CHAPTER 41
The Keeper Of Memories ✃✃✃✃✃✃✃✃✃It would take years for William to get used to the Safe Haven's bed. He woke up in the middle of dawn, eyes drowning in the astonishing sunlight and chest aching with anticipation. Freedom, the word no longer made that once fuzzy feeling appear around his stomach like it had during the prior day's celebration. Not for any reason in particular. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, supposedly. The Safe Haven in itself was already an oddity for him and, as far as they let on, his group. It was too quiet, too peaceful. The chance that a threat could appear at any moment was close to none. Yet they couldn't seem to relax.
The handle of the knife that he had smuggled when nobody was looking pocked his shoulder under the pillow. It wasn't all that uncomfortable, he was used to it. However, it didn't sit right with his conscience. If anybody outside his group were to find it, wouldn't they think that he didn't trust them? That he was preparing himself for someone to attack? He wasn't, of course, but that could perfectly well be the feeling that finding a knife under someone's pillow could give. There was no way he could simply leave the knife back in its place though. He needed it to sleep safe and sound. At least for now.
Footsteps nearby his bed drove his hand under his pillow in a heartbeat. Unnecessary as all his worries. The footsteps belonged to Thomas, who was too deep in thought on his way to the pillar to notice William looking at him directly. His friend walked by barely two beds and a hammock away from him, enough to see his face perfectly.
A crutch would never be discrete nor silent, yet William attempted his best not to awake Newt, who slept in a hammock almost over his own bed, and Aris, the occupant of the bed beside him. Like the day before, the first few steps were complicated. Past the wooden steps, it was no problem. The smooth slip of even ground led him straight to his old friend, who was either too engrossed on the pillar or still angry over his little practical joke over the drink swap. In William's opinion, he had a valid reason. Thomas had tricked him first into drinking one of Gally's 'secret-recipe' drinks. It was his right to swap that for a safe one, which Thomas just so happen to have. Simple pay back.
"Are you ready to make your peace?" William whispered to Thomas's ear, having a great laugh when his friend bolted out of the way. "Who might it be, Tommy? The rest pretty much wrote down all names yesterday."
Thomas fiddled with the knife. "Ben."
That answer weighed on William greatly. "What happened to him?"
"He got stung by a Griever," Thomas began, "then attacked me, saying it was all my fault and that I shouldn't be there."
"Did you kill him?" William asked, unsure that his friend would ever be capable of doing such a thing, even without memories.
"No… well, not directly." Thomas's eyes lowered to his hands, where they stayed for a minute. "The next day at sundown he was banished from the Glade."
William wasted no time to say. "It wasn't your fault."
"I know—" Thomas answered mindlessly.
That did not convince William in the slightest. "No, Thomas, you don't. It really wasn't your fault."
Thomas shrugged it off, eyes glittering with the first signs of tears. "I know, but I could have—"
The crutch was bothersome, but even that wouldn't stop William from facing his friend. "Thomas, I'm being serious. It wasn't your fault."
A single tear escaped Thomas's right eye. "Liam…"
William extended his only free arm, which Thomas didn't hesitate to throw himself into. They collided and stumbled, but regained their footing, though at the cost of the crutch ending up on the ground. It didn't matter to William, nor did it seem as if Thomas had realised it. His leg could take some weight, and, even if it couldn't, he wouldn't make Thomas let go in the middle of crying to pick up a crutch. He could endure a little pain, it wasn't even that bad.
"It's not your fault, Thomas. None of it is your fault." He rubbed his friend's back, encouraging him to keep on crying if that was what he needed. "It never was and it never will be."
There was arguably no better day to have his friend melt into tears in his arms. They didn't have the constant fear of being found out outside of their quarters, nor were they running for their lives somewhere. It was safe. They were free to do whatever they pleased, even escape off to some remote island if they so desired. Who would stop them? Who could stop them?
Dawn had long since passed when Thomas felt the need to compose himself. William didn't fight it at all. Instead, he kept on a kind smile on his face while watching his old best friend carve Ben's name. Right under Alby's too, which Newt had carved the night before.
They stood in silence for a while, staring, remembering. Then, when tears had struck Thomas once again, he handed William the knife. "Any need to make your peace too?"
He nodded. "I should."
When the first name to be written—Irina—took long pauses and fleeting tears to be placed on to stone, Thomas felt the brave need to assure without knowing. "It wasn't your fault."
"No, Thomas," William chuckled bitterly, "her death was really my fault."
"Did you kill her?" Thomas asked, way too convinced that William would deny it when he knew perfectly well what Group S was capable of doing.
"She was Group S's first loss… I was the reason she got infected and killed," William replied. "She saved my life."
"It wasn't your fault," was all Thomas said, which got William to laugh.
"We're hopeless." William let out a sigh, the kind he used to control his expression, and, most importantly, the pricking tears that could still be held back. "I'm not even sure we'll ever get rid of the fucking Hero Complex that we have. It clearly runs deep in our veins."
"Are you sure we're not brothers?" Thomas joked.
William chuckled. "Absolutely sure. But, you know, if you want to be my brother so much, you can always be adopted into the family like Teresa, and collaterally Bea, will be."
"I'll think about it."
"Good that."
The names kept on increasing. Somehow, they were all too clear in his mind, like he had just learned them the day before. It was as if he had talked to each and every one of them last night. And the more he wrote, the more he remembered. Odd things too, like the fact that working for WICKED was an odd mercy. The treatment and food was better, the quarters were nicer, and they were given names. Earl had never named one soldier in his life. All the names William knew, each and every one of them were given solely given by WICKED, or brought with the same kids from the outside. He couldn't be happier that, despite the ban his group had implemented on names, he had gone out of his way to at least meet the new arrivals; those fresh faces that didn't last a week against the Cranks.
How awful it had been to know their names when they fell, one by one, their bodies torn by their demise, but their faces peaceful and relaxed. How great it was to know them at that moment. The use of anything but their names would have been an offence to them and their memory. No number could make up for what a name represented; a life, a person, a child.
"Shuck it!" Thomas picked up the crutch quickly and handed it to William, who simply smiled and resigned himself to keep on using it. "How long have you been without it?"
"Not that much, honestly." William shrugged. "Half an hour, probably? It doesn't matter. Teresa's not around to yell at us, don't worry."
"I'm more worried about Newt and Aris, though." Thomas sniggered and helped him get a move on.
They walked along the beach with some difficulty. William was at the verge of throwing the crutch into the sea and simply play dumb once Teresa interrogated him. At least there was someone beside him to keep him levelled. The chances to fall and break his other leg just incremented the more they walked off from the centre of the Compound. Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, which Thomas enjoyed to point out. It was probable, he wouldn't deny it. After a whole decade coexisting with Henry and Mark in the same room, one was bound to pick up bad habits.
He gulped down his sorrow and kept on walking. Memories of his old friends, his comrades, came back at every step. The good and the bad—his first day in Group S, their Tests, Irene's death, Mark's disappearance. It got to a point that even Thomas's voice could not snap him out of it. He could see Mark's smile, hear his last words, relive the death he made a pact with Thomas and Teresa to never tell their friends, not even Gally. It was all over. Mark wouldn't come back. Gally would never remember him. Thomas and Teresa wouldn't know of the pain he was keeping them from unless they remembered it by themselves. And yet the guilt would remain within his heart forever.
The Safe Haven could be a curious place to be in, but a sword would never belong in a meadow unless it was placed over a soldier's grave.
"What are we supposed to do now?" William asked out loud, not expecting any reply from anybody at all.
Thomas stopped beside him, staring at the sea like it held all the answers to their questions. "I don't know. We keep on living, I guess."
"We haven't really lived for a while, Thomas." The bitter tone was not directed directly at his friend, though William had no strength to control it. "I don't know about you, but survival has always been my top priority."
"Was it really?" the corner of Thomas's lips tucked into his cheek in one of the cheekiest smiles William had seen to date. "I distinctly remember you and Newt promising to get married when we were kids. You even told him about it in a letter six months ago."
William couldn't help but snigger. "Key word, 'kids'."
"Well, that's disappointing," said Thomas. "I really looked forward to attend to my best friends' wedding. I mean, I could have been the best man."
"One of the best men, in any case," William reminded. "And you better hope Newt chooses you over Minho, because after this I'm not asking you to be my best man."
"So you're saying you do want to marry Newt."
"Shut up, Thomas."
Uneventful days were as quick to pass by as they could be slow. William sat at the beach, watching the sun kiss the sea goodnight before slipping under the horizon. His day had been nothing but rest, eat, and rest again. All his injured leg's fault. Although, Mary hadn't even let him join the 'Artisans'; those in charge to create the work objects for Builders, Medics, Cooks, and hundred other jobs. At least he hadn't been alone. Many of his friends had been labelled 'incapable of working', though it was clear that wouldn't last for long. Mae and Newt were simply exhausted after going through the infection and dazziness of the cure. George's wound would be healed quick enough. Leen and Thomas would take a while to recover too, but not as much.
For some reason, he was almost glad of how things had turned out. Despite the losses, the pain and suffering, quite a few of them had made it out alive. They were free when he had never thought it could be possible. The first thoughts of life sparked in them like they had never before. They had hope to finally be able to do whatever they pleased. Whatever their goal was, they could take it.
William could only laugh at the thought of his younger self, feeling so overjoyed yet concerned over Newt's naive proposal. They were children playing pretend. The feelings had lingered, that much was clear. However, he wasn't sure if it was close to the marriage step. How long had they actually dated? Not much, and not at all as far as Newt was concerned. Bringing up the topic of marriage would only be out of place for a relationship that had yet to be. One couldn't expect a bud to bloom in a single day.
"You won't be planning to stay here all supper, will you?" There it was, the reason of William's forever confusion. "Mind if I sit down? Or is there an invisible man here?"
A chuckle escaped William's lips as he waved his hand a few centimetres over the sand. "No. No invisible man here. You're good."
Newt sat down beside him, burring his hands in the sand as if he would fly off the moment he let go. There was no sand in the Glade, so William had to admit that the prickly warm feeling was worth burring one's hands for. He had done the same the first time he had been at a beach, though at that time it had been to brush the dried blood off drenched hands.
"And, well, maybe," William smiled up at him, "I ate enough at dinner, to be honest. I'm full."
"He said, like that wasn't concerning at all." Newt leaned back, burring his hands further into the ground. "I know Teresa said that eating too much could upset your stomach, but could you at least eat a bit to make Aris and Abraham not pass out in worry?"
William chuckled. "Are you worried about my health or my father's and brother's potential to freak out?"
"Both," Newt put simply. "If you pass out and they freak out it's up to me to carry you princess-style to the medical hut."
"He said, like he wouldn't actually like that to happen," William shot back with a smile, waiting to see how Newt would reply to it.
"No, actually, I would probably love it if you weren't passed out," said Newt.
"You're not carrying me princess-style, Newt."
"Too bad."
Had it not been for Newt, William probably wouldn't have eaten a single thing until the next morning's breakfast. Frypan considered breakfast sacred, and he had already proved it that same morning. In his life, William had never seen a plate of food more filled than his own. Most in his group were scared for his lack appetite, yet none would deny a slice of beacon if they were offered one. He had only managed to give half his plate away when his father told him off and asked everyone not to accept anything he gave them. It had been years since Abraham had acted as his father, and yet he knew one thing about him; it wasn't in him to throw away food. So he ate everything there was left in the plate and went straight back to sleep.
If only he could do that at the moment. The idea of sleeping wasn't all too appealing after the prior night's nightmares, but, in a way, it were better than being idle. William had not one idea of what being still and relaxing was like. He could simply sit back all day and do nothing, despite the fact that he was forced to do so. The crutch could be annoying, his injured leg could have a million complaints, but he needed to move, at least for a while.
"I didn't say it back," Newt mumbled out of nowhere.
The attention that had been washed away with the constant waves and warm food came back like the swing of a bat. "What?"
Newt lowered his head somewhat. "What you said when you thought I was dead. I didn't say it back."
"I'd be surprised if you could," the words flew out of his mouth before he could process them first. "I mean, it's not like one can be all that romantic when running for their life, right? Besides, how long was it until the whole betrayal happened? Two weeks? Less? I don't think there's much time to fall in love."
"I can't believe you're saying that after we kissed," said Newt. "Twice."
"You were out of it," replied William.
Newt sighed and sat back up. "I'm not right now and I would still very much like to kiss you."
For some odd reason unknown to even himself, William chuckled at that. "Really?"
Before he could get another word in, Newt leaned in. "May I?"
With his sight trapped on Newt's lips, he whispered, "You may."
Their lips joined with a desperation unlike any other before. A hunger unknown to either of them took over their sense of reality, stripping them away from the rest of the world as they melted into the kiss. Like a pack of wolves howling, their friends showed their support in a similar manner, forcing both to separate to have a proper laugh.
Their hands found each other once their laughter died down, and their foreheads were inches away, when William's concerns took over him. "Are you sure about this? It's not too late to go back to being just friends."
"Yeah, actually, I think it is too late." Newt sniggered. "Li, will you relax for once? I won't get on one knee any time soon. It's not like I want to speed-run my way into our relationship. We can take one step at a time if that's what you want."
It took a minute for William to nod. "I'd like that."
Newt gave his hands a short squeeze the moment their eyes met. "So, William, would you be my boyfriend?"
"Well, that's not very romantic." A smile took over William's face, but he couldn't help imagining just how starstruck his not-yet-boyfriend would be if he were to deny. "But I understand you didn't have much time to prepare so I'll accept regardless."
With a swift, yet incredibly dramatic, roll of his eyes, Newt said, "You're so considerate."
"I know."
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