Ten | newtmas

thirty one

The hotel is a run down looking place with only two or three letters on the sign still glowing, sitting between two dilapidated buildings. I've never been down this way, and I have no clue where we even are anymore, but Vince seemed to know where he was going.

He pulls up, and I look at Thomas. He's been filling me in on some things I should know—when we're not being silent or I'm not having bad anxiety, that is—during the drive. Things like how Vince got stuff from my room that he thought I'd need, and even checked out some of my things that they keep in the nurse's station. I said that it would give Vince away immediately, but they swear they've got it covered.

"Is this place even safe?" I ask.

"Better than TIMI, that's for sure," Thomas says, before leaning forward towards the front seat. "Thanks again, Vince."

"Don't thank me yet, I'm throwing you under the bus if I get in trouble for this," Vince says.

Thomas surprisingly laughs at this, despite the serious tone Vince had. "Keep in touch, right?"

"Yeah," Vince nods. Thomas gets out of the car before Vince even finishes the word, and he turns to me when I speak.

"Wait, you're not coming with us?" I ask.

Vince shakes his head. "No way, this is as far as I agreed to go. Besides, I have work to do from the inside. You kids are on your own from here."

For some reason, his words scare me. It's one thing to have a nurse with you, but to be completely alone in a scary looking neighborhood without even knowing the plan?

My door opens, startling me, and Thomas is standing there. "Newt, pass me your wheelchair if you can," he says. He sounds so nonchalant, like he does this every day. Every second I feel like he'll snap for sure, but he doesn't.

I help him get the chair out of the car, then he helps me into it, holding my hand tight so I keep my balance. At two steps, I'm in, and he waits for me to finish the round of ten as he closes the door. Once I do, he wheels me to the back of the car and opens the trunk, grabbing two big suitcases.

"I can hold them," I offer.

Thomas frowns. "I think I can do it," he says, closing the trunk. Both of us watch as the car drives away, leaving the two of us alone in a parking lot at nearly three in the morning.

I look at my lap while I hear Thomas fuss with the suitcases for a minute, before he eventually stops.

"Give up?" I ask, my fingers playing with the bottom of my hoodie to try to distract myself.

"Just this once," Thomas says, handing me my suitcase. I lay it across my lap, and reach for the other one, but Thomas shakes his head. "I'm only letting you hold yours, mine has a handle."

The handle proves itself useless about thirty seconds later when he starts pushing me and all I hear is the sound of plastic wheels skidding and a lot of fumbling.

"Done yet?" I ask, not being able to help the small smile that appears on my lips. Maybe it's just my nerves, but his stubbornness is a welcome distraction from freaking out.

"I'll only let you hold it because you're insisting," Thomas says, handing me his bag. It comes so far up that I can rest my chin on top of it as Thomas continues on towards the entrance.

The inside isn't exactly what I thought it would be. It's a lot cleaner than expected, and while I wouldn't describe it as particularly nice, it doesn't feel like if I stay here I won't survive to see tomorrow. That's definitely better than nothing.