Bad Dreams | Newt x Reader

Chapter 86- Round Two?

Y/n's POV

Tendrils of hair brushed against my face as Lillian peered down at me. Her pair of miserable eyes drifted in and out of focus. Bright light beamed around her head, blotting out everything except her. A gentle hand moved hair out of my face. The cool presence provided some relief to my burning forehead.

Lips pressed against my skin, before Lillian shifted to whisper in my ear. The scent of vanilla filled my nose, digging up half forgotten memories of my mother. "Y/n? Are you there?"

"Don't go." My plea slurred with an agonising weakness. Weight pressed me down, leaving me unable to reach for her and hold her close before she left again. Spots like shooting stars drifted across my vision from the effort. Exhaustion threatened to tug me back into the darkness, but I resisted, clamping a hold of the urge to go with her.

Lillian lay her head on my chest, tucking her head beneath my chin. Her hand reached for mine and squeezed. The feeling of her careful hug drew tears of guilt and joy from my eyes. "I'm scared."

Memory and understanding slipped beyond my grasp. "Stay."

"I can't."

Sharp pokes in my ribs coaxed me from my unconscious state. With every tiny movement of my body, more sharp things pressed against me through my clothes. My body stilled, my mind waking up from the dream. The memories came flooding back. I pushed it away, focusing on what I could feel; rough blankets catching on the fabric of the shirt and cargo pants I wore and brushing coarsely against my skin, the familiar lumpy straw mattress beneath me, something in my pocket. Tucked under my arm was a soft object.

'Wraith?' I asked in my mind, refusing to open my eyes.

Silence answered me. Complete, utter silence.

I reached around, trying to grab any of my abilities but nothing answered. Panic quickened my heartbeat, my breaths already beginning to race. 'Wraith?'

The Wraith was my shield against harm, she was a weapon. If Wicked had found a way to subdue her...

"Oi!" someone yelled, their voice slightly muffled.

My eyes flew open, my body snapping upwards. "No, no, nonono—"

The room was as familiar to me as my own name. The splintery brown walls of wooden beams. The small pile of mismatched worn books in a pile by the bed, their covers and pages yellowed and bent. The empty bed on the other side of the room, blankets still a mess from the last time I climbed out of it, leaving the boy behind me asleep. The small window overlooking the grassy field outside and the Deadheads in the distance.

Disbelief turned to despair. A crushing weight settled in my heart, the awareness of the blood on my hands. I was a monster. I needed to—

"Y/n!" the voice yelled again, so painfully familiar. "Don't make me come in there!"

"Alby?" I whispered, recognising the voice of my dead friend. Please, let it all be a nightmare. Please, let me be just Y/n.

Shoving back the coarse blankets, I scrambled out of bed and glanced down to check I was decent. The sight of my clean clothes drenched me with the knowledge someone had stripped and changed me. Instantly, the gross feeling crawled over my skin, urging me to wash my skin despite there being no visible dirt. On the floor next to my bed was my knife.

Alby stuck his head through the door. Literally.

I screamed, my back colliding hard with the window behind me, books scattered all over the floor. I clamped a hand over my mouth out of instinct. His head was in the door, passing through it as if it was merely air.