Discoveries | TMR | Three

1:9

"You jealous?"

"Absolutely not," she scoffs, though it is animated, dramatic, and not at all believable. "They can go off and do whatever the hell they like. I don't care."

"But you do care, though," Matt quickly counters. "Otherwise you wouldn't be talking about it."

"Shut up."

Matt chuckles and shakes his head. He can tell by her tone and her manner that she means no ill-will with those two words; it is just something she so often says to him when he is right.

Because you can be sure that she would never audibly admit to him being right.

"So what's goin' on with you n' your mum?" the boy then asks, filling the silence. "Not heard you talk about her in a while."

Maggie groans. "Nothing worth talking about. Ma's still bein' ma. Barely speakin' to me, and when she does it's only to ask about Trav. If we've managed to find him. Trav's her special little boy; always will be. I was much closer with my dad."

"Yeah," the boy mumbles. "He used to let us sit with him when he was fixing up the cars, you remember?"

"And the radios." Maggie smiles fondly at the memory. "Back when we were both small enough to fit on his lap."

Matt chuckles. "Lily would always go mental when she found us still sitting with him at midnight."

The young girl mimics his laugh, "yeah, then thank him in the morning when we weren't up causing trouble as early," though it soon fades, and she is left with a somber and guilty sensation in her stomach. "Do you think-," she then continues, straightening her spine slightly and tilting her head to look up at him. "Do you ever think about what it could've been like? If he didn't die in that raid?"

"All the time," he answers, sending her a tight-lipped and sympathetic smile.

"Do you ever feel like it's our fault?" she then asks. "I mean, he died trying to protect us. He died trying you make sure that me n' you were okay and-."

"And if he didn't, all three of us would be dead," Matt interjects, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We got out of that house because he saved us. You can't blame yourself for his death for the rest of your life, Maggie. We were six; we were just babies. There was nothing you or me could've done to stop those people from breaking into our home."

Although he may see a simple, yet grateful glint encasing her eyes for a moment, Matt can sense by her expression alone that she does not believe him. She has always looked for someone to blame for that night, and that person has always been herself. Now, with her twin and best friend gone, and her relationship with her mother dwindling more and more with each passing day, she has tried to find someone else to blame for her losses; Adeline.

"Just like it's not the Gladers' fault the Warehouse got raided," the boy continues, keeping his hand on her shoulder. "And just like it's not Addy's fault that Wicked found our camp."

"Well I never blamed the Gladers for what happened at the warehouse," she corrects, looking down as she fiddles with a few strands of her hair. "If anything, that's my fault. I'm the one who let those bastards in."

"By that logic, it's also Brenda's fault," Matt counters with a shrug. "She let them in too."

"No, it could never be Brenda's fault," she quickly spits out.

"Then how could it be yours?"

Maggie pauses and looks up to him. She pauses, for there is not a single thing she could possibly think to say that would strongly counter his argument.