CHAPTER NINE

Red...

Blood dripping from the walls.

Claws flashed and fangs sunk into the unarmoured throat, ripping and tearing...

Snarls and growls filled the air, along with the stench of terror.

He had to go somewhere, he had to go to someone...

But WHO?

He couldn't see anything and the darkness was pressing onto him from all sides.

Someone was calling him, crying out so loud their voice cracked.

A flash of strawberry blonde hair whipping through the air, a molten brown, fear-filled pair of eyes, a flash of red...

Thomas woke up with adrenaline rushing through his veins, gasping for breath but very much alert. His eyes mapped his surroundings with the wariness of a veteran soldier. His body was still in the fight-or-flight mode, so tense that he seemed to be carved from granite.

It was still dark and everyone was asleep. Well, everyone except him apparently.

Thomas didn't know what to make of his dreams. Everytime he woke up, he could always feel the echo of the tumultuous emotions that his dreams had invoked in him. He didn't know what to think of the life he had probably led before this whole Maze and loss of memory fiasco. It also ticked him off that he couldn't remember what exactly his dreams were made of.

He had a feeling that his memories weren't actually lost but were, instead, suppressed. That might explain how he kept dreaming about things that he wasn't supposed to remember. Even right then, whatever knowledge he had gotten from his dreams was starting to fade away like mist under the sun. The harder he tried to grasp it, the faster it dispersed.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Chuck gave a loud, rumbling snore as he turned over in his hammock.

Thomas chuckled.

Chuck was like a breath of fresh air in the Glade.

Thomas first noticed it on his first day there. The other boys looked world-weary. That's the only way Thomas could describe them. They carried a lot of weight on their shoulders. He guessed that every day that goes by without them finding a way out of the Maze only added to that weight.

Even though none of them remembered their lives from before, Thomas knew that they were all working to go home. Because, in the end, only the hope of going home, hopefully somewhere safe, could have kept them all from breaking apart and crumbling under the ever-growing pressure.

Maybe it was because Chuck was the most recent addition to the Gladers, other than Thomas himself, but he was still untouched by the hopelessness. The other Gladers knew that too. Thomas realised that the others considered Chuck to be the kid of the group. And even though they gave him a hard time, he had seen how Chuck's innocence and laughter always brought a smile to their faces and loosened some of their tension.

Thomas had only been in the Glade for a few weeks and already, he had started considering Chuck to be like his younger brother. He was certainly feeling that vicious protectiveness towards him.

He only wished that the Maze wouldn't corrupt him and make him lose his smile.

Like it did to Newt.

It was morning.

Thomas was stretching himself when he saw Newt looking particularly grim, staring at something. Turning, he saw that Alby was getting ready to run into the Maze with Minho.

Thomas frowned. Why would Alby want to go into the Maze? He was not a runner, as far as Thomas knew.

Chuck came up behind him and jostled his shoulder. Thomas glanced down at him. Chuck was looking at Newt, his brows furrowing in concern.

"What's up with Alby?" Thomas asked.

"Oh, he wants to search the Maze to see if there's anything different. Or suspicious." Chuck said, looking up at Thomas. His head came up to Thomas' shoulder.

"Why? What does he think he's gonna find?"

"I don't know. But they were saying that it's because of Ben."

"Ben?" Thomas didn't understand.

"Ben was stung, Thomas." Chuck was looking at Thomas as though he was being particularly slow.

"Yeah, he was..."

"Thomas, Ben was stung. In broad daylight." Chuck's face was grave, his voice weighed with tension.

"That has never happened before, has it?" Thomas stated rather than questioned.

Chuck slowly shook his head.

"Never."

His emphatic answer managed to send a shiver down Thomas's spine.

Newt knew that he wasn't being his usual self. He knew, but he still couldn't help it.

He was worried. Alby and Minho, his two best friends since what seemed like forever, had gone into the Maze.

Newt couldn't stop his brain from conjuring up images of them getting hurt or coming up against a Griever. What if something happened and they couldn't get out in time? What if they got hurt? What if, what if, what if...

He was utterly sick of it!

And he knew it was wrong to take it out on the others. After realising that's what he had been doing, he clammed up and shut everyone out. He kept his facial expressions and the entirety of his emotions under tight control.

He also kept his distance from Thomas. Newt knew that if there was any person who could tear down his walls without even trying, it was the greenie. To be quite honest, that scared him.

So, it really was better for him to stay as far as possible from...

Newt's brain sputtered and crashed.

The reason for his sudden loss of mental capabilities was a shirtless Thomas who was chopping up firewood. He had probably been at it for a longer time since he had sweat gleaming on his forehead and torso. The play of his muscles as he swung the axe made Newt gulp. He wasn't the only one either. Newt saw how some other boys stumbled in their works when they glanced at a sweaty Thomas. Newt couldn't even blame them when he himself was gaping at him.

There was a sweat droplet that captured Newt's entire attention. He traced its path as it rolled down his jaw, down that pale expanse of a neck which was marked with freckles just like stars decorated the night sky. He was overcome with an intense desire to trace a path between those freckles with his tongue.

The droplet rolled down his chest and his abs, into the waistline of his pants. His concentration was broken when his eyes caught the hint of a scar.

Newt frowned.

There wasn't just one scar. There were many. Looking at the crisscrossing, silvery patterns, Newt was filled with horror and rage. Horror that someone as bright as Thomas had to suffer as much as the scars suggested that he had and blind rage at the person who had dared to hurt him.

Newt knew that the Gladers getting out was a future that was more hope than reality. And yet, he made himself a promise that no matter what, Thomas wasn't going back to his former life without Newt by his side.

It was then that Thomas looked up and caught Newt's eyes. It was both startling and heart warming how his face brightened up with a goofy smile and his eyes sparkled. He looked genuinely happy to see Newt. There was also some unreadable emotion that darkened his eyes and made Newt feel as though his blood was on fire.

Newt then put the thoughts of murder and untold violence against the people who had been the cause of pain for Thomas, at the back of his mind. He could always fantasize about it later. Right now, Newt stared as Thomas walked towards him, wiping at his neck and chest with his shirt.

Newt swallowed the whimper that threatened to escape.

"Hey Newt," Thomas greeted, his gravelly voice causing Newt's pulse to quicken.

"Tommy, hard at work?" Newt pretended that his voice didn't break embarrassingly.

Even though Newt tried to ignore how his voice broke like a prepubescent teenager, Thomas had no qualms in openly grinning, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Newt averted his eyes for a second, feeling his cheeks burn, and then glared at Thomas, or atleast tried to, since Thomas smiling like a fool was a sight that warmed him to his very soul and prevented him from maintaining the facade of anger.

"Come on, Tommy," chuckled Newt. "Let's take a walk."

The two of them walked around the Glade, talking and laughing. Thomas seemed to be especially gifted in being able to make Newt laugh. Other Gladers stopped their work and glanced at them, Newt in particular, whenever the rare sound of Newt's laughter reached them.

It would be very much later that Newt would realise that Thomas had successfully made him forget his worries, without even trying.

"Come on! You can make it! Come on, Alby! Come on, Minho!"

Every Glader was standing, quivering with anticipation, at the entrance of the Maze, screaming encouragement at the limping forms of Alby and Minho. Newt was shouting the loudest.

Thomas knew that they couldn't make it. Alby was hurt, Minho was insistent on bringing Alby with him. This disabled him from running. He looked at Newt.

Thomas then did what he felt was the right thing to do. He was not someone who could just stand by and watch two people get killed; and that's what was going to happen if they got caught in the Maze.

Also, Thomas knew that losing Alby and Minho could very well be the final straw for Newt. He wouldn't just stand by as Newt crumbled. He couldn't.

So, not heeding Newt's panicked cries, Thomas ran.

"No, Tommy, NO! Tommy, don't you dare! Come back!"

This time it was Thomas who pretended that he didn't hear the way Newt's voice broke in the last sentence.

As the walls shut with a bang, Newt crumpled to the ground, hitting the walls with his fists, sobbing as his heart shattered.

In a single moment, Newt had not only lost his two best friends, his brothers, but also Thomas, who had already been on the way of becoming something more.

He didn't think he would ever be able to piece himself together after what had just happened.

A/N:

If you find any mistakes do let me know.

Hope you guys enjoyed it.