Lost Brother (The Maze Runner)

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     "Who the hell are you?" Awesome, great start.

     "I'm your-" Sister. "counselor." God, this is already way harder than I originally anticipated.

     "Counselor? So you're like my freaking therapist or something?"

     "If that's what you want to call me then sure."

     Seeing his face in the flesh for the first time in years makes me want to immediately throw everything out the window and just hug him without ever letting go. His face may be much older than I remember for obvious reasons, but it's still him. It's still my brother. His arms and face are littered with tiny cuts and bruises no doubt from what he and his friends had just been out through. My eyes, for some reason, wander up to his hair. We share the same shade of deep black hair, the same rich brown eyes.

     That all too familiar feeling of longing rears its ugly head despite Minho being right in front of me. God, I wish we could just talk for hours to make up for the years of lost time. There's just one problem. He won't remember me. Ever since I started working here, I've known that fact since I started working here, but it never fails to bring tears to my eyes when I think of it. All the years worth of memories of our happy, loving family, all gone, erased in an instant. I'm nothing but a stranger to him.

     I blink my eyes rapidly to drive away the tears, forcing as much of a smile as I can. "I'm here to talk about the Maze and the Scorch with you."

     "And what if I don't want to talk about it?"

     I sigh. He's still just as much of a stubborn ass as he's always been. "Then you don't have to. I'm not here to ever force you to do anything, but I would still suggest you do. Keeping things to yourself instead of voicing your feelings can affect you in the long run. Your mental health is important."

     "My mental health?" Minho eyes me like I'd said something in a completely foreign language. "Since when did you shanks start caring about my mental health?"

     Always, I've always cared. I take my seat across the table from him instead of voicing my own feelings though. How hypocritical of me, right? "I'm sure they've always cared Minho."

     He laughs sarcastically. "Yeah, I'm sure they do. It's a great add-in factor for their experiment."

     "That's not-"

     "Yeah I know that's what you meant, whatever. The real question is why you act like you're not one of them."

     One of them? One of who? "Sorry?" I ask, genuinely confused.

     "You work for WICKED don't you?"

     "Well...yeah." It's printed on my jacket, unfortunately, for everyone to see.

     "Then why do you talk like you don't?"

     "Because I really wished I didn't." Oh, shit, I just said that out loud.

     "Oh."

     We sit in awkward silence until I clear my throat, flipping through the pages of my notebook that I'd brought with me. "So, anyway, today is just so you know who I am and that you can talk to me whenever you need to."

     "Why don't you want to work here?"

     I sigh, "You can't just let it go, can you?"

     "No, what happened to the cure? Are you guys just freaking giving up now?"

     "No, we're not-" I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "Can you just forget about it? I'm here to talk about you, not me."

     "I thought this was just so I could know who you are, not actually tell you anything."