The Inventor

Chapter Twenty Nine; "On the same page"

     All your focus was centered around the success of this brace, everything else was pushed to the side. A new shipment of supplies came up from the box, a whole crate brought up just for you. With the new supplies you finished up in a week straight, wearing it purely around the workshop until you got all the kinks worked out, getting used to functioning with it.

     Today you voluntarily walked from your hut to where Newt sat at lunch, plopping down beside him and watching him jump in surprise.

     "You're here!" He exclaimed.

     "I'm here," You smiled.

     "And you're walking on your own!" He said again.

     "I am!"

     He clapped your shoulder good naturedly, "You're amazing! I'm going to get some lunch from Frypan, yeah?"

     You nodded, "Good that."

     He gave your shoulder a happy squeeze before getting up. You sat alone at the table now, bouncing your leg and carving little grooves into the wood with your nails.

     Someone clears their throat from behind you and you bristle, your nails digging into the table.

     "I knew you'd figure it out," Minho said, "You're all okay now."

     You swung your good leg around and moved your bad one to sit comfortably so you were facing him in your seat.

     His hands swung at his sides for a moment, then awkwardly put them behind his back.

     You felt tense, clenching your jaw. Bitterness swelled inside you and you wished he never even came over because now you wanted to go back into your workshop so you didn't have to look at him. For a good two weeks you barely even remembered he existed, almost forgot about problems beyond the goal you add to improve your situation. You weren't even mad at what he did anymore, you could see the sense in it, but it was the fact that he let Nick in, Nick of all people. He barged into your workshop, got angry at you forgiving him, and he got the praise for leaving you to die. If your positions were switched, Nick would have banished you in a second for leaving someone behind, you would have been called a traitor. But he was a saint to everyone now, a hero, he's always been selfless and people naturally listened to him, those were things you admire about him. Now seeing those traits makes you sick.

     "Do you need something?" You asked coldly.

     He fidgeted with his hands anxiously, "You still caught up on the maze thing? You look a lot better."

     "I thought I looked amazing with griever guts on me and your blood on my hands," Your face didn't show any expression, "You didn't think I looked nice then?"

     He laughed a little, clearly not knowing what else to do, "I mean, you weren't as bad as the other people who got stung. Not as nutso."

     You laughed with him now, sounding more like a deranged cackle. You stood up and brushed off your pants.

     "You make me wish I had died in the maze so I didn't have the urge to cut my own leg off everytime I stood!" You smiled wide, hands on his shoulders and giving it a squeeze, leaning in closer to him, "But most of all I wished I had killed you with that knife, or at least tore out your speaker box so I didn't have to listen to you talk!"

     He was quiet, not knowing what to say with his mouth open in alarm.

     "Is that nutso enough for you, keeper?" You asked kindly, "Keep your mouth shut about the people who got stung by grievers, because none of us like you, and we would happily kill you if you end up on the wrong side of our machete. Good that?"