The Inventor

Chapter Twenty Five; "Even?"

You did the most you could find the energy to do. You took showers, took care of your hygiene at that time too so you didn't have to take the effort to do more. You were even starting to get used to the crutches but walking with them drained any hope you had to get to work. The books kept you entertained, flipping through pages in the still dimly lit hut because you didn't want to draw the covers away yet. But, whenever you could, you slept, Newt waking you up for meals.

You had noticed the fighting, though, as much as Newt tried to keep it away from you. It was outside your door, loud and aggressive. Your responsibilities had, quite literally, came pounding at your door and you had every intention of keeping them there for the time being. You just needed a few more weeks to adjust, find the space in your jumble of thoughts to draw out inventive ideas. A few more weeks to bounce back and be able to come to terms with the horrid nightmares and crippled leg. Maybe, if you felt up to it, even hear Minho out and somehow find a way to accept that too. That was your plan, you had even explained it to Newt and he had your back.

He stood outside your door when Nick would come screaming, not relenting, trying his best to keep you separated. You knew he understood more than he let on and that's why he alone was the only one you spoke to, because he didn't stare at you strangely or gawk at your leg. He simply accepted your change and was determined to give you your time to accept it too.

You were sitting up, looking at the pages of your book but not reading them. You listened to the yells and arguments outside, Newt's voice sounding slightly hoarse but yelling over all of them to leave.

After a few minutes he came in and shut the door harshly behind him, keeping a hand pressed to it for a few minutes until the knocking stopped and whoever was outside left. You saw him rub his eyes with irritation but turned to you with a tired smile.

"You're awake," He noticed, coming over to sit beside you, "for how long?"

"You know I hear them, right?" You asked, "I know they're not happy."

"Well shuck them, they can bugger off and leave you be," He said confidently.

"What are they saying?" You looked up at him, "Just out of curiosity."

"A bunch of klunk that's not true," He answered, then yawned heavily, "I might go take a nap."

"You look like you need it," You deadpanned.

He hit the side of your head, "Aye, watch it."

You brushed his hand away with the edge of your book and lifted up your bad leg into a better position. Newt rummaged around in a bag, pulling out a water bottle and rolling it over to you.

"There's water, I'll bring dinner later, Frypan got a new cook and I feel bad for the bloke," Newt chatted, "You good here?"

"Yep," You answered.

"Brilliant, see you in an hour," He patted your shoulder and left, just as promptly as every time.

He would stop by and give you a water bottle, make sure you don't fall while you walked around the large room in your crutches. He would drop off food and tell you about what went on in the glade. You would go on rants about little things in your book that interested you. Beyond that you slept, having no work to keep you occupied, read, and started physical therapy on your leg.

If you slept enough during the day, the nightmares didn't come as awful. If you got up and moved around, you felt better than if you were doing nothing and sitting down. You found little ways around the feeling of uselessness and around the lack of motivation. Even after just a week, your thoughts weren't so disappearing. You hoped you would find motivation in the books you read, knowing eventually something had to catch your attention and you could get to work.