The Cure: Newt x OC

Right On Time:

Happy birthday Dylan O'brien!!

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~Molly~

      My eyes opened. I rolled onto my side. The coolness of the ground beneath me leaked into my bones, causing me to shiver uncontrollably. Oh no. No no no! I jumped to my feet and collapsed against a cement wall. The maze. I was back in the maze!

"Minho!?" I called out. No reply. My chest throbbed as I began to hyperventilate. A crow flapped by overhead. I ran down the narrow corridor and nearly tripped at the end. I picked up the stained piece of cloth. I automatically recognized it as Minho's.

"MINHO!?" I screamed. I heard a whirring followed by a metallic scraping. The hair on my neck stood on end. Griever. I turned around slowly to see the robotic beast creeping down the wall behind me. I screamed blue murder and dashed around the corner. I dropped the shirt. My feet pounded the cement as I wove through the maze.

"5,3,6,1,2," I said as I passed each section. I paused for a moment to catch my breath. With a loud crunch the griever landed on the ground behind me. It reared up at me. I ran into the blades with the beats following not far behind. I tried to remember the patterns Minho and I had run before. As I ran out of the blades the scenery changed.

The maze was gone. I was standing in the middle of a dingy apartment. It wreaked like cigarette smoke and alcohol. Dim streams of lights leaked from broken, plastic, blinds over a window in the wall. A smashed Piano filled one corner of the room. There was a ugly yellow recliner in the other. Before me sat a low coffee table covered in bandages and old water bottles. In the next room was the bathroom. I saw someone lying on the tile floor. A little girl with bright ginger hair walked out from the hall with a pink plastic bowl full of black goo.

"Dada. Momma's sick again," She said and put the bowl on the table.

A man with messy red hair walked out of the bathroom, "Okay. You go to your room. Close the door and wait for me."

His eyes were bloodshot and his neck was stained with black lines. The flare. He staggered down the hall to a door. I followed him. No one could see me. He opened the battered wooden door of the bedroom. I peaked in. A woman who had long, matted, brown hair was tied to the bed. Her wrists were tied to the top bed posts and her ankles to the bottom ones. Black veins twisted up her rotting arms. That's when I noticed the smell. It was the nasty reek from the mall. She wailed as my father approached her. In one quick motion she snapped the strings holding her wrists and grabbed my Father's neck. I closed my eyes hard as my father yelled in pain. The yelling stopped and I heard a thud. He was dead. My parents had been cranks. I was an orphan of the flare.

The third time I reopened my eyes I was staring at a white light. My blurry vision came into focus. I was back in my room in WCKD. Minho was sleeping on his bed in the corner of the room next to the door. I walked over on wobbly legs and climbed under the blanket with him. He didn't stir but I knew he was alive. My head leaned against his chest as I relaxed. We were safe. For now.

          Minho was stroking the back of my head gently when I jolted awake. The vision of the incident in the apartment vanished from my mind when I heard his voice.

"Hey, you're okay," He pulled me in for a hug. I sobbed into his shoulder.

"I know. I know. I get them too."

"It was so real," My voice broke.

"It was just a stupid simulation. It's not real."

I gripped his gray shirt in my hand.