Tasha had spent the better part of the day swinging idly in her hammock, rocking back and forth and wondering if she could spend her entire life there. She considered going to find Newt, but she was certain he would be mad at her for leaving the Med-Jack hut in the first place and she didn't know if she could deal with him at that moment. The Deadheads was an option she considered, but ultimately decided against it, knowing the inevitable sadness it would lead her into. For the time being, she was content being numb and full of discomfort. She moped about when supper was announced, delaying the inevitable meeting of herself and any other Glader. She wasn't sure why she didn't want to see any of them, she just knew that she felt off. She are her stew in silence and trying to steady her breathing, mentally berating herself for her semi-breakdown in front of the Greenie.
"Tasha!" Someone snapped her name and she was brought out of her trance to look up and around, confused. "What are you doing?" It's Newt and his voice was hard and cold as he loomed over her, hands calm by his sides. Tasha frowned up at him, feeling the 'I told you so' playing in the back of her head, doing nothing to help her bitter mood. "You're hurt." There was concern in his eyes as he cupped her face, his fingers gently pulling through the wispy tips of her chestnut locks. "There's blood in your hair." He told her, softly and Tasha's face went from confused to surprised and she gingerly touched the back of her head with her spoon-free hand. The point of contact stung and her fingers came away red and slick with blood. She swallowed thickly and looked up at him, he looked back as though she was a naughty child. "You shouldn't have left the Med-Jack hut." He hissed quietly. Tasha turned away, breaking both his gaze and his hold on her face, to look at the Maze doors.
"Ben is my friend-" Her voice was quiet and resolute, but Newt's turned harsh as he snapped at her.
"Ben was your friend." He emphasised. "Then he attacked you, attacked Tommy and now he's-" Newt blanched and Tasha felt tears welling in her eyes, her stomach curling into tight knots of guilt.
"What? Say it Newt." She rasped as he straightened out, having bent down beside her. He crossed his arms across his chest and sighed deeply.
"Now he's as good as dead." Newt snarled at her, his eyes full of remorse, contrasting his tone.
Tasha had expected it, but she couldn't help the tear that slipped down her cheek at finally hearing it. "Slinthead." She spat at him, shoving her chair back and looking up at him. The chair clattered to the ground and her soup sat forgotten on the table. Her anger hardly dissipated when faced with Newt standing several inches taller than her. She balled up her fists and poked him in the chest with her blood-smeared pointer-finger, leaving a crimson fingerprint on his t-shirt. "You don't know what its like out there." She hissed at him, glaring. Newt's eyes widened and Tasha saw him glance around quickly.
"And neither do you." His voice was softer now, calmer, with a different quality; a warning. Tasha closed her mouth, fire in her eyes, words on her tongue that she refused to speak. "Go back to the Med-Jacks, get some sleep. Minho wants you running tomorrow." He sounded exhausted and looked displeased, as if he would prefer Tasha to be resting for the next few days rather than less than one. Tasha's expression softened and she ran her thumb across his cheekbone, smoothing out the bags beneath his eye for the moment. He sighed again and Tasha can see how tired he is, how much he just needs to rest, how much he worries and its his fear for her that makes him angry.
"Sleep." She told him, softly. Newt's smile was barely a strained quirk of his lips, but it made Tasha's heart sink.
"Can't promise anything." He muttered and someone called from the other side of the Glade, which pulled his attention from her. Gally and Winston were waiting by the Deadheads, each holding a torch. Gally had something else, which Tasha recognised to be the stone pick used for carving names into the wall. A shudder ran through her body and she felt as if she had been plunged into icy water. Ben was her friend.
"You?" She asked, and Newt nodded, petting her on the head, careful to avoid her injury.
"Go. Get fixed up." He nodded to the Med-Jack hut and called out for the others to wait for him as he limped over to them. The three of them began their walk through the Deadheads to the wall of names and Tasha gulped, forcing herself to take a deep breath. There's no way out. Tasha huffed out a tired sigh and made her way slowly to Jeff who was taking his bowl back to the kitchen, and nudged his shoulder.
"Hey Tash, you OK?" He asked, and the two of them walked back to the hut side-by-side in the light of the numerous torches scattered about. Tasha pressed her fingers to her wound, wincing, and Jeff nodded at the sight of blood glistening in the firelight. He pushed through the door without a word and nodded to the bed she had occupied earlier in the day, still rumpled from her quick get away, and got another bowl of warm water and set medical supplies. Tasha stretched herself onto the mattress on her stomach, lying with her head tilted towards the wall to give Jeff access to the back of her head. She hissed with pain when he began to cut and subsequently re-thread the stitches of her wound, but in the Glade, they had to carefully ration their painkillers for more important injuries like broken bones. She wouldn't have accepted them anyway, she doesn't ever having taken pain killers. Despite this, she was able to push the pain out of her head and gently doze off as Jeff worked away at fixing her head. She flinched when she felt her shoulder being prodded roughly, but Jeff was snickering.
"Nice nap, sleeping beauty?" He asked as Tasha scrubbed her hand over her face and yawned.
"Had better." She mumbled, pushing herself off of the bed and staggering to her feet. Jeff caught her arm and directed her towards the door, chattering away as he did so.
"Well, you're all good. Just lie on your side or something. I don't want you becoming a regular, you hear me?" He grinned at her and Tasha nodded, small smile on her face as she exited. He closed the door behind her with a soft thump that all the doors made, and she shuffled from the Med-Jack hut to the homestead, brain still half asleep and just looking for her own hammock to lie down in. It had been a big day. She walked behind the bunks that housed the newest Gladers and caught the tail end of a conversation between Thomas and Chuck. She hesitated, feeling as if she should apologise to Thomas for snapping at him earlier. She paused outside of their section, ready to walk up to him and simply admit she shouldn't have been so rude, but she couldn't. She knew what she knew. He asked too many questions anyway.
"Do you think he might make it?" Thomas's voice was hopeful and Tasha sighed quietly. She had been too rude, the kid was trying to survive and after only a day had a veteran of the Maze warn him against it.
"Ben?" Asked Chuck, Tasha's insides squirming at the name, with guilt and sadness. "No. No-one survives a night in the maze." Her fingers reflexively clenched into fists before she relaxed them and plucked at the hem of her shirt. There was a deep sigh from the kid and he began to shuffle onto his side within his hammock. "You just have to forget about him." Tasha nodded, taking the advice for herself despite it's intended target being Thomas not her. She picked up her pace and made her way into one of the shared Runner bunking areas. The rest of the Runners were all curled up in their bunks and Tasha would have bet anything that none of them were sleeping. No-one usually got sleep after they lost someone to the maze, everyone pretended. She smirked bitterly to herself, like they didn't pretend anyway. The maze was Hell. She pulled off her shirt and hesitated before she pulled on a loose cotton t-shirt and got into her hammock, and wriggled out of her pants.
It took her hours of staring at the wall, laying on her side and listening to the slow, controlled breathing of her teammates before she finally dropped off. Her sleep was fitful, usual terrified dreams of sounds and people she couldn't place, threaded through with bloody fingerprints, bruises and terrified wide eyes peering through a large, stone door. There's fire and the sound of metal tapping against stone and the unmistakable sound of laughter from somewhere beyond the Maze doors that melts into a blood-curdling, horrified scream that she thinks she may have replicated herself because one of the Runners is shaking her awake.
"Tasha! Tash, it's a nightmare!" He's saying, but she can't hear him, she just screams until she simply stops silent, sitting bolt upright in her hammock. She looks around and the rest of them are peering at her through sleep-fogged vision, but they all seem to understand her at that moment. The moon doesn't shine but the stars twinkle and she can see them through cracks in the roof. She swallowed hard, trying to still the erratic beating of her heart, and wipe her sweaty palms on her shirt before curling into a tighter ball and shooting for dreamless sleep.
She doesn't get it, of course, but it's not nearly as painful as her first dream, it's more of a memory, hidden in the dark, forgotten corners of her mind, filled with more people and places and things she can't remember. In her dreamy haze, she thinks that someone is talking to her, but it can't be because her name is not 'Ross'. But she hears it again and again: 'Don't worry, Ross.' They tell her, and somehow she doesn't. Doesn't worry, doesn't cry, doesn't flinch in the bright light of the operating room. The operating room? She's not sure how she got there, but she doesn't worry. There's pain, but somehow she feels disconnected from it, as if she's full of medication that's only slightly ineffective; she probably is, she mused. The lights get brighter until they're blinding and she feels so much pain it's as if her thighs are on fire. Lights of the operating room turn to the sun and she's blinking away the tears in her eyes. She doesn't wake up screaming this time, or maybe she did, but only for a little bit, because her throat's sore but not too sore so maybe it's ok. It's a fifty-fifty chance though, as she wakes up screaming most nights at this point and the others have started getting sick of her, amid their own nightmares. Maybe I should look into getting my own room, she thought quietly, lying in her hammock and swinging idly, having almost enough motivation to get ready for the day. She just needed a few minutes more.