Ten | newtmas

twenty two

The news about Winston's memorial is shared at lunch, and there are a lot of mixed reactions. But, the overall consensus is that everyone is going.

    "It's shucked up to throw a memorial for someone when you're the reason they're gone in the first place," Chuck says solemnly, looking down at the table.

    "I swear, I hate them. Winston would hate this, too," Minho says. "But I have to go for him. Maybe I can show them that we won't stand for what they did."

"If they can treat us like people for ten minutes," Jeff says quietly, his eyes darting to the nurses posted around the room.

"I killed him," Zart blurts out. Nobody pays attention but me.

    "His family approved, I think it's up to them now," Frypan says. Ever the peacemaker.

    "His family wasn't here, they don't know," Minho says. "Thomas, you've been surprisingly quiet."

    Thomas is seated at the other side of the table from me and about two people to the right. He looks up from his food now, switching his gaze to Minho.

    "I'm going," he says. "And if they've got anything to do with this, the toxicology reports will tell us."

"What happened to the screaming and yelling?" Minho asks, his tone an odd mixture of anger and sarcasm.

"You know what that got me," Thomas says. "We'll win in the end."

Minho rolls his eyes, but I don't miss the worry that flashes behind them.

After the events of group and lunch, I walk back to my room alone. Thomas has most likely forgotten about our plan, due to all of the commotion, so I don't bother waiting for him.

    But once I'm almost to the door, I hear a voice.

    "Newt, you took off." I turn to see Thomas walking up to me. His voice almost makes me jump, but I hold it together. "I tried to run after you, but the nurses did not like that."

    Six. I smile. "Don't get in trouble on my account, Tommy."

    He grins. "No promises."

    We make our way into my room while I try to turn my brain off, but unluckily for me, that's entirely impossible. As long as I've got my tens and my anxiety, my brain will never catch a break.

    I make it to my bed on four, but walk in place for a moment to make it to eight before I sit down, tapping my feet twice and snapping my fingers. Thomas opts for Chuck's bed, hopping onto it and facing me, probably waiting for me to finish my ten.

    "Well, get on with it, then," I say, attempting to sound confident. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

    "Pushy, are we?" Thomas asks, before getting to my question. "You, actually."

    "Me?" I ask. "What about me?"

    "Why you're here, and you in general. I'm intrigued," Thomas says.

I open my mouth, then close it. Can I keep up the confidence? "Well, I'm intrigued about you, too."

My heart leaps into my throat as he smirks. "Are you?"

"I barely know you, yet I keep telling you things. I've earned the right to ask questions," I say. Untrue? No. Embarrassing to say out loud? Yes.

"Alright, fair enough. We'll trade answers," Thomas says. My eyes widen.

"Really?" I ask, knowing how lame it sounds.