𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄

𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄

SEVERAL CREAKS erupted underneath the movement of my feet alongside Newt's. Newt's stride up the stairs was slow and painful. He would occasionally walk a step or two, wince, and then continue as if nothing had ever happened. It was as if the boy was in detrimental pain. I couldn't help but wonder whether this had anything to do with his leg. His limp. My mind was clouded by questions—about Newt—yes, but I felt the urge not to question the boy. It was the same as when I first noticed his limp.

We weren't too far from the four bedrooms—considering the construction of the stairs. The sun, by now, had already set on the western horizon. Leaving us to bathe in nothing but moonlight and the temperature drop. I could hear Newt's words in the background, though I wasn't listening. It was as if a wave of emotion came over me, caused by the atmosphere and pained sounds from Newt.

The emotion, I couldn't recognize— It was odd. I knew I had felt it before, but I couldn't understand what I felt. I couldn't understand what it meant. I had no memory of what it was. I only knew that, just like with Newt, I was familiar with it. Maybe even drowned by it. But that memory was kept from me, blocked from me. I had no access to it. And it was locked, trapped in the back of my brain.

In a swift movement, Newt turned to face me, his mouth halting when he saw my face. I was lost in thought, maybe even mentally absent in his perspective. I could see the movements, and hear his words, but they weren't processing. I was lost in the depths of my mind, tortured as I tried to find a snippet of me--a snippet of my past.

I could feel my eyebrows furrowed, subconsciously displaying my thoughts. I was frustrated. Nothing, not even something as simple as a name came to my thoughts. I could feel it, lingering in my brain, but I couldn't grasp it. I couldn't hold onto it. I was being left in the abyss of my brain—  my memory. I could feel myself going crazy. Insane.

In my dazed state of mind, I hadn't realized what Newt was doing. He was surveying me, observing me. He was trying to understand my thoughts, wondering if I shared the same mentality. The same thoughts, the same perspective, and the same wrecked view of the world. To see if maybe we were similar.

A hand. I felt a hand come in contact with my right shoulder blade. It felt like it weighed a ton when in reality, it probably weighed nothing more than a couple hundred grams. I could feel the familiar haze of the information that seeped from the pits of my brain to my hippocampus. I had a memory—no, two. I had two memories, and I had no plans to let them wither away from my grasp. "You there?"

My mind buzzed. I could feel my body reacting, but I couldn't figure out what—what was I nodding my head to. I knew everything, subconsciously at least, but I wasn't there. I felt my eyes graze over his body, his face, but I felt like it wasn't me. Like, somehow, I was spectating the actions of my body. It wasn't me. "Hey, greenie, you good?"

All I could let out was a hum— if it even came out as one. "I'm...alright." I lied. The statement came out of a question rather than an answer. I mustered up a smile, one I put all my efforts to make appear genuine. My eyes flickered many times over his physique—analyzing as many details as my eyes could make of.