One is the loneliest number - Minho TMR

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tears are still streaming down her face as sits presses between to bodies. She doesn't know who they are, but she doesn't care. Winston sacrificed his life for her. Sure, he's not death yet, but Brie had seen his torso. Tear marks so deep that you can see is organs. There turning black, signaling her that they should be sanitized soon. She would gladly do it, but she doesn't even have any material. Maybe the others have some. 

She presses a hand against her mouth and nose as she tries to be quiet. She can still hear the screeching of the creatures and the way that their breath was cold on her neck. Their hiding in some sort of cave. All tightly pressed together. She hears them grow closer before they back off again. All of them pant and Brie is now physically aware of what she just did. Her limp ache, making pain shoot up every time she moved. Her lip hurts from all the biting and her wrist hurt from that Thomas pulled her away a little to harshly.

Yet, she felt guilty for complaining. Winston was literally dying and there she was crying about a stupid little wound. Times seemed to pass a little faster as they anxiously waited for the noises to approach. When that didn't happen for a few hours, some fell asleep. Brie was to nervous for that just as some others. Yet, her head kept falling down, exhaustion trying to take over. Her hole body felt heavy and she fell asleep even when she tried to fight it. Her head fell on Minho's shoulders, who was still awake. His eyes widen slightly before he chuckles slightly. He then rests his own head on hers, accepting the sleep to consume his body.

-

The next morning their all kindly greeted by Thomas yelling at a literal bird. She scoffs and closes her eyes again. For everything that was happening she'd slept pretty comfortable. She doesn't mind the body that she's leaning against or the warmth that it gave her. She groans when Thomas starts talking, but then again when does he ever shut up? The person she's leaning against make a sound. It's deep, making Brie frown when she realized it's not Teresa. Then she really realized and her eyes snapped open.

She's half sleeping on the wall half sleeping on him. On freaking Minho. The guy she despised since the day she met him and it seemed like the feeling was mutual. His eyes widen as he clears his throat. Brie immediately jumps of him, standing upright and grabbing all her stuff. She ignores him and the others their glares and smirks completely. She noticed a throbbing pain in her wrist, making her glance down. It looked swollen and was covered with blue and purple markings. She tried to stretch it, which only resulted in her wincing. 

'Does anybody have any bandages or alcohol?' She asks tiredly. Her eyes almost shut tight again as she blinks a few times to keep herself upright. 

The questions makes a few people look at her. Newt holds a few bandages's in his hand, making her thank him. Then she stares knowingly at Minho, knowing he took a bottle of pure alcohol yesterday. She pointy holds out her hand, sending him a glare as she scrunches her eyebrows. With a few protest and mumbles he hands her the bottle. A few of the gladers laugh. 

Her smile fades when she approached him. She was very careful. Maybe he didn't want to see her. Yet, when he tiredly smiled she sat down besides him. 'How are you?' She asks. She knows immediately that it's a stupid questions. Of course he wouldn't be okay. There basically a hole freaking hole in his torso. 

He laughs a little, making him flinch when his stomach moves up and down. 

'Yeah, I know that was a stupid question. Try to lay still this is going to burn like a bitch. You want me to talk about something?' She grabs a clean cloth and removes the bandages that the other gladers tried to wrap around him. It's a nice attempt, but it should have been way tighter. He hisses when she touched his arm. 

'You have colds hands.' he informs her when he noticed the frown on her face. 'Talk about your life at WICKED.' The request makes her flinch, halting her action slightly. She starts pouring some alcohol on her hands. 'I'm not sure you want to hear about it.' 

'Not really, but it seems like you want to talk about it to someone.' Winston honestly replies. The answer shocks her. She had not expected that. 'Sure, I'll talk about it. Anything specific?' 

'How you controlled the glade from the outside. Can Fry come, too?' 

His question makes her nod. The said boy approaches quickly, grabbing Winston's hand. Then she starts talking: 'It was actually very simple. The doors had a clock in them so we couldn't control them. We could only control the clocks. As for the grievers, we could control them, but you should now that I never did.' She pressed the cloth on his wounds, making him hiss and cry. She ignored his protested as she dunked even more alcohol.

'The box was also very simple. We loaded everything in and send it up. It were mostly other people controlling the maze. I was for small sides jobs that nobody else wanted. I was also Janson's assistant. Gosh, there are no words to explain how much I hated that bastard. He enjoyed hurting those kids.' 

Both Winston and Fry stared at her as she told them about her days. How she sometimes got tortured and some of her biggest fears. Winston had basically become numb because of the pain. When she was finally done with cleaning everything, she wrapped the bandages around his torso. It looked somewhat decent, making her have a little hope.