Since We Were Kids // Death Cure (Newt x Reader)

Chapter Twelve

Sorry in advance for any grammatical errors 🥶

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As soon as I'm out the door, I'm bolting. I have no clue on where I'm going, nonetheless where I should go. This place is still so foreign to me, and it doesn't help at all that my vision is clouded with tears.

Each time my feet slam on the ground I feel my body ache with pain. I feel my heart sinking, and tears flooding down my cheeks.

God, it hurts. It hurts knowing there's a fading handprint on my forearm from where my favorite person in the world hit me.

Stumbling down hallway after hallway, I decide I can't carry myself anymore. I slouch against a corner where the walls meet of a dark hallway, sliding my back down the surprisingly smooth wood planks.

My knees are pulled tightly to my chest by my arms, which would have provided warmth and  comfort if I wasn't in a cold, dark, and empty hallway.

My teeth are picking at my fingernails, trying to find something to bite off. A distraction. Too bad I've already chewed them all off— a bad habit of mine that I can't seem to overcome.

Hearing my breath hitch, trying to hold in cries that I know damn well will only last so long cooped up, makes me feel like a child. At this moment, I feel vulnerable. I feel the instinct that I should be cradled in my mothers arms— my mother who's face is nonexistent. It's only an image. But in that image she would probably rub circles on my back, soothing me while I hold onto her tight. We would cry together, we would understand each other. Maybe we're in a house. Maybe it's our house. Maybe the house is warm, and I don't know, maybe we have a golden retriever. Maybe we don't have a house. Maybe we're poor, and can't afford— What am I saying?
"An image," I accidentally scoff out loud, (causing me to choke on snot and tears), amused at my own thought. It's not an image at all, it's a fantasy. It's something far beyond my imagination.
But that's not and will never be my reality.

My reality right now is a place where my cold body is sitting on an even colder floor, shaking with sobs. My reality is forcefully removing my fingers from my mouth when I feel a sharp pain from under my nail. In my reality, I notice my hands are shaking.

In my reality, I don't have a home.

I don't have a home— I don't have a place where I belong. The place I could really call my home was the Glade, and even then it wasn't ever really my home. I only called it my home because it was the only place I knew.

My shoulders shake as I cry remembering the memories from the Glade. And remembering my friends. My family. A family is what we have grown to be, but sometimes it feels like we are slowly drifting apart from each other. Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.

For some reason the worst part of all is replaying the look on Newt's face just minutes ago. I can read that boy like a book, and I know he didn't mean to hit me. I know it. But he did it. And I want to forgive him so badly, trust me I do. I really do. I don't know what's stopping me.

"Teddy?"

My name echoes into my ears, and it took me a minute to realize that someone was calling my name. I don't respond. I don't want to anyone to see me like this.

Frypan's POV

"Teddy!" I call out, this time more definite. The girl could only go so far.

As I jog down the halls, I notice Brenda catching up with me from behind. "Hey!" She says quietly in that soft, rasp voice of hers.

"Hey," I reply, slowing down for her to catch up. "I told you that you didn't have to come."