(This chapter contains suicide thoughts and attempts.)
Minho’s POV:
Remember when I said my heart had been broken too many times to count?
You can add about a million more to that.
The moment Newt took his sweater off, and I saw his scars all along his arms kept replaying in my mind.
It was my fault, it was after our argument.
I know it didn’t make sense to take him to the med-jacks, but I didn’t know what else to do.
I just didn’t.
If I lost Newt. . .
I would lose myself.
He was sitting on the cot, leaning against the wall. Clint came in then.
“Okay, Brenda said he couldn’t breathe?”
I nodded. Clint looked at Newt, and I knew he saw the scars. I also knew he was worried about them.
“When did he do. . .those?”
I swallowed against the painful lump that had formed in my throat.
“L-Last night.”
Clint nodded, and turned to Newt.
“What does it feel like when you can’t breathe?”
Newt was taking deep breaths.
“W-Well, l-like I’m drowning. O-Or sometimes l-like someone's c-choking m-me.”
Clint nodded, and turned to me.
“For the breathing, most likely panic or anxiety attacks. It also looks like he has depression, and possibly grief.”
I nodded
“W-What can I do to help h-him?”
Clint shook his head and said one of the worst answers I’d ever heard.
“Nothing.”
I felt like someone had dropped me down a hole.
I was falling, falling.
I couldn’t hear anything.
That was, until Clint’s voice broke through.
“Are you okay?”
Am I okay?
No.
No I’m shucking not!
I just shook my head
“Is th-there anything?”
Clint shrugged.
“Well, there isn’t any way you can fully cure this. Stay with him, be there for him, and try not to leave him alone for now.”
Newt was just sitting there, a hopeless look on his face. That look shattered me.
Well, another time my heart has been broken.
Great.
I moved to Newt, and spoke in a low voice
“Want to go home?”
Home.
Newt slowly nodded and I helped him stand up. We exited the hut, and Thomas and Brenda were waiting outside. They stayed silent, but their expressions asked a million and one questions.
I just nodded, and faked a smile.
Would I ever truly be happy again?
We were more than half way back already.
Thank shuck we were relatively close to the hut.
We got to our house, and it was about an hour away from sunset. I turned to Newt, full of worry for the one person I really loved.
“Hey, you wanna go to bed now?”
Newt just nodded.
I helped him into the house and he just collapsed onto the bed. I lay down next to him, snuggling up to him.
Maybe I would be happy again.
I mean, Newt was okay.
I almost started laughing, and that's what hurt the most.
Sure, he was alive, but was he really okay?
I took one look at his hunched form, his scar covered arms, his tear streaked face, and knew the answer.
No. He wasn’t.
I was almost sure he was asleep now, and I whispered into the air, more to comfort myself than him.
“It’ll be okay.”
Newt’s POV:
I knew he thought I was asleep.
I didn’t care.
I knew he said it would be okay.
I didn’t care that it was a lie.
After almost an hour I heard Minho’s slow breaths, and I knew he was asleep.
I dragged myself out of bed.
I couldn’t stay here with the darkness.
The darkness that would drown me.
I stumbled outside, and went to sit on the beach.
My cheeks felt wet.
I guess I had started crying.
The sand scratched against my scars.
I watched as the waves crashed against the shore.
The real ocean, and my ocean of darkness meeting.
How easy it would be to fall in. . .
Slip on a rock and pass out. . .
I was awake yet not awake all night.
I was just there.
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Existing.
The sun rose.
I watched it.
I heard Minho calling my name.
I ignored it.
I heard the crunch of sand as someone approached me.
I ignored it.
“Good morning Newt!”
“Morning. . .”
I didn’t say good morning.
Just morning.
There would never be a good morning again.
Or afternoon.
Or night.
Or day.
Minho stayed standing while I was sitting.
“How are you?”
I snapped, and stood up, flung my hands up.
“Bloody hell Minho! How do you think? Hmm?”
Minho took a step back.
“Okay, okay, sorry. . .”
I ignored that and looked back out at the endless expanse of water. After a few minutes of silence, Minho spoke again.
“So, did you wake up to watch the sun rise?”
“. . .Not exactly.”
Minho gave me a questioning look, and I sighed and went on.
“I was here all night.”
Minho looked confused
“Did you sleep out here?”
“Yes, because why sleep in a bloody bed when you have the nice comfy sand? No Minho! I never went to sleep.”
This was followed by more silence, which Minho broke once again.
“Are you doing alright?”
A million different answers filled my mind.
No.
I’m hurt.
I’m drowning.
I’m lost.
I’m dying.
I’m suffocating.
I’m lonely.
I’m sad.
I’m tired.
I’m hopeless.
I’m broken.
I’m empty.
I’m stupid.
I’m not okay.
“I’m okay.”
I turned and walked back up to the house.
Why was I like this to Minho?
He just wanted to help. . .
Later Brenda and Thomas showed up at our door again.
“We were getting lunch, Frypan’s dying for us to see the kitchen. Wanna come?”
Minho looked at me, then nodded. When I made no move to get off the bed, Minho came and prompted me.
“C’mon, maybe you’ll feel better after.”
I sighed but got up.
Thomas and Brenda made a point of acting like everything was normal.
I think we all knew it wasn’t.
Minho had retrieved my sweater from the woods earlier, so I was wearing it.
It didn’t help.
It only made me more aware of the scars.
Before we went into the kitchen, we got food.
It was sandwiches, just like yesterday. We sat around on stumps, and ate. I didn’t eat. Minho of course, noticed this
“Newt, you have to eat, otherwise you’ll die. . .”
Just like back in the glade.
Maybe I should starve myself then. . .
I picked up the sandwich, and forced myself to eat it.
Minho nodded with approval, and I just tried no to puke it back up. Brenda looked at me over her sandwich
“You okay Newt? You don’t look so good.”
I managed to grunt out
“Yep, I- just not feeling too great.”
Thomas also glanced over at me now.
“You sure?”
I nod
“Um, yeah, I’ll be right back. . .”
I got up, and stumbled down a path into the woods, and almost immediately threw up the contents of my stomach. I just couldn’t stop thinking of all the others. . .
I wiped my mouth all while thinking
You can’t even eat right.
And there I fell apart.
I started crying, I started pulling on my hair. I let it all out.
The sadness melted into anger at myself.
I turned and punched at a tree until my knuckles were pouring blood.
The tree had stains of red now.
I wiped my knuckles off on my sweater.
I didn’t care anymore.
I scrubbed my face clean of tears.
I put myself back together.
I left the forest and plastered a fake smile across my face.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
It took everything in me not to break down as that thought ran through my mind. The others were waiting by the stumps. Brenda looked worried
“Hey, are you alright?”
I widen my fake smile
“Yep, I’m fine.”
Minho took a step towards me.
“You sure?”
“Minho, can I talk to you for a second?”
I didn’t answer his question. The one about me being okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I bit my lip to keep from crying. Minho took my hand, and pulled me away.
“What-”
Minho had seen my still bleeding hand from punching the tree. He dropped my hand, and looked at me, running a hand through his hair. I could tell he was trying not to break down. That seemed like life now.
Trying not to break completely.
Looks like I lost at that too.
Failed again.
“W-What happened?”
I stared right at him.
“I fell.”
Minho just covered his face with his hands. I immediately regretted it.
“No, no, Minho, I’m sorry. . .”
Minho looked up
“No, don’t apologize-”
I folded my arms around me, tight. Maybe if I did it tight enough I could disappear. I looked down at the ground.
“I know it was stupid. It was. I’m stupid.”
Minho opened his mouth but I cut him off.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t bloody say I’m not stupid. I am.”
“No-”
“Don’t. Just don’t.”
Minho sighed and looked at me with that heartbroken expression.
I had seen that way too many times in my life.
He had felt that way too many times.
And every single time it was because of me.
“What did you need to talk about then? Can I at least ask about that?”
I could almost feel the hurt and sarcasm lacing his voice.
“I-It’s really nothing, I just don’t feel that great. I’m really tired, and kind of dizzy. . .”
Minho’s voice had such a sudden change, I almost laughed.
Cold, hurt, sarcastic.
And now. . .
Warm, worried, scared.
“I-Is there anything I can do? I could ask Clint for medicine?”
I smiled sadly. Even that felt fake.
“Yeah, that might help. Thanks, Minho.”
Minho nodded.
“You wanna go home? I can tell the others, then you can go home, while I get the medicine.”
That was what I was thinking. Good.
“Yeah, okay. I’ve already seen the kitchen anyway.”
When Minho gave me a questioning look, I pulled back my sleeve, motioning to the cuts.
He bit his lip, but nodded and turned to the others.
I meant to go home.
I really did.
I swear I did.
I even headed that way.
I even made it onto the beach.
I even made it to the front of the door.
I even had my hand on the door.
That’s when I collapsed.
That’s when I couldn’t hold it all in anymore.
I didn’t cry. I had no tears left.
I just lay there, crumpled in front of our door.
I stood up, eventually.
I walked over to the ocean.
I felt numb.
I didn’t feel the icy water when I took a few steps in.
It was shallow.
I couldn’t feel the cold.
Or the warmth.
Or the anything.
I was numb.
My thoughts were muffled by three words, repeating over and over in my mind
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
Each one grew louder and louder in my head, until my thoughts were shouting it at me.
No, not my thoughts.
Just a voice.
I was gasping for breath.
I wanted out.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
The last one echoed in my head as I fell.
I thought of how I might land on the maze floor this time, and maybe do it right.
Nope.
I fell the few feet to the cold, sand, ocean bottom.
I was on my knees, the water lapping just above them.
I should have gone deeper.
Then instead of sitting on my knees, I could be under.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I was okay.
I gripped my ears, trying to block out the words.
The useless, wrong words.
The untrue words.
Each breath I took in hurt.
I wanted out.
Half of me just wanted to keel over into the water.
The other half knew that wouldn’t do anything.
That my body would take over and save me.
In that one instance I hated my human instincts.
Without even thinking, I dunked my head under.
I held it there.
I took in gulp after gulp of water, ignoring the burning in my lungs.
Ignoring every single cell in my body, all screaming for me to bring my head up.
I pushed my head deeper underwater.
My head hit the bottom, and I cursed myself
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
It’s too shallow here.
Failing. . . again.
Black spots had started dancing before my eyes, the corner of my vision growing fuzzy.
I felt unfamiliar hands on me.
Trying to pull me up.
I strained against them, but I knew I was too weak.
I saw Aris.
I never hated him more.
Never.
He was dragging me out of the water.
My vision titled into blackness, and my last thought was:
Maybe Aris was too late. . .
Good. . .