"Please, Tommy. Please."
I could only stand there, and watch. What else was there to do? WICKED couldn't find a cure. There was no cure for the Flare, no cure for the disease they released, the terror and deaths they brought upon themselves. His dirty sunbaked skin, tainted red with anger, teeth grit, and eyes bright with lunacy. The Flare was rooted inside of him, he was a Crank, deliciously close to being past the Gone. And there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could say. Shuck, it hurt. It hurt more than anything. And then, he was on top of me.
"I should rip your eyes out," he screamed, his saliva coating me, making me flinch as if it were a slap across the face. He continued to talk, his words hurting me even more than they already were. I felt a surge of anger, my teeth grit. I wanted to conk him in the head, punch him in the face, tell him to snap out of it. Beat the living klunk out of him, I was angry.
Then he did something else.
Taking the gun and positioning it into my hand, he pressed it to his head.
"Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!" He was so close to me, I could feel the warmth that radiated from him. It made my heartbeat accelerate in a way only Teresa's had been able to. I bit my lip, my eyes stinging from the tears that were falling from his eyes onto mine, and from the tears welling up in mine as well.
"Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery." His alluring accent was laced with a sadness so deep, a sadness I felt when I found out he wasn't immune.
"I can't." I said weakly.
"Do it before I become one of them!"
"I…"
"KILL ME!" Newt yelled, his voice filled with emotion.
That's Newt. Emotional, compassionate, sarcastic, witty, strong, angry. He, along with Chuck, was there for me. Always. Since the beginning, he saved me. And now, I needed to save him.
He looked choked up, his face contorted in pain, as he leaned down a couple extra centimeter, his hand sliding from the gun handle to my arm. His eyes were closed, and I realized, my stomach churning, that he was kissing me.
But… we're both guys…
I felt an irrevocable wave of awkwardness flush over me, but when his grip on me loosened, I took my free hand and clasped his fingers within mine. He was my best friend.
Newt, you're a slinthead. I thought angrily.
This wasn't fair. He couldn't die like this. Not like this.
When he pulled away, I only lifted my head to kiss him again, and I felt him shiver – either from pleasure or melancholy.
When I pulled away, we were both breathless and tearstricken, staring at each other in shock.
Our hands unclasped, and he slammed my arm into the ground as if nothing ever happened. His other hand slid up from my wrist back to the gun, grinding it into the side of his head.
"Please, Tommy. Please."
I love you.
With my eyes closed, I pulled the trigger.