The Defective Soldier || Newt

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟓

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕜

✃✃✃✃✃✃✃✃✃

The white page stared back at William, mocking him silently for his continued pauses and shaky grip on the pen. His indecision had prolonged the matter for longer than he would have liked. There were three letters he wanted to write: two apologies to his friends and Aris, and one to tell Newt what he couldn't in person.

Only Newt's was left to be written, and the time until midnight was slipping away from his grasp.

Some of his friends had tried to take him out of the corner where he had been for a couple of hours, but he refused, not telling them why, just that he needed time alone. Most respected his decision, though they never left to join the rest without assuring him for a hundredth time that he would be welcomed to join whenever he wanted.

He simply nodded, and waved them off, watching them go back to the fire where the large group had reunited since they had reached the Right Arm. Only Teresa and William were missing. And Thomas, after checking on William, couldn't do less for Teresa.

"Hey," said Aris, taking a seat next to him.

"Welcome back," greeted William, folding the papers so his brother wouldn't have time to read a word. "Bored already? And here I thought you'd stay by Sonya's and Harriet's side a bit longer. It's been a while since you've seen them."

"It's been a long while since I could talk to you," Aris replied, shrugging his shoulders while disregarding his brother's attempts at making him go back. "Flor and Leen act different around Chuck and Minho. I guess you remembered something, didn't you?"

William nodded weakly. "You knew, right? We were constantly tested ... They wanted us to kill the ones we loved."

"They weren't real," said Aris.

"Who cares? I remembered the twelfth test, Aris. And, by the looks of it, I had to be younger than thirteen. Thirteen." The grip on the papers increased without him even knowing, making the letters crumple. "That means I had to have those tests at least twice a year to get to the twelfth at thirteen. I had to kill people I loved twice every year, and then go out and kill Cranks? Actual people?"

"You never killed any of the illusions," his brother assured.

"That's the problem. I never killed them." William let go of the letters, letting them fall on his lap. "My group had to go through all that crap because of me. Because I couldn't just fake and be done with it. No, I had to be a heroic idiot and get myself in trouble. Sent to the darn Probation, whatever that is."

"They're all safe now." Aris grabbed his hand, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "We are safe."

"Yeah," William mumbled, his eyes landing on the letters, which he forced himself to ignore as he glanced into his brother's eyes. "I just need to write all my memories down, and I'll go back with the rest, alright? Everything is just ... it's too much for me right now. I need to clear my head. And I need to do it alone."

After a quick hug, Aris walked back to the fire. His arrival made some turn around to look back at William. To their dismay, he wasn't joining them yet, much less would he any time soon. He seemed concentrated on writing something, but he never got to put the pen down and actually do it.

"How's he doing?" Mae asked.

"He's got a lot to think about," Aris replied, his eyes meeting with the ones from Group A left around the fire. "When he became a Crank, he got some memories back." He explained, knowing that the A's had no knowledge of William's reason to stay isolated. "None of them were pretty, I guess."