Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

5. Past or Present

TRIGGER WARNING: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE (The next chapter will have a trigger-free summary of this one.)

The highest branches of the trees barely grazed the sky with their wooden fingers, curling up towards the sun that never showed itself, the clouds that never appeared. Not tonight, not ever. Tonight, Tasha stood upon the tallest of the branches, the wood dipping beneath her weight, head peering through the canopy to the sky above, the walls being the only thing blocking her vision of the night sky. She remembers, albeit somewhat vaguely, how she used to stare at the moon, gaze cast towards the heavens, marvelling at the immensity of space, full of wonder about different life forms, if she would ever meet them. Someone lies beside her, lacing their fingers with hers, pressing a kiss to her temple, whispering about how everything’s going to be fine; oh, she’s crying in that memory, she thinks. She’s grasping at it now, trying to hold it in her hands like silk being pulled from her fingers, too quick and smooth for her to latch onto.Now, she stands, swaying precariously on a branch that was not designed to take even a toddler’s weight, wondering if she could pause this moment forever. There was an almost painful serenity surrounding the deadheads, every sound from the bonfire floating to her world of almost suspended animation above the treetops.

“Tasha! Get the shuck down from there!” The voice she hears is panicked and distressed, and it takes Tasha a moment to realise that she’s hearing a memory, that Newt’s not pleading with her. She can’t help it though, dipping into the black smog that clouds her vision whenever she’s drunk and alone, the memories that she’d rather WCKD take away than leave her with, suffering and suffocating on the thick, slimy agony.

It was only a few days after her night in the maze, her sitting on the highest branch, one arm curled around the treetrunk, the other playing with a loose thread from the bandages around her ribs, breath coming in shaky gasps as her thoughts began to spiral out of control.

“No.” She spat, harsher than she meant, lashing out out Newt when she would rather lash out at herself, hands trembling as she dug her nails into the bark. She swallowed thickly, eyes stinging from both the cold, night air and the tears slowly dripping from them. The stars were bright, they shone in her eyes.

“Tash, Tash please, talk to me.” He pleaded, leaning heavily on his injured leg, palms pressed against the tree she inhabited. Tasha couldn’t risk looking down, lest she break and decide to jump then and there - she couldn’t… couldn’t do that to Newt.

“I’m not meant to be here. I’m living on borrowed time, Newt,” she slammed her shaking fist into the trunk and felt her chest tighten as the beginnings of a panic attack curled around her ribs. She pressed her forehead against the trunk and took slow, laborious breaths, trying to calm the erratic beating of her heart. It wasn’t the heights, she didn’t mind height. It was her own mind causing her pain and grief, her mind and that damn maze.

“Please, come down here.” His voice was heavy, weary, as though he doubted his own potential to reach her. She couldn’t hear him properly, with his own forehead pressed against the tree, as if by some miracle, the tree would grant him strength. “Tash, I need you here.” She didn’t hear him at first, and when she figured out what he said, she thought she had misheard, but no. It took her a moment, to focus on Newt rather than the pain in her hands and chest. She peered down, gulping at the distance, but there he was, peering up into the treetops, deep brown eyes focused on her. She moved slowly at first, getting into a standing position from the precarious branch she had inhabited, to shimmy down the trunk. It took her a moment to find the right words, he looked like he was going to hug her from relief, but he just took her small hands in his larger ones, such concern in her eyes that it made her heart ache and more tears began to fall.