How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Thirty-eight

- trying to take a shower -

After a couple of hours of drawing, I finally decide to put away my sketchbook, tucking it safely in a box under my bed. I don't want anyone seeing the drawings of the outside world I've kept hidden in there. There are things I've sketched that no one else can know about—not yet, anyway.

With a sigh, I realize that I desperately need a shower. The heat and sweat from the maze still cling to me, and I can't stand the thought of going another minute feeling this grimy. I try to stand, but the second I put any pressure on my swollen ankle, pain shoots through me, and I collapse back onto the bed. "Shit..." I mutter, wincing at the throb in my foot.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if it's even worth it to try to shower when I can hardly stand. But then the thought of staying stuck in bed all day, still smelling like I've just escaped a maze, makes me determined. I slowly crawl over to the chair near my bed, using it for support as I try to get myself to my feet.

I limp over to the dresser, wincing with each step, and carefully open the first drawer to grab a shirt. Closing it, I open the next one and grab a pair of shorts. After that, I get my shampoo and soap and stuff them into a small bag. With everything gathered, I turn to make my way to the door, but before I can reach it, I hear footsteps outside.

The door swings open, and there stands Newt, leaning against the doorframe with a raised eyebrow. "Didn't I tell you to stay in bed?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and amusement.

I frown and try to move past him, explaining, "But I need to shower."

He doesn't budge, instead stepping forward to grab my waist and pull me back into the hut. "What the—" I start to protest, but before I can finish my sentence, he shuts the door behind him and leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, come on!" I exclaim, trying to move around him. "I need a shower, Newt."

He grabs my shoulders gently, stopping me in my tracks. "Come on, Y/N, you really think I'm letting you out of here?"

"Yes," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly.

Newt shakes his head with a sigh. "You do realize that you can't even stand on your own right now?"

I glare at him, but he points down at my injured foot, which I'm doing everything in my power to avoid standing on.

I narrow my eyes, smiling mischievously. "You have no power over me."

"You sure about that?" he asks, smirking, as he leans down a little to meet my gaze.

I smirk back. "Yes," I say, trying to maneuver around him, but before I can, Newt grabs my waist again and pulls me back toward him. My back presses against his chest as his arms circle around me.

I chuckle, the tension easing between us. "Come on, Newt," I say with a small smile, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks at how close we are. "I promise I'll be careful."

I lean my head back onto his shoulder, and he chuckles, his chin resting there. "You're impossible."

"So are you," I reply, laughing lightly.

He sighs but finally lets me go. "Fine," he says with a resigned grin, "You win."

I turn around with a playful smile on my face. "I always do."

With that, I grab my bag from the ground and limp over to the showers. Newt follows me, staying close enough to make sure I don't overdo it.

When I finish, I take my time getting dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a green t-shirt. As I step out of the shower area, Newt hears me walking and turns around, a small smile already forming on his lips. "You done?" he asks, his eyes light with amusement.

I roll my eyes and reply sarcastically, "Oh, no, I just came out here for fun."

He laughs a little at my response. "Ha-ha," he teases, taking a few steps toward me. "How funny you are."

"I try my best," I reply with a grin.

"I can tell," he says, chuckling softly as I limp toward my hut with him following behind.

When we reach my hut, Newt places my bag on the bed. "Alright, I need to talk to Alby now, but Minho or Theo will be by with some lunch for you soon," he tells me before heading out the door.

I sit down on the bed with a deep sigh, feeling a little worn out from the effort of getting around. Still, I pull my sketchbook from under the bed and begin drawing again, using it as a way to clear my head. The images of the maze, the Grievers, and everything that happened continue to swirl in my mind, and for now, sketching helps me make sense of it all.