I didn't know what I was really doing most of the time. It may have seemed like I did but to be completely honest with myself...
I ran head first into a war I didn't know anything about, without a thought in my head except to save those who saved m...
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Thank you so much Gangster19920 for creating these awesome pictures for my story and I! Thank you so much for being such a great person! If it weren't for you, this chapter would've taken a lot longer to come out! Thank you so much!
Enjoy Chapter 41, shanks!
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"Thomas."
The meek voice echoed between the slabs of concrete walls, sending waves of emotional shutters to wrack my trembling bones.
"Thomas, can you hear me?"
My fingers curled into my palms like a protective shield against the harsh winds of reality. My sleep deprived nerves jittered beneath my skin as my heavy head faced the dark grass beneath the black soles of my boots. My mouth hung dry as my ears awaited the shrill depth of the man-with-memories' voice.
"Thomas, it's Chuck. Are you okay? Please don't die, dude."
From inside the Slammer walls, Chuck sat perched on the dusty concrete floor while his wide and youthful eyes scoured Thomas' sweaty face.
The third day was usually all it took for the Changing to bypass before the victim awoke distraught, disoriented, and even more terrified than before his experience. Thomas was supposed to awaken today and Chuck wished to be the first to assist him. I stood outside the doors listening to the delicate conversation, too afraid to look into his brown eyes for the first time and be told that the one truth he fed me was a lie.
I can't bare another deceit, whether it was intentional or not.
Newt stood behind me, peeking into the barred window every time a word left the pudgy lips of the twelve-year-old boy. Newt softly trailed his fingertips along my forearm in a rhythmic drag, pressed soothing lines across my skin. We stood silent as I ignored his glances of concern, pushing them far away but appreciate them nonetheless.
For the past twenty-four hours, I've dealt with the whispers and the gazes of pity and confusion. The gazes made of confusion was something I was used to since the moment I can remember, but I despised the pity and the sympathy.
After Thomas' episode, word spread of the "trapped siblings".
Gladers made not-so discreet wagers, betting between the options of "Thomas is just crazy" or "its for-real". Gazes followed me like tight leashes, everyone waiting for me to spontaneously combust and explode in a ball of destructive emotion.
No one else matters. I told myself. I just need to know the truth.
A deep groan echoed out of the slab of concrete, pins and needles poking my skin as my head lifted at the noise. My eyes met the grey wall, but my ears stayed highly attentive. Newt's hand curled around my bicep as a claim of comfort.
