black veil ◦ scorch trials || thomas

18.

EIGHTEEN ; BACK TO SQUARE ONE

     She tried her best to push the thought out of her head. She tried her best to forget about it and just focus on the matter at hand; on surviving and getting them all to the Right Arm.

     She failed miserably.

     Her mind, it seemed, was relentless and would not grant Evanna a small break. It kept reminding her over and over again that; no, she would not be allowed into the Safe Haven; yes, she would end up like Winston and no, there was no chance for her and Thomas.

     Evan had put up a front. Newt noticed, Frypan, too. Even Minho kept his remarks to himself. Brenda watched Evanna carefully, almost as if waiting for her to crack. It was Thomas who spoke up about it, though. It was him who held her back from the others as they made their way to Bertha, which turned out to be an old truck.

     His hand grasped hers. Too softly and too gently. His eyes were too apologetic, too nice. Strangely enough, Evan was starting to miss his interrogative gaze. If only a little.

     Thomas' eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth set in a thin line. She looked away when his lips parted.

     "Evanna, I – "

     Evanna

     They were back to square one. Her nickname had been forgotten and Thomas was back to addressing her by her full name. She wanted to shake her head at how wrong it sounded. Too formal, too foreign, too awkward.

     Evan's heart was throbbing painfully. She didn't hear the rest he said. She tuned him out the moment her name fell from his lips. It was odd how her own name felt like a punch to the gut. She mentally berated herself because, god, she sounded like a teenage fool and Evan liked to think she was far from that.

     He said her name again. Evan swallowed hard and gathered all that was left of her determination... and she looked at Thomas. She looked at him like she had done before the kiss, before they had made a mistake. She looked at him with indifference.

     "Are you okay?" Thomas asked. A stupid question. A rhetorical question. When had Evan been okay? Since they had escaped from WICKED, when had she really, truly, been okay? Thomas spoke up again, as if realizing the foolishness of his own inquiry. "What did you see... before you fell?"

     Evan almost scoffed. No, she almost spat in his face. Was that all Thomas had wanted to ask her since they left Marcus'? Was that question the only reason he had practically burned a hole in her skull? She wanted to laugh, more so at herself because she felt so completely idiotic for even thinking it could work between them.

     With her on death row and Thomas who seemed to suffer from some sort of super-hero complex, Evanna should have known better. She should have known that it hadn't been a good time to let herself be controlled by her thoughts, to drop her guard, or to even develop feelings in the first place. It had been reckless and dumb. And she should have known better.

     She wanted to answer him like she would have before. Evan had always been honest with Thomas – perhaps a little too honest, but still. Yet she couldn't now. Not anymore.

     "Nothing," Evanna said. Her voice came out stronger than she felt. Calmer, too. It was the polar opposite of everything going on inside her mind and she was grateful, so grateful, that she could still mask whatever she felt. Even if just a little. "I saw nothing."

     She was done letting them in.

     Thomas shot her a disbelieving look. She shrugged it off, not even bothering to ask what he had seen – who he had seen. Because, quite frankly, Evanna didn't really care. Or rather, she didn't want to care. So she convinced herself that she couldn't give less of a shit and quickened her pace.