Say You Won't Let Go

There's still good in this world

There's a moment of silence as Quintin tries to put together the right words for whatever it is he wants to say to me. I fidget with my black bracelet, impatiently awaiting his answer.

"I thought something happened to you." He simply replies. Quintin pauses for a moment, studying my face. His eyes trail to the exposed skin on my neck and he gasps.

"What is it?" I ask clueless. Then I remember. The flare. My veins. It's been a few days now meaning they're spreading a lot quicker throughout my body. Pretty soon, the virus will complete control. I don't have much time. I tug up the collar of my WICKED uniform.

"YN," Quintin's face falls. The young doctor takes a step closer to me. He holds out his hand, trying to get a better look, maybe to assure himself that it's not just his mind playing tricks on him.

"It's nothing," I try and lie, but I already now there's no way to cover this one up.

"You have the flare," Quintin pulls his hand away, understanding that I don't want him to look at it. "YN I'm s-."

"It's fine," I repeat for what feels like the millionth time since people found out. "It can't be undone. Don't pity me." A sudden a feeling of annoyance and anger fills me.

"You're dying," Quintin's brown eyes tear up. "It's my fault." He wipes the tear that barely makes it past his cheekbone. The feeling I had seconds ago soon disappears. Now I feel sadness because Quintin blames himself, just like everyone else. "If I would've... if it." The curly haired boy in front of me stutters as he tries to find a way to put the blame on himself, not wanting to accept the fact that I'm ill. The boy sits on the chair, wiping away tears.

I want to comfort him. Hug him. Tell him something, but I don't know what to say. In another life maybe I would've. The old me . I used to know him. Not anymore. Maybe this was the downside about meeting back up with those who remembered you before the maze. They knew everything. They had to deal with the awful memory and trauma. They were the ones who watched it all happen and couldn't do anything to help the other person remember it. All those times in the maze, where I longed to reunite with what could be left of my family, or friends. Ex-boyfriend. What was the point if I knew nothing of them.

"I knew." Quintin sniffles into his hands.

"What?" I question, trying my best to get the helpless boy in front of me to stop crying for me. I sit down next to him, rubbing his shoulder as an attempt to comfort him.

My mind tells me that I have limited time, but for the moment, I need to help Quintin. That was always my main priority. Helping others. Those that I could.

"I knew you weren't immune." Quintin stops crying. "I've none for months and I didn't tell you then. At the right arm" He confesses as if somehow that could change the state I'm in right now.

"That wouldn't have changed anything." I meet his brown eyes.

"I could've alerted you. Back in the scorch. I could've done anything but stand there and watch."

For a second I don't answer, not having the correct words. "You tried."

Quintin doesn't respond. The building grows quiet. The gunshots sounding far more distant, bringing silence amongst Quintin and me.

"Why did you do it?" I finally speak up.

"Do what?" Quintin leans his elbows on his navy blue pants. His eyebrows knit in confusion as to what it is I'm talking about.

"In the scorch. You let me go." I bite my lip. "Why did you do it?" I curiously await his answer, wanting to know why the boy who was supposed to be the enemy, helped one of their test subjects get away.