𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 {𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

thirty four: the collapsing of the ceiling

Tw: mentions of blood 

Y/N's POV:

I pulled my sleeve up to wipe the blood from my face; as I was put with the others, it meant that I ended up the same way they did. In this instance, gravity proved to not be my friend as I feared the liquid would seep into my eyes, rendering my vision blurry.

I didn't know how long I had hung there, as my head became light as all my blood seemed to rush to the opposite end of my body. The feeling was numbing, and it naturally made me feel unbelievably unwell.

Although I didn't register it at first, I knew someone was calling my name from close by, and after my senses settled and I began to zone back into reality, I recognised the voice as Newt.

"Y/n...are you okay?" He asked, carefully, raising his voice a little as his previous remarks didn't seem to provoke a response. I blinked quickly, shutting out the thoughts of discomfort, before answering, "Fine."

The boy didn't seem convinced as he sighed slightly, before being cut off by Minho. "What the hell happened out there, Y/n? What the fuck was he on about?" I took a deep breath in, already aware that that question was going to come up, but honestly that was the last thing I wanted them to know.

"What the fuck does it look like, Minho?" I spat as he began to recoil slowly. I turned my head back slowly to examine them all; they must have looked much better than I did, as they all stared back at me. Each one of them held an expression of fear and concern as I waited for another one of them to say something.

A very small feeling of guilt fell over me, as I thought maybe talking to the boy like that might not have been the way to approach the situation. So, as I sighed, I said, "Look, I don't know what they want, alright? I don't know what he was on about and I don't know why we're being kept here besides the fact that we are apparently 'valuable'. Okay?"

Although he still looked sympathetic, Minho still seemed curious. "Why are you bleeding then?"

I was about to come up with some sort of vague excuse, not a lie of sorts but nothing revealing, as a voice cut me off. "She had it coming."

All seven of our heads spun to look at the person speaking, as I immediately realised it was Jorge. His voice was so distinctive with his Spanish accent and sweet yet monochrome tone.

He chuckled slightly as he moved further into the room, resting his arms on the metal railing that littered the place in a largely random order. "My men want to sell you back to Wicked." He pointed shortly at me before continuing, "Except you of course. They want to kill you." I narrowed my eyes as I swallowed thickly. There's no way these random guys would murder a teenage, right?

Although I'd never admit it, my stomach dropped to my feet at his words. The thought that the people here would take great pleasure from slaughtering me right here right now was menacing; mostly because I didn't exactly know why.

I get why they hate me; I'd hate me too, but to kill me seemed a bit extreme.

"But life has taught them to think small. I'm not like that." The man continued as he scanned through the group, a smirk still delicately rested on his lips. "Something tells me you're not either."

Minho scoffed loudly behind me before saying "Is the blood rushing to my head or is this shank not making any sense?"

I thought Jorge would grow angry, spit at us with a sudden burst of rage, but instead he just laughed. "Tell me what you know about the Right Arm." 

If anything, this response was more surprising than any other outburst he could have come up with, as I knitted my brows together in confusion and stared blankly at the man.