezing body.

He wondered what Newt was doing now, if he was alive even. He asked himself if they were treating him well, unlike him. He wished he wasn't suffering as much as he was.

Tears welled up in his eyes and he squeezed them shut to let them fall across his pale cheeks, as he embraced himself as the only form of comfort he had right now. His thoughts had already taken a dark path a while ago, making him consider things he didn't want to consider. He was a mess.

Suddenly a little light above the door turned on, indicating dinner time, and a tray of food was delivered through the floor. He watched the contents with disgust, he didn't want to eat right now. He hadn't eaten anything the last couple of days really, nothing settled fine in his stomach, and all his appetite was gone. It wasn't a good sign, considering his weight was already under the healthy line before the simulations, and now it was at an extreme level. He still found it very hard to care.

What he did find, in a miracle, was the willpower and the strength to push himself up. So he began to shakily walk towards the food and grabbed the tray. Then, he walked to the bathroom and threw the contents on the toilet, flushing it except the glass of juice. They'd already found out he was skipping his meals and they didn't take it well, so at least now he could return an empty tray.

On his way back he spotted the mirror, or what was left of it. The truth was that he had punched it a couple of days ago, in an outburst of rage, and now he could see his reflection in a thousand of tiny little pieces. Some parts stayed stuck hardly on the frame, while others were hanging loosely. He wondered how long they were gonna last. How long he was gonna last.