𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔱 // 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘵 𝘹 𝘺/𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺

chapter two: awake

                                                                                        YOUR POV

I'm trapped in a dream. Unconscious. I can't wake up, I can't get out. But at least it's a dream I want to stay in. It's not a dream. It's a memory. A memory of Newt.

We sit in the tall grass in the Glade, Newt's hand holding mine, running his thumb over my skin. The sun is at that perfect point where it reflects off the walls, glorious oranges painting the sky. Light reflects off his deep brown eyes, giving them a spark that my heart can't help melting for. "I love you, Y/N." He whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Love you more." I tease, squeezing his hand. "Bloody impossible." He grins. "Prove it." I say, leaning my head on his shoulder. Newt scoops me into his arms, leaving me squirming. He pulls me into his chest, resting his chin atop my head as I lean back. "I want to be right here forever. With you." He whispers, his voice as smooth as honey. "Me too. We'll find a way out of here one day..." "I'll never leave you, Y/N. I can promise you that." He lays on his side, spooning me in the grass, his arms still encircling me, giving me a sense of safety I know I won't feel anywhere else. Only Newt can give me that. "You're my world." I murmur, turning around to look at his adorable face. "You're my universe." He buries his face into my neck. "We're starting to sound a little cheesy now." "Definitely. I mean it, though, Y/N. I love you more than anything." He says, cheeks reddening a little. "You're blushing." I run a thumb over his cheek before gently squeezing it. "Baby face." I tease as he rolls his eyes. His skin is smooth beneath my fingers as he leans in and kisses me. His lips move against mine in a gentle motion. "You like that?" He murmurs into my mouth. "Mhmm..." I groan softly, reaching my arms around his neck, his around my waist. I wrap my legs around his. "Can you just.. hold me like this forever...? I say, finally pulling my mouth from his. "At least until morning, love, I promise."

But when I wake up, I'm not with Newt. All the memories come back to slap me in the face. He's gone. And now I'm alone, with nothing but the memories of us and wondering what Newt did to deserve such a horrible death. I think of his pale face, black veins. How weak he was in his last moments, those horrible hacking coughs that would have his whole body shaking. When he'd try to convince me he was fine. He was wrong. So horribly wrong. How he hurt me... I feel the ache in my chest, and when I look down, I realise I'm no longer wearing my own bloodstained shirt. It's Newt's. It smells exactly like him. Kind of like pine when it's been rained on. A scent I find comforting.

I look around the unfamiliar room. It seems to be in some sort of hut, constructed with sticks, not too different from the ones in the Glade. My wound screams with a fresh wave of agony as I try to sit up, before I eventually give up and let myself just fall back against the pillow. 

I drift off into sleep once more, but this time, I don't get a nice dream about Newt. I'm back in the Last City, and Newt is still trying to kill me, the harsh streetlight reflecting off his emotionless eyes. And when the knife plunges into my chest, he doesn't return back to sanity for even a moment. He's feral, tearing at my flesh as I let out bloodcurdling screams. Nobody saves me. He's somehow become filled with a superhuman strength, every time I try to push him off, he won't budge. My mind is the most dangerous place of all.

Jolting awake in cold sweat isn't usually a pleasant experience, especially when you have a barely healed wound on your chest. But what tends to be worse is when you see the man you just had a horrific nightmare about is right before you. "Get away from me!" I yell, not really thinking. "Y/N" I interrupt him before he can even finish his sentence. "Go away! You're a monster-" My words are harsh, and even I know it, but I'm trapped in a blind panic. His veins have faded into a misty grey colour, and his eyes to his normal shade of brown, but I can't shake the image of a Crank from my mind. He looks down. "If it's what you want.." he whispers, voice cracking a little, as he gets up and walks out. I watch him, his limp a little more evident than usual. Or maybe I'm just being observant. And cruel. Poor Newt, he's just recovered from a disease nobody thought could be cured, and I've just yelled at him for something out of his control. Part of me wants to get up and run after him, but the other is afraid. Afraid he'll turn around and hurt me again. And that side wins. My hands slowly unclench, cold, without another hand to hold it.