Ten | newtmas

seventeen

"Tommy?" The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, taking a step forward.

    Thomas shakes his head, not lifting it.

    "Tommy, what's wrong?" I ask, taking another step. I hesitate, but put my hand on his shoulder, hoping it'll help somehow. It feels awkward, but also right, so I keep it there.

After a few painstaking seconds, Thomas finally looks up at me, his face red, puffy and tear-stained.

"He's dead, Newt," he says, his voice quiet and broken.

My heart feels like it's slowed, trying to process the information through my head. Winston. How can he be dead? This sort of thing happens all the time, right? Why couldn't they save him?

"H-how? How could that..." I trail off, realizing that the 'how' doesn't matter. That's not what this is about.

"He was in stable condition," Thomas starts, his speech choked up. "Then tonight his body went into shock and they couldn't pull him out."

"Who told you? I mean, how do you know it's true?" I ask.

"I called his mom," Thomas says. I start to wonder how he has his parent's phone number, but the thought passes quickly. "I didn't even say I was sorry, I didn't say anything. I just hung up."

I listen to Thomas, wishing I had something to say. I'm upset too, despite not really having known Winston. He was just a kid. He didn't deserve this.

"I—"

"How am I going to tell the others?" Thomas asks. "How do I tell them he's gone?"

    "I don't know," I say truthfully. "Maybe just tell them what you told me. They'll be upset, of course, but it's better than being in the dark."

    "They're gonna blame me," Thomas says. "What if it was my fault? What if I killed him?" 

    "You said it yourself, nothing was different," I say, suddenly very aware of the nurses there again. Thomas should probably refrain from saying this sort of thing around them, but for some reason they look disinterested.

    "But still," Thomas says. "And if it wasn't my fault, it was this place. They didn't give him what he needed. They don't give me what I need. Any way you slice it, they killed Winston."

    "Why don't you tell them they're giving you the wrong—"

    "They don't listen, Newt," Thomas says forcefully, another tear falling from his face. "They don't do anything, they never do."

I stay silent for a moment. My hand is still on Thomas' shoulder and I'm not sure if I should move it, but something tells me not to. I'm about to speak when Thomas does something unexpected, catching me off guard.

In an instant, his arms are around me, his head buried in my shoulder. I freeze for a moment, but then hug him back, putting my arms around him and hands on his back, letting my head rest on his shoulder. It doesn't feel awkward or wrong like I'm expecting it to. It comes naturally, me subconsciously starting to rub his back.

We stay like that for a few long moments, and it gives me a minute to think. Maybe I can't give him my full trust yet, but he can't be a bad person. He's just a boy. He's a boy that's standing here crying in my arms. That's not a person I'd say I'd need to be careful with.

Thomas eventually pulls away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry, I... I hope you're not uncomfortable with—"

"No," I cut him off. "You're good, okay?" No, definitely not a threat.

Thomas nods once, before his face falls from nervous back to upset. "I don't know what to do."

"Be honest. You need them and they need you, you're all in the same boat here," I say. "They won't blame you for anything."

Thomas looks at me before taking a deep breath. "I can't stand it here, Newt."

It's heartbreaking, really. The lot of us all here without any family, the only people available to talk to being each other and the therapist. I hadn't realized how long some of them have been here. At this point are they here to get better, or to be away from society?

"You'll get out, okay?" I say it just to say it.

"Yeah," Thomas responds, seeming to believe it about as much as I do.

"What does this mean for this place?" I ask. "A patient overdosed on their watch, what now?"

"I don't know," Thomas says. "Once they figure out what was in his system they'll take it from there."

"It wasn't your fault," I say. "You'll be alright."

Thomas looks down for a second before meeting my eyes again. "You're a good person, Newt. I'm sorry you're here. You, Chuck... you should be home. Anywhere else."

"Chuck will be out of here soon," I say, hoping it's true. "And so will I."

"You're right," Thomas nods, something in his expression changing. "You will. Night, Newt."

With that, Thomas leaves, not even giving me time to say goodnight back.

When I get back to my room, there's so much going on in my mind that I'm not sure how I'll be able to sleep. Chuck seems to be sleeping soundly—for now, at least—in his bed, which is good because I'm not in the mood to talk. If he was up, I know I'd wind up telling him about Winston.

    It's difficult to process, someone I only saw yesterday being gone the next. Just a child, someone that was in the same position I'm in. He should have gotten the help he needed.

    I have to snap my fingers quietly as to not wake Chuck, but something tells me he's a deep sleeper aside from the panic attacks. When I get into bed, all I can do is stare at the ceiling and think about my new mess of a life. New people, new surroundings, new bed, new everything. Chuck. Winston. Thomas.

    There's too much I don't know. Thomas is still a mystery, as is Dr. Janson, and as for Winston... how did he die? Did he OD on purpose? Did something really go wrong with what TIMI gave him?

    I close my eyes as the anxiety starts bubbling up in my chest, clouding my brain. I haven't even been here three days yet, and already too much has happened.

    Suddenly the road to recovery seems longer than ever.