GUYS I'M SO MAD THE COVER FOR THIS STORY WON'T UPLOAD ON HERE.
There is nothing but darkness. Nothing but darkness and a flickering light, causing me to squint. The light doesn't illuminate anything, making me feel like I'm floating. My feet aren't on anything solid. I reach out with my hands, and there's nothing around me. It's desensitizing and disorienting, making my head spin.
And then another figure appears. More follow, seeming like nothing but shadows in the blackness of my surroundings. I squint, trying to make out the faces when my skin starts to burn, os much like it did when I was struck by lightning. A strangled scream leaves my mouth as it burns, and hurts. It hurts.
The light stops flickering and sputters on.
I recognize the people in front of me.
My clothes catch fire as I look at Ben, Chuck, Gally, Winston, and every other Glader I have ever seen die. Alby is leading them, the flames on my clothes reflected in his eyes.
" Help. " I say, the words choking me as smoke starts to suffocate me.
Alby shakes his head no. Green veins bulge in his neck, reminding me of when he got stung. I open my mouth to speak again but end up coughing as my eyes start to water.
" You failed us. " He says, his voice monotone. As if he could care less that he is here. I want to tell him I'm sorry that I couldn't save him, one of my first friends in the Glade, but no words come out. He needs to know I'm sorry. They all do. " You let us die. "
The Gladers in the back start to move to the side, parting, making way for someone or something. They all gradually do that, until Alby looks over his shoulder and moves to the side.
And Louisa takes his place.
She doesn't have a leg or a prosthetic. Her grey eyes are dull, her face unreadable as she they travel up and down my body, taking in the fire. She'll help me. I know she will. She won't let anyone be treated like she was.
" Why didn't you save me? " She asks. Her lip wobbles as her eyes land on mine. Her face is filthy and her hair sticks to it, due to sweat or weather, I don't know. " Look at me. " There are scars on her forearms from where she was tortured; she's missing half of her left leg; there's a bandaged wrapped around her hand from where she accidentally landed on glass. " I trusted you. " She gestures behind her. " We all did. And you failed us. "
" You failed, Minho. "
….
I wake up with a start. Sweat has drenched the clothes WICKED gave me, making them sick to my body. I can still feel the ghost of the flames, and I quickly get out of the bed, pushing the cotton covers aside. My legs are shaky as I pull open the door to my personal bath room and turn the shower on as cold as it can go. I step inside, not even bothering to take my clothes off.
The water makes the flames go away, and I rest my head against the cool, white tiles. My mind is still slow with sleep, but I manage to have enough sense to turn the water off and step out of the shower. It has been like this for the past two weeks, nightmares every time I close my eyes. It's like the images of them are permanently glued to the back of my eyelids.
I grab a fluffy, white towel off of the rack to my right, running it across my face. This place feels too luxurious after what we had in the Maze and the Scorch, and it feels wrong.
I peel my cold, wet clothes off, grabbing some more out of the dresser. The dresser. The ones I pull on fit perfectly, like they were made for me. It bothers me, how much WICKED knows about me, and how little I know about myself. Is this how Louisa felt when she first came to WICKED?
No, I can't imagine how she felt. All I know is that I felt so betrayed, but now I know there was nothing she could do. Especially not with these people hovering over her. Here, I feel more trapped than I did in the Maze with all these scientists wandering around.
I lay back down on my bed and drape a hand across my face. I know that the rest of the Gladers are okay and alive—well, everyone except for Thomas, but that shank has a reputation of living despite all that's happened. I shift on the mattress. I'm worried about everyone, and wonder if they have nightmares like I do, but I know they'll pull through. If they can survive the Trials, the aftermath shouldn't be too hard to handle.
Louisa flashes through my mind.
I still haven't seen her. I've spent every day of the past two weeks wandering around this facility, looking for her. Hoping I'll run into her. She didn't seem right the last time I saw her in the Scorch. I mean, who would? She had just seen someone she thought was dead—someone she thought she killed because he abused her. She needs someone to be next to her right now. I want someone next to me.
And I want it to be her.
I sigh and run a hand across my face as I sit up. I glance at the clock. 7:00 AM. There's no way I'm going to fall back asleep so I stand and make my way towards the door, barely glancing around the room. Everythign in here is either white, silver, or grey, colors I find WICKED likes a lot.
My door slides open as I approach it, something I'm still not used to, and I make my way to the breakfast hall, eyes constantly darting around me, searching for Louisa but never finding her.
….
I feel trapped, yet Janson told me I was free to wander around the facilities if I felt compelled to do so. I haven't.
I haven't wanted to do anything except die.
I don't know what's real and what's fake. The difference between what WICKED planted in my mind and what really happened is so minuscule it's practically nonexistent. My head is constantly hurting from the memories of two different lives. I can't comprehend anything. Nothing makes sense!
The worst part is, there is no one to help me.
My mom—no, Ms. Kittredge, despises me with every cell in her body. Noah is dead, and there is no one else that knew me before WICKED.
I'm so alone. There's no one, no one, that understands me. I don't even know me. I thought I was Louisa Kittredge, but that was just a cover for the Trials. So, logically, everything that happened during the Trials was a lie, right?
But everything I felt wasn't.
Can WICKED control my emotions? Janson said that the blue liquid in that vile knocked me out, and that he took the Swipe out after that. I barely heard him due to the multitude of images and voices and names surging through my brain, overwhelming me to the point I couldn't function. I was taken to this room, and I haven't moved since.
I've cried more times than I can remember as the images WICKED supplied me with overlay with the ones I just recently remembered.
Why did they do this to me? What effect could this have had on the Trials?
There are memories of me, around age fourteen, in a city, scavenging for food with my brother. And then another one overpowers it, one of me pulling pranks with Newt and laughing with Noah.
Which one actually happened?
Why would WICKED supply me with memories? Why break me down like this?
I pull my knees further to my chest, hating the way the blanket made my skin itch. The room was cool, so I deal with it, but my nails rake against my skin constantly.
Was the man in the Scorch my real father, or was it a lie just like my mom was? Was my love for Noah a lie, something manufactured by WICKED, or did I actually love him like a brother? Is everything I have ever felt a lie? Something that WICKED made me feel?
My door opens, but I ignore it. Whoever it is can go to hell. I don't want to see anyone.
" Louisa, it's time to get fitted for your prosthetic. " A woman says in a sickeningly sweet voice. How can she speak like that, so nice, so innocent, when she did this to me? When she mixed two lives together and dumped them inside of my brain?
" Fuck off. " I mumble into my pillow. I think about the last thing I remember, the time Minho got me drunk. Is that real? Did that actually happen?
" I can't. I'm sorry. You have to get the prosthetic. We have to get a measurement of your legs and create it so you'll be able to walk. "
" Oh, so you don't know how long my leg is? " I ask, sitting up and glaring at her. The blankets fell down to my waist revealing a black sports bra, the only thing I've worn for the past two weeks. I'm going to wear as little as possible, expose as much skin as possible, so they can see all the scars they've caused. The bad thing is, the lady in the white lab coat and blue dress seems unfazed.
" No. Let's go. " She walks over, holding out her hand. I eye it for a half second before I plop back down on my pillow. It's not like I plan to go anywhere. I don't need to walk. The lady sighed. " You asked for it. Men! "
She moves aside, and two large men enter the room. They're dressed in all black. I suppose they think I'll find that intimidating, but I just glare at them.
" You lay one finger on me and I'll spill your guts all over this pretty white floor. "
They don't respond. They just keep coming. I sit up, ready to punch, kick, fight, when something crosses my mind. If I don't want to live, then what's the point of fighting?
Yea. What's the point of fighting?
But as soon as they put their large, meaty hands on my body my muscles automatically tense and I start to thrash. A harsh scream escapes my lips as they carry me to the door, but they don't seem to be effected by anything. My running shorts bunch up around the very top of my legs, leaving most of them exposed. I catch one of the guys in the face with my hand, but he doesn't stop.
The hallway lights flicker and I can hear the clinking of silverware coming from somewhere behind me, the direction I'm not going.
" No! " I yell as loud as I can. " Put me down! Let me— " die.
The word gets choked off as someone rounds the corner, and we nearly walk right into him.
We nearly walk right into Minho.
I look at him, eyes wide as the Familiars stop behind him.
" Louisa?" He questions as we walk by. I see Newt behind him, and Frypan and Clint. I ignore them, I force myself to ignore them, and kick harder, flail harder, but the people holding me don't loosen their grip.
" I don't want the fucking prosthetic! " I yell, the back of my throat burning. Did the Louisa I used to be think this would ever happen to her? Did that Louisa ever even exist? " Just—just let me rot in that room! "
Tears fall down my face, " Let go! "
" Louisa! " I hear Minho raise his voice but I don't look in his direction. Is he lying about not hurting me? Is he trying to get me close so he can betray me like Newt did? Did Newt ever love me? " Louisa!" He yells again, but I'm too far down the hall now. They've carried me too far.
There's no way they'll let me go either, so I relax and let myself be carried away to get something to help me live. To help a disgusting piece of trash live. Why can't my life be given to someone that knows what to do with it? Someone that isn't so useless. To someone who could see Noah's dream—
Never mind. Who knows if he even meant that?
" Isn't it so much easier when you don't struggle? " The woman asks. I would glare at her, but it requires too much energy so I just stare at the ceiling. The lights every few feet seem too bright, and I end up closing my eyes. But painted on the back of my eyelids is a nightmare darker than night. Colors swirl together and mix, creating images that I don't want to see. Images of a worn down house, a fenced in yard, a crying face.
" You'll be strong. " The woman in front of me drags a hand down my face, a tender touch. " And you'll defend us like your brother. Go, go to the Right Arm. "
The sun is setting behind her. Someone grabs my hand from and pulls me away as tears formulate in her blue eyes.
" Mom... " The word leaves my mouth and my voice cracks. I'm going to miss her, I can feel it.
And then it morphs into something else.
" Louisa, let's go. They're waiting for us. " Noah says, pulling on my arm. The sun turns into a bright, white light, and walls rise around us.
" Do I have to go? " Any feelings of sorrow are gone as I groan, trudging along to keep pace with Noah.
" WICKED feels it's important. So yes. " Noah pushes his glasses up on his nose.
" I'm just a kid! "
" The smartest one here. They just want your opinion on something. " Noah smiles at me, and I feel a boost of confidence but I still don't want to go talk to WICKED. They're big, and scary.
I open my eyes. Which of those actually happened? I don't know what to believe anymore. I wish I could feel numb to everything, just block it all out and forget that reality exists. There isn't even a cure for the Flare yet; how can I be expected to live in a hell like this? It's not even comparable to hell anymore. It's fifty times worse.
I hear a door slide open and the ceiling changes to a soft grey. I don't fight as the set me down on the bed and start taking measurements. My moment of effort is gone. If I can't control myself, my thoughts, my emotions, why can't WICKED do it for me, like they always did?
The scientist—or doctor, whatever she is—is talking to me, but it sounds like I'm deep in a pool of water. I don't want to hear what she has to say, because it can't possibly be helpful. The only thing that could be helpful would be a guide. Something to point out what's real and fictitious so I can get rid of this grogginess in my mind. Everything feels slow and too fast at the same time. Sometimes, when I'm just laying here, I'll remember something happy and burst out laughing, and then have something else pop up and I'll start crying.
I want to believe that I was with WICKED, that I love Newt and Minho and Noah and my mo—Mrs. Kittredge. The other things, the memories of me out in the field playing, or in a small kitchen table eating, they don't feel real. They seem fake.
" Louisa! "
Am I going to be like this forever?
Probably, since forever to me is only going to be a matter of days.
" Louisa, look at me. "
The sun, or artificial white lights? Shorts and a T-shirt or a dress and lab coat?
A hand grabs my face and my eyes dart over to the person who did it, a growl starting in the back of my throat, a curse on my tongue, but anything I was going to say is choked off.
" Louisa. " Noah breathes out in relief. " Thank God your still alive. They wouldn't let me monitor the Trials so I had no idea what you were going through. I'm so sorry I let them take you out there. "
Was he lying? Can I trust him? Can I trust myself?
" Noah? " My voice cracks as I take in his familiar white lab coat, messy brown hair and thick rimmed glasses. He's alive. " I thought you and mom were dead. They were—they were torturing me and then, and then— "
Did that really happen?
" It's okay, now. " He says. " You may have one and a half legs, be covered in scars, and you're losing your mind, but it's okay. You're alive. And that's something to be thankful for. "
" How do I know I can trust you? " I ask, my voice thick with tears. " How do I know you don't hate me like our—your—mother does? "
His green eyes are glossy. " Because, we may not share the same blood, but I am your brother. And I am here for you Louisa. "
All those times in the Scorch when I cried because I thought he was dead, the things I said, the things I did. The grief, the anger, the sadness and sorrow. All of it was for nothing. Because he's alive. Noah, he's alive. Living, breathing, surviving.
One of the men dressed in black behind him sniffles.
" Let's go get breakfast. " Noah says as I sit up. " Piggyback ride? "
" It's the only way. " I say, while rubbing at my eyes. He turns his back to me and crouches, and I get on his back. He stands, and we leave the room and the crying scientists behind.
" First, we are stopping by your room. " He says, " I am not letting you in front of a bunch of people dressed like that. "
I laugh.
…..
We walk into the dining hall. I had put a black shirt on to go with my black running shorts, but I am still barefoot. I don't see the point in putting on one shoe, and it's just a foot. If someone doesn't like it, they can get over it.
The lights are softer in this room, reducing the gleam coming off of the metal tables. The clatter of silverware and chatter of people is too loud for me compared to the quietness of the past two weeks. My eyes automatically search the room for the Familiars, and I'm not surprised when I find them sitting together at the same table, laughing with each other and talking to girls from Group B. I hide my face on Noah's back.
" Where do you want to sit? " He asks me. I barely lift my head to reply.
" Away from anyone I know. " I'm not ready to face anyone else, considering I can barely handle being by myself. Even being in this room is causing my head to hurt, but I'm painfully hungry so I deal with it as Noah sits me down at a table on the opposite side of the room.
" I'll be right back. "
" Breakfast pizza, please. " I say to his back as he maneuvers between the people and round tables, making his way to the kitchens. I keep my head lowered just in case Minho sees me, because now he knows I'm alive, and he might start looking for me. I wouldn't know how to handle a conversation.
Although, my hair might be a giveaway.
I dare a glance up at their table and find every single one of them missing.
My heart skips a beat as I frantically look around. If they try to talk to me, I don't care if I'm missing half a leg. I will run, and I will get away.
" Everything okay? " Noah asks as he sits down, carrying two trays. He slides one over to me and I look down at the dull food, my stomach growling. It's breakfast pizza with eggs, cheese, onion, green pepper, bacon, ham, and sausage. Basically the most unhealthy, salty thing on the universe.
" Yea, it's fine. " I say, picking the slice up and taking a bite. It tastes orgasmic after the little bit of bland food I had in the Scorch. I drink from the cup of water on my tray, then take another bite.
" I have an idea on how to help you sort through real and not real. " Noah says, not touching his own plate of food. It makes me wary of mine, but I'm too hungry to care.
" What is it? " I ask through a mouth full of food.
" Ask me, and I'll tell you. "
My chewing slows and I narrow my eyes at him. I still don't know if I can trust him. But, since I can't trust myself, I have to trust someone who knew me before, right?
" When did I arrive at WICKED? "
" Age 14. Ava inserted the Swipe and constructed false memories so you would think you lived here. "
" Did I have any friends? " My pizza is forgotten on my plate.
Noah smiles. "A few. "
" Minho? "
" Yes. "
" Newt? "
" Mhm. "
" Thomas? "
" Not so much. " Noah says, finally deciding to eat his own food. I try to sort things into two different piles in my mind. I didn't arrive at WICKED when I was five or six, like I had originally thought. I arrived eight years later. I was still friends with Newt, Minho, Thomas. So I can trust them. Does that mean every memory I have of being at WICKED before the age of fourteen isn't true?
But why do they feel so real?
I guess the only way to gain confirmation about what's real and what isn't is to talk to people I think I know. Which means dealing with everything I've been through and thought I've been through.
Someone hugs me from behind.
" I thought you died. " Lee says in a breathy voice. How did I know that was going to happen? He plants a kiss on my cheek and then sits down next to me, too close for my comfort. I scoot away.
" I still hate you, Louisa. " Lee says, propping a hand under his chin. " I just missed you. "
How can you hate someone and miss someone at the same time? But, this must mean that I actually did trick Lee. I hurt him and then ran away into the Scorch.
Okay.
Progress.
" Noah, can I have a notebook? " I ask, electing not respond to Lee. I could feel his reddish eyes on me, looking at every scar that I collected in the Scorch. I rub my hand at the cut there from the glass, hating the way it itches.
" Yea. I'll bring one to your room. "
" Louisa, where is the rest of your leg? " Lee asks, finally noticing that I can't walk. I glance down at my leg, or lack of one, frowning.
" In the Scorch. "
He pulls me into a bone crushing hug. " What did they do to you? "
A harsh laugh escapes my lips. What didn't WICKED do to me? Here I am, talking to two people I thought were dead, about trying to figure out what is real and what isn't. My mind can't tell the difference between dreams and reality anymore, and I have more scars on my body than I care to count.
" Let go, Lee. Get over what happened because I'm trying to. " I say, pushing him off. I shove my tray away, no longer hungry. I want to go back to my room. I want to curl back into that ball and just sit there.
" What happened isn't something you can just get over, Louisa. "
He's right. I know he's right. I've survived the Trials, but at what cost? I'm missing half a limb, my body is scarred and aches constantly. My mind is fractured and broken and nothing makes sense. That's why I should just die. Noah is here. He is here to see the world saved, so I don't have to be here anymore, do I? Do I have to suffer any longer? There are no deaths for me to avenge, so what is my use? Why do I have to exist in such a hellish way?
What's the point of me living?
" I want to go back to my room. " I say, panic rising even though I'm fighting it. My hands start to shake and my heart is rattling in my chest. What is this? My breathing starts to speed up and soon enough I'm hyperventilating. I can hear Noah but I can't make out the words. They aren't comprehensive. I feel like I can't draw air in fast enough; am I being smothered?
Noah walks over to pick me up, but I can't trust him. He had a hand in tampering with my memories. What's to say he isn't going to do it again?
" Don't touch me. " I say, holding my hands out to keep him away.
" Louisa… " He keeps coming closer, concerned. My head feels light.
" Do not touch me! " I scream, standing. I wish I could walk away. I wish I could storm away. I don't want to be here with everyone. I'm right in the middle of WICKED headquarters, the people that took me from my family and tortured me. Someone is going to hurt me, someone is going to hurt me, someone is going to hurt me. There is no way I'm safe. There is no way I'm never getting hurt again.
" Lo? " I look over my shoulder and find Minho standing there, eyes wide. The rest of the Familiars are behind him, shell shocked. But I don't care if they see me roughy now; I just want to leave. Minho takes a cautious step towards me, like I'm a bomb ready to explode.
Him. He's familiar. I know him. I have to know him. We were in the Scorch together. He carried me on his back for an entire night because I was passed out and couldn't walk. He helped me escape in the Maze after I thought I killed Reed, wanting to help but unwilling to let me go. He has been there for me when I needed him.
This was Minho, and I could trust him.
" Take me to my room, please. Minho. " I plead. I'm trembling as he picks me up; I wrap my arms around him and bury my face into his neck. People stare but I don't care. Everything is too loud and too quiet at the same time and I just want to leave.
We leave, entering the cool hallway. I immediately feel better, like I have room to breathe. But I'm still shaking, scared, that we'll run into someone and I'll get hurt again. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to get air in but unable to. The only thing I'm able to think about is the feeling that something bad is about to happen.
….
When I open my eyes again, I'm in my room and on my bed. The blankets are pulled around me and I'm curled into a ball, facing the wall. I'm calm, my breathing even, my heartbeat normal. My head is aching, but that's normal these days.
I must have blacked out.
Or maybe that didn't actually happen. What if Brenda comes in through the door, chastising me for not showing up for training on time? What if I never went into the Scorch?
My door opens and I sit up, half expecting to see her, long hair pulled back in a ponytail instead of cut short, but instead I find Minho with a cup of water in his hand and a notebook and pencil in the other. His hair is gelled up as usual, his clothes nearly the same he wore in the Maze. The familiar sight of him makes me want to cry for some reason.
" You okay? " He asks as I sit up. I wipe at my face, erasing any possibility of tears.
" I'm— " I stop. I'm not fine. I need help. I'm sick of lying. " Are you okay? "
He pauses, but walks forward and hands me the cup of water. I gratefully take it, my hands still a little shaky, causing ripples in the water inside. I take a sip.
" Honestly, no. " He laughs softly, a hand on the back of his neck as he sets the notebook and pencil on my bed.
" We're both screwed up then. " I try to laugh, but it comes out too forced. " What's the matter with you? "
Any thoughts about the two lives in my head leave for just the briefest of seconds.
" Nightmares. What about you? " He says it like it's no big deal, but I know that nightmares are hell. That they haunt you throughout the day and come to life in the darkness of your sleep.
I don't hesitate to tell Minho about what happened. I feel as though he's the one person I could trust. Sure, I can trust Noah to an extent, but I know Minho. It's just a shame he doesn't know me.
" They finally removed the Swipe. " I say, taking a deep breath. I scoot back until I hit the wall and hug my knee to my chest. Minho sits next to me, his hand resting in between us.
" I thought you already had yours removed. " I look at his hand, how clean it is. How clean he is. In the Maze and Scorch there was always a layer of dirt on his skin and clothes, but now, save for a few scars, his skin looks smooth.
I shake my head no. " They lied. They were feeding me memories, sad, happy, that feel so real. When they removed the Swipe, everything got scrambled in my head and I can't— " I take a shuddering breath, " I don't know what's real, Minho. "
He grabs my hand and holds it in his, rubbing circles on my thumb. " I know I won't be of much help with things before the Maze, but everything during the Trials I can help you with. "
Months worth of memories he could help me with. Him and Newt. All of the Familiars can help me. I shouldn't have pushed them away these past two weeks, but I needed time to cope. Which I'm still not really doing but now I'm reaching out. I'm just glad that Minho, Minho, is here.
I look down at our joined hands on the bed. " Thank you. If there is anything I can ever do to help you with your nightmares, please, let me know. You've done so much for me. "
" I will. " He says through a yawn.
I notice the bags under Minho's eyes, dark and prominent. How bad are his nightmares? Are they like mine, where everyone I've ever seen die blames me for their deaths? Or does he dream of his friends dying? Either way, he needs sleep. His eyelids seem heavy, and their dropping further and further by the second.
" Lay down, Minho. Sleep. " I move forward to the edge of the bed, grabbing the notebook and pencil on my way. Minho falls over, his head landing on the pillow I've clutched to my chest so many times, wondering while I was still here. I open the note book to the first crisp white page, and I put the pencil on it. As soon as I go to write something down, the first memory, all words in the english language fly out of my mind.
And a hand clamps down on my bicep.
" Minho? "The word ends in a slight squeal as he pulls me back, causing me to fall next to him. He hugs me close, his hands on my waist and side as he nestles his head in the crook of my neck. " Minho..? "
" Shh. Sleep. " His hair tickles my cheek. A few moments later he's snoring softly, lost to the realm of sleep. I hope he isn't having a nightmare, but by the relaxed look on his face, I'd say he isn't. He seems peaceful, with no sign of stirring anytime soon. I don't close my eyes for fear of remembering something or fear of waking up and having this be nothing but a dream.
But, eventually, my eyes drift shut and I fall asleep with Minho's arms around me.
So that just happened. Louisa has completely lost her mind.
And that was my attempt at writing a panic attack, by the way. I've only ever had one before, and that was a couple of years ago. I don't really remember what it was like so I used my trusty friend google.
If you think that Louisa's POV is all over the place, it's me trying to figure out how the hell you write in someone's head that's like that. I mean dang. She'll constantly be doubting herself and others, never really fully trusting anyone.
I always get so nervous when I post a new story, ugh.
Have a nice day, evening, morning, afternoon, night, I'm going to go eat my breakfast and try to figure out why the hell my cover isn't loading.