In The Morning I'll Be Better// newtmas

4

Newt's POV:

I am so shocked for a second I almost forgot how to breathe. I know Thomas was one to be in bad crowds but I didn't think he was stupid enough to get into a fight when it was one against five. Then again, I am sure Aris was the one to start the fight as Thomas embarrassed him in front of the whole lunch hall. Suddenly, I want to chase Aris down and beat him as he did with Thomas.

Suddenly, Thomas groans and jerks upright, causing me to fall back onto my ass. I probably would be embarrassed if Thomas was consciously watching me but he just sits there, slumped over with a hand against his head. I don't know what to do. He obviously needs help as blood covers his skin and the sign of bruises blossom on his exposed areas.

I want to help but I also want to leave him in the dust. Everyone expects me to hate him but I don't know what to think of him. I don't know what to do and it's driving me crazy.

Thomas lets out a sob, something I wouldn't want to hear from anyone let alone from a boy I keep telling myself is no good. I know I can't leave him here, no matter what anyone says about me.

"Hey, Thomas, it's me," I say, then think to add, "Newt. I'm gonna get you cleaned up. Is that okay?"

I wait for a response but all he manages is a languid head-bob that sends a drop of blood from his nose onto the gravel floor. I take that as a yes and slip my shaking arms under Thomas' armpits. I pull him up and thankfully he works with me, though he is still heavy and I struggle slightly to pull him onto his feet. Once up, my arm slips around his back and I take a handful of his shirt to hold on tight to him. He is aware enough to wrap an arm around the back of my neck and has the audacity to make me squirm.

We walk like this all the way to my house; Thomas leaning on me slowly becoming more and more responsive and me trying not to lose my cool and drop him like all the other responsibilities I am burdened with. It takes a lot of mental slapping to rid the thought of dropping him on the pavement and letting him lick at his own wounds. 

As I open the door, Thomas suddenly jerks, as if he is trying to run away. I am so confused that I almost drop him onto the concrete front step, though manage to keep my hold. Then he suddenly speaks, his voice coming out in a rasp.  

"No, I'm fine... I'll go now."

That is all the confirmation I need. I release my grip on him, glad to be rid of him and almost instantly Thomas' legs fold in on themselves. He hits the floor like a sack of cement. I pick him up again, despite the protests of my mind.

"I don't think you'll be going anywhere like that," I say.

I am starting to panic as I drag Thomas up the stairs of my house and lead him to my room. I am sure he shouldn't be so faint and weak after just being beaten up by a few bullies and the thought that he's been seriously injured in his head bubbles to the surface of my mind. I don't want to be responsible for having to get him to the hospital if things go south. 

Sitting him down on my bed, I turn back and close my door, just in case my mum walks past and sees Thomas all bloody and bruised. Also if she just sees Thomas, which would give her the wrong idea. When I turn back, Thomas finally has his head up and he's staring right at me. I suppose it's a good sign that he's able to focus on me and that his vision isn't all messed up but it still makes me uncomfortable. The back of my neck starts to heat up.

"Do you need bandages? Or some aspirin?" I wait for him to reply but he just continues to stare, "Or maybe a Goddamn photo because you obviously can't stop staring at me!"

Thomas flinches. I didn't realise that he was responsive enough to understand me and now he probably thinks I am rude. Another thing to add to his list of things he already thinks I am.

"I'm sorry," I say, rubbing my hand along the back of my neck, "Do you need something though? You can have a shower if you want."

Thomas blinks and for a second I think he isn't going to respond. When he does, his voice is only slightly less scratchy than a few minutes before.

"Do you have some clothes I could borrow?"

He looks nervous like I would suddenly smack him for asking such a question. Then again, I'm not certain that look isn't just from the query but for the allegations he's heard of me. I know what people say about me. He probably thinks I am luring him into undressing so that it will be easier for me to sexually assault him. I don't want to care that he is apprehensive around me- he isn't going to be staying long enough for it to become a problem- but the need for him to know the true me starts to push through the 'I don't care' barrier. I don't want Thomas to see me like that.

"Yeah, I have something you can borrow."

I go through my draws, pulling out stuff that is slightly baggy on me so should fit well on him. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head and my neck becomes warm again. The want for him to look away is overpowering but I also want him to keep staring at me. It makes me feel like the most important thing in the room. 

"Here you go," I say, handing him the clean shirt and trousers, "the bathroom is just down the hall, opposite the stairs."

Thomas nods and stands wearily as if he is an old man rather than a fifteen-year-old boy and I suddenly want to escort him to the bathroom to make sure he gets into the shower okay. He walks out the door, barely whispering thanks as he leaves because his voice is so rough, and I listen as he closes the door at the other end of the hall. 

Then I just stand there, completely unsure of what I am doing. Not just at this moment but also in general. I'd just offered a boy I barely know a shower in my house. That boy had excepted my offer and even asked to borrow some of my clothes. The people at my school expected me to hate this boy just because our identities didn't match and yet that boy was currently naked a room down from me.

What the fuck Newton, why did you just think about that? I think to myself as I squeeze my eyes shut- I knew exactly why-, Okay, new plan; once he gets out of the shower, kick him out and treat him like everyone expects you too.

"Even if you don't want to," I mumble as I walk down the stairs to retrieve a snack, listening out for Thomas getting out of the shower.