Antidote | A3

c h a p t e r . t w e n t y

I stayed under the stream of the shower for over 45 minutes.

It took at least half of that time until the water at my feet finally started running clear. I lathered my hair three times over, scrubbing my scalp within an inch of its life until it finally felt clean. I had dust and grime everywhere - in my nose, my ears, under my fingernails. The scrapes and cuts all over my body stung as the soap got in, but I couldn't relent until every speck of crusted blood was off my skin and away down the drain. A lot of it wasn't mine, and instead was the horrific evidence of what I'd done.

Killing a Griever in the Maze was very different to killing people, Crank or not. Even when I had no choice.

I stood there, watching the water run pink around my feet, and suddenly I forgot how to breathe. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes, and before I knew it my shoulders were shaking, my chest tight with the sobs I'd been holding back since the cave.

I cried until I couldn't anymore. Finally, I pried my trembling hands away from my face, and shut off the shower. I couldn't get any cleaner now if I tried, but the water could only wash away so much. My hands - and my soul - still felt filthy.

I stepped out of the shower stall slowly after changing into fresh clothes, unable to deny how good they felt on my skin. They'd provided us with new everything - clothes, shoes, water bottles, and a toothbrush and hairbrush each.

I brushed my teeth at one of the sinks and then picked up the hairbrush, taking it over to the floor-length mirror on one wall of the large communal bathroom. I sank to the floor, cross-legged in front of it, and began to brush my hair.

It took an excruciatingly long time. The entire thing was knotty and matted, and at first each run of the brush was painful. It was a tedious affair, but I had committed. Each section of hair I eventually detangled was a small victory.

A few Group B girls passed through as I sat there, some of them uttering small hellos before nipping into bathroom stalls. I had half a mind to feel embarrassed, sat there on the floor, my face red and puffy, hacking at my hair with the brush.

By the time I'd finally finished, my hair was almost completely dry, and the blotchiness on my cheeks had subsided. I ran my fingers through my hair and they didn't catch. Instead it was silky, and soft, and as I stared at it in the mirror, I decided it actually looked quite pretty. I found it a little strange that such a small thing - clean, brushed hair - could make me feel quite this good. This human.

Finally, I left the bathroom, a sense of catharsis replacing my embarrassing private meltdown earlier. Looking and feeling fresh, I stepped into the large main room in the middle of the Berg, where most Gladers were spread out. Plenty were asleep on the copious sofas scattered around the room, some at the tables digging into plates of steaming food. WICKED staff milled about, piling plates high, refilling water bottles, providing those that needed it with medical attention.

I spotted Minho on one sofa, chatting to some cute girl, and Thomas sprawled out asleep on another. Leo was at a table with Harriet and Sonya, the three of them deep in conversation with Aris, who was crying quietly. I spotted Newt on a sofa at the far end of the room, alone, and I made my way over to him.

His eyes lit up when he saw me, and I broke into a grin.

"Hey," he said. "Thought you drowned in there."

"Nah, just spent the better part of an hour attacking my head with a hairbrush," I joked, absent-mindedly running a hand through my hair, all over again appreciating how relieving it felt.

"You look..."

"Human again?" I offered, with a light chuckle.

"Beautiful," he finished instead, his voice soft. My eyes widened a little, caught off guard as a fuzzy warmth spread throughout my chest and heat crept into my cheeks.