Remember for the Both of Us [COMPLETED]

24: Bus Ride to Where?

I slid into a seat in the back, hoping no one would see me, hoping they would just leave me alone. I looked at my hand. The knife had carved a deep cut in it, jagged across my palm. As I pulled my sleeve away from it, blood still seeped out. I hurriedly pressed the cloth back against it, grimacing at the pain. The bus engine rumbled to life, jerking forward.

Newt sat down next to me.

"Newt," I whispered. "Don't."

He said nothing, only pulling a length of bandage out of his pocket, taking my hand and starting to wrap it up. His fingers were nimble, tying it in a knot and gently tugging it to make sure it was secure. Quickly, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a quick kiss against it. "All better."

I gasped, warmth blossoming through my body. My throat was dry, and I swallowed, hard.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Why are you pretending to care?"

"I believe you," he said, looking me straight into the eyes. I had to look away, out the window to the Flare-ridden world. "What you said, about us being your friends, and--" he choked on his own words. "You're the girl, aren't you?" he blurted. "The girl I remember."

I nodded, tears in my eyes, unable to look at him.

"Hope--" he said, but finally I was able to stop him.

"No. Not Hope. Please, don't call me Hope anymore. The Creators gave us fake names, and I'm sick of mine." I released a breath. "My real name is Lynn."

Memories flashed before my eyes, of him saying my name, whispering it, calling it, laughing it--

"Lynn," he said. "Pretty name. Why--why not Hope?"

"You forgot this, but there's... a disease. Called the Flare. It makes you go insane. It's viral, rampant. We call people infected with it Cranks. Think of it as the Zombie Apocalypse, per say. Some of us are Immune. Don't know how. But my Dad... he wasn't. Mom caught it, and spread it around town, before we had a chance to--to kill her. We thought we were safe, then people started going down. But not me. I was fine. WICKED must have known I was immune, and called my Dad about me, hoping to use me in their experiments. The thing about the Flare, is there's this point we call the Gone--it's where you lose all sense of humanity, or common sense, or whatever. But I came home, and he had cracked. I had been able to tolerate his strange mutterings and spasms, before, but when I opened the door, he rushed me. Slammed me against the wall, hands around my neck." 

I touched my throat absently. "He was screaming at me, 'WICKED wants to use you, don't they? Not on my watch! You think you're some little hope for humanity, aren't you! Gonna save us! Some hope you are!' And he just kept yelling about me and hope until I passed out."

I heard Newt intake a breath. "I woke up, and WICKED had arrived just after I passed out. Killed Dad, but he wasn't really my dad anymore. I knew... I somehow knew that they'd been waiting outside the door, or something, because how could they have heard? The Chancellor, one of the Creators, she'd never liked me. So, after they assigned everyone their roles in the Maze Trials, and I was a backup, she called me Hope. That's when I knew--they're using our pasts against us, to make us cooperate, because they know their means are not justified by their ends."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Hah," I laughed bitterly. "You shouldn't have to say you're sorry. Out of all of us--all of the Gladers, my sob story is the least sad."

"Were there good times?"

I nodded, smiling ruefully. "Sometimes, I could forget what WICKED was doing and planning and it was almost better than my life at home. We were friends, back then. I mean, there was a group of us, Thomas and Teresa and Minho and Gally and--and Alby," I said tightly. "But Thomas and Teresa always kinda had their own thing, and you and I were like partners in crime. I dragged you into so much trouble, but honestly your favorite part was when we got caught and you got to wiggle us out of there."

His eyes were closed, hand inching slowly toward mine. Our pinkies brushed, and I felt a butterfly of warmth flutter through me. "Tell me about it," he said. 

"Well, there was one time where I wanted to see if they had any chocolate cake in the kitchen, because it was my birthday and I was turning thirteen. We snuck into the pantry, and we were going through all the shelves, when..."

I talked and talked, and carefully, he took my hand, fingers gentle. And I smiled as I talked, and he smiled too, erasing some of the lines carved harshly into his skin. I told him about when we hacked the telepathic feed and almost made Thomas and Teresa go crazy after we told them we'd been eavesdropping on their conversations for an hour. The time where we skipped a whole day of training, hiding in the barracks with a box of Oreos. The night where we slipped up to the roof and watched the stars through the gray clouds.

And tentatively, a small beam of sunshine shone into my heart, and I began to hope that things might be okay.