Newt Imagines

Her. (P3)

Despite the darkness, I can still see the nails in the wooden planks that make up our ceiling. Each one smashed into the boards with only the primitive tools we could source from the box, using the same brutality as was displayed in the gathering only a couple hours ago. Exhausted as always, all the boys have long since fallen asleep, the creaking of movement in the hammocks having lulled almost immediately after their tired heads hit their pillows.

As far as I know, I'm the only one still awake. I could attribute that to Minho's loud snoring in the hammock across from mine, or the occasional murmur of another boy sleep-talking a room or so down. I could even blame it on the unusual beetles that scuttle across the floor of our shared room; their tiny footsteps audible in the silence. But to give those sounds credit would be a lie, because it is the sounds in my head that are the loudest.

My mind hasn't deviated from thoughts of her, the memory of her silent tears still burned into my brain like a mark from a branding iron, still fresh and smoking on the flesh. Somehow, seeing her dampened cheeks made my chest ache, as if those two things were connected. The way she barely met my eyes before disappearing into the night was just as upsetting as the gathering itself, how the smile I had grown used to wasn't there.

What hurts even more is that in that crowd of boys migrating sheepishly upstairs to bed, it was me whose eyes she met. It was me she looked at in her moment of need, and what did I do? Give a pitiful smile? How could I be so careless?. I am supposed to be her friend, not just another mindless drone in this cage. And I think that is the most painful thing in all of this: I couldn't help her. Or... I didn't.

I can only imagine her now, completely and utterly alone in that tiny little hut. The one part of the glade we'd left untouched in our renovations, a building with just as much mystery as the girl who lives inside it. I imagine it with a bed, some kind of grand four-poster, as regal as her. I can only hope that she is surrounded by blankets, sleeping peacefully and feeling safe. Purely the idea of it is enough to relax me, and while I try to fixate on it to soothe myself to sleep, I somehow know that it isn't true. In the little time I've had to get to know her, I never thought I'd see her the way I did tonight: scared, confused and broken.

The image I'd concocted evaporates, replaced almost instantly by a far more tragic, though unfortunately more realistic one. That same four-poster bed has the blankets thrown off it, strewn about the floor in a disorganised mess. She sits atop the bed, cradling her knees against her chest, her face hidden from my imaginary view. With no one there to comfort her.

Why was it that all of us boys got to sleep soundly in the comfort of each other's presence, while she had to disappear alone after that argument? Did none of these boys care how upset we had made her? A girl with such control over her expressions, able to be brought to tears? Were they all so concerned about her vague answers that they didn't bother to look at the one staring them in the face? The only answer that should matter?

We upset her.

I sit up almost instantly in my hammock, cringing as my sudden movement sends echoing creaks around the wooden room. Minho grunts in response, but returns to his snoring almost immediately. My heart racing, I swing my legs over the side of the hammock, my cold feet easing onto the dusty floorboards below. These boys might not care for her disdain, but I do.

For the first time since being in this place, and I guess the first time I can remember, I am thankful for my thinner build. Because of it, I am able to exit the room I share with 3 other gladers with only the slightest of squeaks; and make my way down the narrow staircase without slipping in the darkness. To my knowledge, I manage not to wake anyone, even with my deafening heartbeat.

I don't falter when I reach the homestead door, swinging it open with enough haste so the hinges don't creak, and stepping out into the slight breeze of the outside air. I don't falter when my shoeless feet hit the dirt, nor when I ease the door shut behind me. With my eyes, mind, and heart fixated on the little structure in the centre of the glade, my legs take me into a run.