Newt, I miss you.
The thought never left his mind- he never stopped missing him, never stopped thinking about him. Never forgot the curl of his hair or the feeling of his lips against his. No matter how hard he was trying to forget, he couldn't. He would give anything to be freed of these a bloody memories- would give anything to have never met the blond-haired boy, to have never fallen in love with him. To never have been stuck in that god-forsaken Glade in the first place, or even to had just died that first night in the maze. I can't deal with it anymore. I want the memories to go away.
Please come back, I'm not okay without you.
He stood up from his chair, a hollow feeling in his stomach. The memories- they were clawing at him from the inside out, bloodying his conscience and his thoughts and everything else that was already muddied with the thoughts of him. He wished they could have switched roles- that he could have been the one who went insane and lost all aspects of himself, the one who lost all his memories; the one who died. Not the one who was left behind, left alone to deal with the aftermath. I'm alone.
Why aren't you here with me?
He still hadn't cried. Even if it'd been months since the incident, he still hadn't cried. Every time he wanted to try, he couldn't: he couldn't stop thinking how stupid that would be, how disappointed Newt would be in him for crying. I was already gone, he knew he would say, What you killed wasn't me- so he never did. He held back the tears by biting his lip, clenching his fists, shutting his eyes so tightly that tears couldn't escape. I won't cry.
Why did you have to die and leave me here?
He hadn't smiled either. He couldn't bring himself to- how could he smile when he wasn't happy? It would be fake. A mask hiding how he really felt, hiding what he'd done. Hiding the blank expression he knew never left his face. He couldn't smile, he couldn't frown, he couldn't cry, he couldn't laugh. He was nothing more than a sculpture anymore: an unmoving and unfeeling sculpture, knowing nothing of it's surroundings and ignoring what it might know. A sculpture who hadn't shot the boy he was desperately in love with. Murderer.
Let me die instead.
He remembered everything about that moment. The weight of the gun in his hands, the way the cool metal felt against his hands. How his hands had shook when he'd lifted the gun with tears running down his face. How long it'd taken him to be able to pull the trigger- how he'd been pushed back slightly when the gun fired. The sound of the bullet hitting flesh and bone. When Newt's lifeless body had fallen to the floor, his head smacking against the concrete with a thump. How he'd run over to the empty body and held his bloody head in his lap, ignoring his surroundings. How he had wished there was just one more bullet in the gun- one for him and one for Newt. I killed him.
I'm going to see you soon.
He took an unsteady step- one, and then another. Making his way to the bottom of the stairs and then up them, hand holding on to the banister so tightly his knuckles were almost white. He couldn't be alone any longer. He couldn't go on like this- he couldn't, he wouldn't, he refused. He refused to be nothing more than a lifeless and emotionless shell. He would be with Newt whether he was alive or dead. He didn't care what it took- he would see him again. He would see his eyes and feel his blond hair. He would hold his hand again. I'm coming, Newt. Please wait for me.
I won't be alone any longer.
He turned left at the top of the stairs into a plain room, the gray-sheeted bed made so neatly it was like nobody had slept in it for months. He sat back onto the bed and shut his eyes- desperately hoping that Newt would be asleep in the bed when he opened them, his hair messy and his pale face exactly as he remembered. His breathing steady as he woke up, a smile on his face as he asked what was for breakfast. Why couldn't that be us? Why did you have to die?
I'll be there soon.
He was still alone when he opened his eyes, and with a sigh stood up- taking a few steps towards an ajar closet door, pushing it open even further. Taking his time as he glanced around, his expression never changing as he got down onto his knees and pulled a box out from behind some clothing. Didn't change as he painstakingly took the lid off the box, staring inside- didn't change as he reached inside with a trembling hand.
Just a few minutes and I'll see you again.
It was exactly the same as it was when he'd bought it so many months- the same model as the one that'd killed Newt, it'd caught his attention on one of his rare trips out of the house. He wanted to stop, study it, stare at all the intricate details... He wanted to learn everything about the weapon that had ruined his life, that had turned his happiness into sadness and anger.
We can be together.
He picked the gun up- the metal just as cold as he remembered it being. He grimaced at the feeling- he needed to get this over with. He couldn't sit here on his own any longer, wishing and hoping that everything was just a nightmare and that he'd wake up with Newt nestled against his side. It wasn't going to happen, even if he wished it would. Even if it was all he wanted, it was just something he wanted. It wasn't something he was going to get.
I'll see you again.
It didn't take long for him to have the gun pressed against his head, his eyes shut with his fingers pressed carefully against the trigger. And finally, he smiled- he first smiled, and then he grinned, his eyes lighting up with happiness. As soon as he pulled the trigger, everything would be over. His worries would be gone, he would see Newt again... and everything about that made him happy. Here he was, about to end his life, and he was giggling like an idiot. The thought of death made him unbelievably happy. He pushed the gun closer to his head, and then-
I love you, Newt.
And then he pulled the trigger.