"They were right-this is useless."
I hate myself for saying it. But I've been searching the Maze almost all day. I haven't even seen a trace of Newt-not the slightest clue as to where he is. I realized, a while ago, that he couldn't still be alive. Now I'm just searching for his body-as much as it hurts me-and making no progress at all.
I sigh, looking up at the orange sun. It should be somewhere around late afternoon, judging by the sun's position.
I internally make a decision, one I've been avoiding since I stepped foot in the Maze.
It's time to turn back.
Newt is dead.
I hang my head as I trudge back through familiar corridors, not even bothering to look anymore. Sadness overwhelms me, and all I can think about is how this is all my fault.
Newt went in the Maze for me. As much as he didn't want to, he did, for me. As much as the Maze terrified him, he followed me in. And he saved me instead of himself.
"Why, Newt? Why not yourself?"
A tear rolls down my cheek as my body fills with guilt.
Newt's death was my fault. I can't bear the thought of living, knowing that I did this to him.
A moan echoes through the Maze, interrupting my thoughts.
That's just dandy. The Grievers can kill me now-maybe I'll get to see Newt when I'm dead.
I scoff. Like I deserve to ever lay eyes on Newt again-even in another life, he'll surely hate me for what I did. I never deserved to even know him in the first place.
Another groan sounds, louder this time, and I stop in my tracks.
That doesn't sound like a Griever.
It sounds like Newt.
My heart fills with hope. I call his name, unbelievingly.
"Newt? Newt, is that you?"
I hear the faintest mumbling down a pathway to my left.
Without wasting a moment, I bolt down the corridor. My eyes search wildly, finally settling on a misshapen lump in the corner of the dead end. My heart feels like a bass drum, thumping loudly in my chest. I want to call his name, but I can't speak.
I finally reach the object, and my eyes confirm that it's Newt's rumpled form. I fall to my knees and cradle his head in my hands, looking into his soft brown eyes as I sob with relief. They're slightly glazed over, but after a moment, they focus on my face.
"Kelly," he says, almost inaudibly, the slightest bit of happiness showing in his eyes.
Forget friendship.
I lean forward, connecting his lips with mine and lacing my arms around his neck. He's surprised for a moment, but then he leans into the kiss, pulling me onto his lap and wrapping his long arms around my waist.
Nothing else matters in that one moment. It doesn't matter where we are, or who sees us, or how much he probably hates me right now. Just Newt and I, just us.
When I finally pull out of the kiss, Newt smiles faintly. I have tears running down my cheeks, and the most unreal sense of relief settles in my chest.
"You're alive!" I cry, hugging him and burying myself in the familiar folds of his clothes and his amazing scent.
I feel him tense up, wincing when I press my body to his.
I immediately pull away, worried.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Then I see it, and my heart stops. How could I have been so blind, so greedy, only concerned about myself?
His shirt is stained a mix of sickly brown and bright red. The blood covers almost every inch of the fabric, soaking him to the bone. I can see it in his face, his hollowed cheeks and pale skin.
He's losing so much blood, too much blood.
I quickly pull up his shirt, preparing myself for terrible wounds. But what I see is even worse than I could've ever imagined.
Griever stings are scattered over his chest, at least four or five blood-covered wounds. It looks like he's been this way for a while-sitting here, losing blood, waiting for the end to come.
Newt is dying in my arms.
A/N:
I am a terrible person, I know. But at least I updated three times in one night, right? Nah, I'm still terrible.