When The Storm Comes (When We're Older alternative ending)

what was i made for?

sooooo.....grab tissues

for reference, i believe Mae has been with WICKED for close to a month and a half.

Mae

I shut my notebook when I finished the last of my homework. Despite what was being taught and the stupid lectures I had to sit through for hours, I felt a great sense of accomplishment and relief when finishing my assignments. I sighed as I grabbed the notebook and closed my textbook, opening my backpack to shove them back in.

I paused when my eye caught a familiar-looking brown leather journal. I thought about the book every day, ignoring the fact that it was waiting to be read. My heart ached in my chest as I thought of Newt--how badly he would want me to read it.

I had watched Newt scribble words in this for hours upon hours, constantly wondering what he had to say. I always respected his privacy despite my curiosity, respected that he never really wanted me to look at it until the time was right—at least, that was what he always said to me. And now, with the book in my possession, I had the opportunity to look at it as I wished. It was the only thing I had left of him. Of everyone else. It felt like something I should pay money to see.

Swallowing, I lifted my head, remembering that I was alone in the room. I checked the clock, testing wasn't supposed to start for another hour. I had the privacy I needed to be able to look through it, and yet, I still hesitated.

The guilt crept into my chest slowly like a spider making its web around my heart. I reached a shaky hand down, slowly wrapping my fingers around the delicate book. I pulled it out of my backpack and laid it carefully in my lap.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I lowered my head down to look at the brown, leather covered journal. In all the time I've observed him writing in this, I'd never paid attention to the cover. I noticed the tiny little drawings Newt had made on the cover, there was a small smiley face and a crescent moon in the corner, along with a sun. He had doodled flowers here and there, giving it the personal touch it needed to be his. I smiled at the details, it seeming to represent everything he stood for. Everything about the cover was so him, I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

I suddenly stood up with the book, making my way to my bed. I sat down on the soft mattress, moving myself close to the window. The sun was shining bright today, there must've been a slight breeze due to the graceful movement of the tall grass in the field below. The glass window was warm, I scooted myself as close to it as possible. Taking the book in my hands, I glanced up at the sun, almost as though I were asking it for permission to break the cover. Despite the author being far away, the sun was the closest thing I could associate with him. I didn't want to feel as though I were intruding on something so deeply personal of his—that was one of the reasons I'd procrastinated reading this for so long. What it he wasn't finished? If he hadn't said all he needed to say? He wouldn't want me to read it if it wasn't finished.

Fighting with my contemplative thoughts, I leaned forward slightly to press my forehead against the glass. Although I was bathing in luxury here, it felt like a prison. Guards were everywhere at all times, fences higher than I could climb. I'd devoted a good chunk of time to figuring out how everything worked, but still with the hope of freedom, I felt empty. Closing my eyes as I allowed myself to drift off into my thoughts, feeling the warmth trail down my cold, fragile body, I clutched Newt's journal to my chest.

It was the safest I felt in weeks. The warmest. The light from the sun warmed my swollen cheeks as I found peace. I indulged in the calm for a moment before I opened a book that allowed me to travel into Newt's brain, some place I've always wanted to journey to. Feeling the warmth on my face, I knew it was the right time to take a look.