𝐌𝐈𝐙𝐏𝐀𝐇 - TMR, Minho

𝟢𝟥𝟤，𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠

I should be focused on the maps right now.

I should be memorizing them again. All of them.

But I can't bring myself to focus. Before, I already struggled focusing on things for a longer period of time. And now, after Ben's words, it's gotten even worse.

She'll go out there like Newt did. And you'll feel guilty all over again.

It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't. I told myself that Zee is her own problem, not mine. We're all stuck here. We all have our own crap to deal with. But the way Ben said it...

Is he guilt tripping me?

I know I was harsh, too. I can still feel the way the words tore out of me when I told him to let her rot. But technically, it was the truth, wasn't it? I mean, I'm not her savior. I'm not anyone's savior. It's not my job to fix people, especially when I'm still trying to figure myself out.

Still, it's hard to ignore that twist in my gut. No one but Ben knows what I said and no one will have to know, yet if makes me uncomfortable being aware that I even dared to say these cruel things. That they even dared to leave my mouth.

I lean against the wall, rubbing the back of my neck. After that one night at the Bonfire, she hasn't shown herself a lot. I know I was harsh back then, too.

I was probably way too harsh in a lot of points in my life, even though I don't remember most of them.

But okay. With Nick as our leader, a softie, someone else needs to make them tough.

Okay that's actually Alby's job. I'm just... I don't even know. There, I guess. Trying to figure the Maze out even though I know I won't succeed.

At least I'm trying.

Speaking of, I should get back to studying these maps.

I force all my attention on the paper in front of me. The different sections, the paths, the way it changes at night— I need to know it. First, there's section—

Ah, come on.

Frowning, I lift the map up. I stick my finger through the hole. Yeah, it's real.

Great. Someone decided to cut a butterfly out of my perfectly made map.

That someone was probably you. Or it was Zee who decided to be the villain— it was you.

It might have been me.

Sighing, I lean back in my chair. My hand pulls out the two butterflies. The first one is the one that has been in my pocket ever since I woke up. It's plain white. The second one is the one she dropped at the Bonfire. It's purple.

I should really throw them away, but they're the kind of objects that might come in handy in the future. Then I'll be glad I kept them—

What are paper butterflies gonna do?

I grab the candle: the only thing lighting the Map Room up right now. My thumb and index finger pinch the white butterfly. I hold it in the fire, no I can't do this and I wait a few seconds before it starts to burn but it doesn't burn I don't want it to burn but it doesn't burn.

"Ow," hissing, I pull my finger away. I burned it.

Standing up, I take a breath. If I hurry, I might be on time to dip my finger in cold water just like I dipped it in the fire and then it'll heal just fine.

And I didn't put it in the fire on purpose. It was in an inconvenient position as I tried to burn the butterfly.

My eyes catch the bottle of water on the table. It's cold enough.

But I remain standing against the cold wall.

Let her rot! I'm not saving her.

That's it, isn't it? It's always about how I'm hurting Zee and how I'm the problem. Not about how it affects me.

That wasn't even true. Nick checked up on me. Newt checked up on me. Alby checked up on me. Ben checked up on me.

I stand there, staring at my hand, watching the thin, red mark forming where the flame burned my skin. It stings like hell, and my instinct is to run it under the water, but I don't move. The bottle still sits on the table, close enough to grab, and I could just put my finger in. Simple. But my legs stay locked, and I press my burned finger against the cool stone wall instead.

The water's right there. I know it would help—relieve the burn, maybe keep it from blistering. I keep telling myself I'll reach for it, but I don't. My eyes drift to the maps again, the lines I should be studying. I should be getting back to work. And my gaze flickers to the paper butterflies still on the table. The white one. The purple one.

I shove my hands into my pockets, curling my fingers tight. The sting appears again, but I grit my teeth, refusing to give in. It's just a burn. It's nothing compared to the things that matter. This—this is nothing.

Besides, there are people out there dealing with worse. People who probably feel a lot more lost than I do right now. Like Zee, if she hears about the things you said.

I push off the wall and start pacing again, running my hand through my hair. It's not fair—none of this is fair.

I can feel my frustration bubbling up again, but I blow out the candle before I get the chance to burn anything else, doesn't matter if it's paper or skin. The two butterflies disappear back in my pocket. The maps remain unfolded on the table.

Then I walk out the door. A cool breeze hits me the second I do. The temperature in the Glade doesn't often change, yet it always seems to be colder at night. Maybe it's the vibe the dark gives off. Maybe I'm just seeing things. Maybe it's actually different. No one really talks about it.

Yeah, no one talks about the weather. Or anything even remotely close to that.

Because we're still kids.