My brain was scattered. How - why? - would Minho do that? If someone told me to do something I would listen to them. But...would I let someone go and kill themselves right in front of my eyes? This isn't about me. I told him to go away. I told him no. But yet here I was, being dragged across the Glade like a child by my bruised wrists to where ever Minho wants. Maybe I could use that. Maybe since to everyone else here, I am nothing but a small helpless girl, I could use them to hurt myself. Maybe just maybe-
"Is the note really true?"
I was broken out of my thoughts by the shuck-face squeezing my wrist. I didn't answer him, though. But it proves that he must have seen the note and most likely picture. At least I know that the note was the whoosh! that I heard, or it means that Newt told other people because I only told Newt that, so now more people know. What will that mean? It was only to Newt. Will someone pay for it? And why, out of the few days I've been in the Glade, does Minho want to have a conversation now? I just wanted to be alone - forever.
"Well then," Minho said. "If you ain't gonna talk, I will tell Alby and he will know about your little attempt."
"He's going to find out anyways," I snapped. "I am sure Newt will find out and tell him."
"And the punishment?"
"That is a threat!" I yelled and struggled to get away. I jerked and twisted and I was pretty sure it was hurting me more than it was helping me get away. His grip was just too bloody strong so I stopped moving my legs and fell to the ground in a heap.
"If I wanted you dead, She-bean, I wouldn't have just saved you shucking life." He picked me up like a bride, cradling me in his arms. It hurt, badly. But I don't know which hurt more. The words - because he was right, or his actions. He did just save my life. Did I own him, though? Most likely, but since I am me, no one would want a small, helpless girl to do anything for them because I will do it wrong. I couldn't even make a sandwich.
I looked up at Minho's face. It was unreadable. Now, Minho probably hates me more - even though I didn't think hating me more was possible - and becoming a Runner is farther than before - which I didn't think was possible either. Even though, according to everyone else in the Glade, I don't know much. But I will never give up. Ever. And eventually, Minho ending up handing me off to Clint, who was sitting in a chair, reading a magazine. I was plopped on a cot and the Med-Jack dropped the magazine on a table and ran to me.
"What now?" he mumbled.
"Well," Minho replied, leaning on the doorframe like he did in the bathroom. "Long story, actually."
"Can I have the shorter version then, Minho?" Clint asked. He placed a hand on his hip and stood over me, laying down.
"Sure," Minho answered, taking his own weight on his own feet. "I'll tell you 'cause she didn't talk to me." He smirked.
Clint signed and dropped his hand, looking to Minho. "No. You will tell me because I am a Med-Jack and I will help me to heal her. I mean, look at her - she is bruised like a Runner."
Minho pointed his figure at me. "Don't ever say she looks like a Runner," he snapped. Then walked over and whispered to Clint, even though I knew what happened. It didn't matter.
"Jesus, Lizzy!" the Med-Jack called out. "What were you thinking?"
Minho made a gagging noise and threw his hands to his mouth. Two pairs of eyes dropped to the Runner. "Ha!" he said. "She wasn't thinking, that's the thing."
"Minho, please. This is not funny," Clint responded to Minho's dry humor. "Lizzy, what happened?"
"Uh-huh," I moaned, shifting my position so I was laying slight more comfortable on my back, pillow under head. It hurt but after I moved, I felt a bit better. Just do whatever you please, Clint, I thought, I don't care anymore.
"Okay," Minho said, his attention on me. "This time, if I ask a question, will you answer it?"
I closed my eyes. I didn't move, and didn't talk. Just leave, Minho, I thought as I felt Clint's cold hands run over my wrist and pain shot threw my arm. He was finding scratches on my legs and arms. Plus the one above my eyebrow started to bleed.
Minho walked forward to me. He bend down, so close I could feel his breath. He asked: "Do you want me to get Newt?"
I opened one eye slowly and let out a small huff. "Don't tell him. I want to," I softly said.
The Runner nodded and left the hut. I turned away from the door and looked up to Clint, who was looking at me, right in my eyes. "He cares about you, don't you realize that?" he asked.
"Who?" I questioned.
"Minho."
"Pssh. Yeah right," I replied. "He only cares about himself. And food."
Clint rolled his eyes. "It's just a show, silly. He's a Runner so he acts like a big-shot," he replied. "He saved your life. It's obvious he cares. It's just, Minho isn't the best when it comes to feelings."
"No normal person would watch me get crushed to death."
"But yet you were doing to do it anyways?"
I didn't respond. How could I respond to that? I turned my head to the right and noticed another boy in the room. Small child, maybe 13, in a bed a few cots away.
"Lizzy, please, stop moving," Clint commanded. "I really don't wanna have to tie you down to get you to stop wiggling."
"Not funny," I replied looking back at Clint. "My wrists already hurts and you can surely thank someone for that."
"You are such a downer."
I turned back to the younger boy. I couldn't help but feel bad for the kid. "Hello," I said to him as Clint put ice on my wrists are started to clean out my scratches.
He looked to me. "Hi," he shyly said.
I studied him for a while as he looked around my own battered body. He was short and pudgy. His hair was a light chocolate brown, short, and curly. He didn't seem to have any injures so I wondered on why he was in the Med-Jacks' Hut. Then I remembered the Banishment. This was that poor child who had to witness it. The poor child who probably thinks I am a monster for killing Caleb. He most likely doesn't even know what Caleb tried to do. Maybe he is here trying to forget. Maybe it's not a physical injury; maybe he is broken inside. It makes sense. He is so young. So gullible and so vulnerable.
Just play it cool, Lizzy. Make him feel welcomed. "I'm Lizzy," I said with a warm smile. Of course, though, it was a fake smile. There is nothing happy about the situation we were stuck in. Nothing grand about the Glade. And I am sure he knew it was a fake smile. I'm sure Clint figured it out as well.
"My name's Chuck," he replied, eyes still draped on me, although he mimicked me with the smile. Which was also fake. I could look right through it, like it was made of glass.
"So why are you in here?" I asked, trying to get a conversation started. A conversation to help forget.
"I-I'd rather not talk about it," Chuck answered. "What about you?" Yep. Score. I was right. Here is a young boy, thrown into Satan's playhouse, who can't remember anything that makes him, him. Can't remember his parents who should still be taking care of him. So here he is, trying to do what anyone else in his place would do - get help from people who've been here longer. Try to forget the things that you were forced to not forget. And so he changes the subject, asking me what I was in the Hut for.
"To put it simply, I stumbled over Minho's huge arms and body at the edge of the Maze - when the doors were closing," I said.
"That sucks," Chuck replied.
"But like Clint said, 'He saved me.'" I pulled away when the doctor dabbed a cloth with alcohol on it on to my knee where my pants ripped and was covered in a large scratch. I let out a small yelp.
"Oh, slim it, Lizzy," Clint calmly said over my cry. "I'm trying to help; this will make sure it doesn't get an infection."
"Gee, thanks." I snapped my head back to the door where Minho and Newt scrambled inside. I looked over both of the older boys once they trampled in the Hut, broke the peace. I really hoped that Minho didn't spoil anything. But wait. Something's wrong. It was in Newt's eyes. Pain. Was I because of me? Would I have killed him too if I ran farther into the Maze? But then he ran to the side of the cot, and I saw it. There was no coving it up.
Oh no, I thought, what happened? What did I do this time?
On Newt's right cheek, there was a small cut. Like someone when by him while walking and scratched his face. Like Ryan did to me. It was about two inches long and a quarter of an inch wide. It was very messily stitched up.
Sorry. This chapter was short. The next one will be longer, I promise.
Thoughts on the story so far?