In my Blood

CHAPTER 55 - The Familiar Torture of Loss

I slowly pull away from Minho, a constant stream of tears cascading down my cheeks and dripping down my neck, turning my pale skin stiff. I open my mouth, my voice coming out in stammered releases of cold air. "We n-need to... take him back... take his body back..."

Then, something unexpected happens. Gally steps forward, his usually stony expression just as fearful and saddened as everyone else's, and he shakes his head. "No. We can fix this... if I survived a spear through my shucking heart, then Newt can sure as hell survive a knife."

"Newt's... dead, you slinthead," Minho grumbles, his eyes fixated on Newt's still body. Although I feel a wisp of hope stir in my chest, I know that Minho is most likely right. We can't save him, and I'm sure as hell not putting my energy into believing he can be just so that I'm met with grief and disappointment all over again.

Gally shows no sign of response as he takes his backpack off. I shake my head, my lips trembling as my chin crumples together.

"Gally..." I sniff. "We can't do anything. D-Don't you think that I'd want to, if I could?"

He ignores me. Emptying the contents of his backpack, Gally mutters quietly to himself, and I begin to perk up a little. Wiping my nose with my jacket sleeve, I force my eyes to blink the sting of tears away, focusing on what Gally's doing. 

"Y-You said... they patched you up," I whisper. The only other sound is the whistling of the cold air and Minho's stuttered breaths to my side. "What did you mean by that?"

Gally doesn't look up. "I was practically already dead by the point Lawrence found me. Couldn't move. The only thing I could feel was the sense that I was slipping away... but, my point is, they brought me back. Same could be said for Newt."

Impulsive anger swells inside my chest. I grit my teeth together, nostrils flaring. "You didn't answer my question, shank, now tell me how they brought you back!"

Gally finally looks up. My eyes widen when I see his own eyes glistening with a layer of tears. His mouth, usually clamped tensely shut, is hanging slightly open as his pale lips shake. I've never seen Gally like this... someone who's broken, distraught, emotional. My expression softens when I consider the ordeal that he's been through. He looks to the ground again. And then, carefully, he unzips his jacket and lifts his shirt. I gasp.

The skin surrounding his heart appears to be greyed and colourless. I can see a slight dip in his chest where the spear must've been, literally patched up by intricate black stitching. The skin around the stitching appears frayed, and burnt. He lowers the shirt and zips the black jacket back up, his arms then swaying awkwardly by his sides. 

"They injected my body with the Bliss," he explains, his voice wobbling. "All over. And, when I was conscious and in a stable enough position, they removed the spear and started stitching." He pauses. "It wasn't pretty. It was agonisingly painful, but it's the reason I'm here."

I can't even begin to comprehend the torturous pain Gally would've had to endure, being stitched while still awake, burning chemicals being pumped through his whole body. I drag my eyes away from him and let them fall to the floor. 

"You think it'll work on Newt?" Brenda asks quietly. 

"I'm not sure," Gally replies candidly. "But it's the best chance we got. Brenda, you begin with the Bliss..."

He begins explaining the process to Brenda, however the sound of his voice trails off to me. I close my eyes, trying to take all of this information in as I crouch on my knees beside Newt. Minho hasn't moved in all of the time he's been here, just staring blankly at Newt's body, whereas I'm unable to bring myself to look at his grey, emotionless face. I jump, startled by Gally's hand tentatively tapping my shoulder. 

"We're starting now. You um, you don't have to do anything, or watch... I get it."

I don't have the energy to force a smile, yet I nod up at him thankfully. He nods back in silent understanding. Grabbing a hold on Minho's hand, I gently tug him away from Newt, both of us walking slightly away from where his body lies on the ground, heading towards where Frypan stands quietly.

This may work. But it may not, and I don't want to stir up feelings of false hope just so that I'm dragged back down by the realisation that he's going to be dead forever. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. He's dead, I think to myself. Don't get your hopes up. Newt's dead. 

I hear Gally and Brenda muttering to each other as they begin. Me and Minho are both turned away, clutching at each other's shaking hands while our friends attempt to resurrect the most important person in our lives. I hear the fumbling of a bag being opened, and the sounds of glass clinking softly together. The noises could be almost soothing, if it weren't for the circumstances. I hear Gally clear his deep throat, and Brenda's tense breaths, each one quivering more than the last.

I hear the sound of a shirt being cut open. Brenda cussing under her breath in a quietly horrified manner. They must be looking at his chest. I grip tighter onto Minho's clammy hand, his fingers squeezing mine as they shake wildly. I dare to steal a glance over to Minho's face, seeing his eyes clamped shut and his lips muttering silent words. A bead of sweat forms on his forehead, then it slowly dribbles down his temple as Gally announces quietly behind us, "Be quick and careful. Not too much force."

The next few minutes are almost completely silent. All I can hear are the distant cries of dying people in the streets; even the wind has stopped howling. I feel a knot form in my stomach, a ball of tension and paranoia building up inside me. The urge to look behind me to Newt is growing stronger with each passing, silent second – yet I fight each urge off with faint pain growing in my chest. That's when I'm suddenly made aware of the pulsing agony in my upper arm, where Newt tore through my skin with his teeth barely longer than fifteen minutes ago. I groan when a blast of sudden cold air blows into my exposed flesh, my arm flinching. Shaking my head, I force myself to push the pain away from my mind. 

The only thing that should be on my mind right now is Newt. 

I hear a softly distraught sigh escape from Gally's mouth. My heart sinks. Tears begin to fill my vision as I hear the two of them slowly getting to their feet, and walking our way, their shoes skimming across the surface of the floor. I shake my head, my lips quivering. No. No, this can't be it. Please, no.

I feel a small hand rest on my shoulder. 

"I'm sorry..." Brenda croaks. "We tried, (y/n), we really did..." she muffles a sob in her hoodie sleeve while I look up. Her palms are glistening with blood. Newt's blood. She looks down to her hand, horrified, her brown eyes wide and ashamed. "I'm... I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry..." 

She mutters those words over and over, a harrowed shame painting her face. Then it hits me again. The realisation. Our one chance to save Newt, and it didn't work. The familiar torture of loss batters against my body, taking hits over my chest, my head, my stomach – filling me with a physical weakness. I sink to my knees. Minho sways beside me while I cry on the ground, wobbling with instability while he attempts to cope with the overwhelming grief he must be feeling, Frypan remaining still and silent next to me. 

A choked gasp slices through the air like an  alarm. It morphs into a tortured, electrified scream that makes my blood run cold, the voice breaking into pained, haunting howls of torment. And although it should make me feel terrified, I feel my heart pound with a brimming happiness that my body can barely contain. Because the screams are coming from behind me. They're coming from Newt.