Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

9. Night or Day

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.