″ your love sparked a wildfire in me, and i gladly burned up. ‶
[Winner of the E-Awards: "Best Series"]
[Highest Ranking: #36 in Fanfiction. #7 in Mazerunner]
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Her name was...
AUTHOR: This chapter is pretty long but has TONS of cute Newlia moments! SQUEE! <3
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I am standing in a room lit with blue light. Another girl is sitting next to me and I don't recognize her. And a boy I do not know sits next to me. He is watching me work as I form blue prints.
Suddenly the scene changes. I am a little girl now. I see a woman. She has dark hair and swollen eyes and she is holding my hand as I cry and I am ripped away from her.
A different woman's face pops up. She keeps repeating that same phrase 'Wicked is Good'
My eyes snap open. Its morning time already. Did I dream? I haven't dreamed since I got here. Dreaming is supposed to make you feel refreshed and awake and well. I don't feel like any of that.
I turn to my right to see Newt still asleep. He doesn't sleep like a teenage boy. He sleeps like a little puppy. His feet are tucked into each other and his hands are covering part of his face as he lightly snores. I wonder if Newt dreams.
I play with the end of my shirt. It must be early because only the Runners and Alby are gone. Everyone else is in slumber.
I find it the perfect opportunity to take another shower. I turn the chilly water on and rinse out all the gunk and grease and sweat from my hair and do the same with my body. I change into a fresh top and jeans and slip on my shoes before heading back to my hammock.
Newt is awake now. He sees me coming shifts over in his hammock, making room for me as I settle in next to him.
"Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?" He asks me, stroking my arms up and down.
"Yes," I lie. "How about you?"
"I slept amazingly." He puts his head on mine. "Did you take a bath?"
"I did."
"It was about time." He teases, giving me a squeeze.
"Excuse you! I am a girl and I smell great, thank you very much." I protest.
"You do smell great, and so does whatever Frypan's cooking. Shall we beat the crowd?" He asks.
Although I don't want to move, my stomach tells me its time to get up. We silently head over to Frypan's kitchen and open the door.
"Give it ten more minutes." Frypan, the Keeper of the cooks, says, shushing out of his kitchen. We laugh because Frypan hates people in his space.
