Chapter 12

229.07.03 / 6:19 p.m.

Despite your friend's warnings you continued to see your father, once a week like clockwork. You found as the day got closer it was all you'd be able to think about, your stomach tying itself in knots in the hours during your shift before you'd head towards the elevator and ride up to the meeting room. Paige stopped coming to observe weeks ago, but you had no doubt she'd set up more cameras and beetle blades than you could count to keep tabs on you. You could almost guarantee it. But somehow, it didn't deter you in the least. Every time you opened the door to see your father gazing back at you, or looking thoughtfully out the window (they were allowed on the higher floors) an overwhelming joy would wash over you and you'd forget all about Paige.

It had been about a month since you'd started meeting with your father, and also a whole month without talking to Newt. That hour a week was really the only time you were able to forget about him and the time that was slipping away before he would be dumped into the maze (your last meeting with the techs suggested another three to four months tops before they started inserting people). Sometimes it was just easier to not think about it at all.

You'd just come from a meeting with your father, a guard walking at your elbow, guiding you towards the elevators. You resisted the urge to shove him off as he leaned over to press the down button.

The rest of the walk to your barracks were quiet, nothing but the sound of your footsteps echoing down the empty halls. Those fifteen-minute escorts gave you a lot of time to think, and unsurprisingly it was Newt who was fully occupying your mind.

You couldn't stop replaying the expression of pure defeat and heartbreak that had been on his face that last night. How you felt dirty like a thousand bugs were crawling all over your skin. The thought that Paige had been spying on every moment you'd thought of as your own had been a huge blow. Nothing seemed worth it anymore. They didn't see it as love, just a few more brain patterns in the ever-growing blueprint that was the Killzone.

The guard let you go at the end of the hallway and turned back without watching you go. You kept walking, not even pausing to acknowledge his disappearance, and quite suddenly felt your feet freeze in place. You'd stopped at the end of the hall, where the boy's and girl's barracks split into two different directions, and without much thought, you turned and started down towards the boys.

Your mind was blank, completely, and it was almost like your legs had minds of their own, but you let them carry you all the way down to the sealed metal door, which hissed opened easily and swung inwards. Inside was almost completely deserted, save for a few kids scattered here and there, laying in their bunks or sitting at the metal tables playing cards.

"Is Newt here?" you asked the closest boy sharply. Looking startled, he sat up and shook his head.

"I-I think he's gone to the gym-"

Without waiting for him to finish you dashed out again, blood roaring in your ears, picking up your pace until you were sprinting towards the gym, taking turn after turn, narrowly missing a group of kids who sprang apart as you spun around the corner.

Everything in your peripheral vision was blurred, your heart was pounding. You felt like you were spinning out of control, whirling around a few more corners before the heavy gym door stood before you. There wasn't a second's hesitation before you yanked it open and stumbled inside, slowing a moment to regain your breath and look around for Newt.

He was in the far corner on the treadmill, but he'd stepped down as you'd burst inside, his eyes wide and confused, an earbud hanging loosely from his neck.

"(Y/N), what-"

Without waiting for him to finish you were marching determinedly toward him without the memory of deciding to do so. You tried to brace yourself against the floor, grinding your heels into the carpet, but your legs kept you moving in long fast strides as you struggled against it.

You felt a like a puppet, your limbs useless, completely out of your control, almost numb, until finally, you stopped, evenly eye-to-eye with Newt, who was on the ground now and staring at you in dumbfoundment.

"Newt."

The word sprung from your mouth before you could stop it, but your voice wasn't your own. It sounded almost... robotic, and you hadn't indented to speak at all.

Newt seemed to sense this too, because he took a step backward, bracing himself against the treadmill.

"(Y/N), I'm not so sure you should be down here."

Tears were slipping down your cheeks, pouring from your eyes, but still, you spoke without your voice cracking. You didn't feel like crying, though seeing Newt's face after so long was a shock, though certainly not enough to start bawling right in front of him.

Newt's face softened as he saw this, and seemingly unconsciously he reached out and brushed a tear off the side of your face, trailing his thumb. You wanted to scream. Get away! I'm not myself! But you couldn't speak. It was like you'd swallowed a stone and it was lodged in your throat and the words were stuck in your diaphragm.

"Newt, I miss you."

Again, bubbling up without your consent. Drained of emotion.

Newt looked so terribly sad, but under that was a hint of relief. He pulled you into a hug, resting his chin on the top of your head, while you were pressed into his chest and struggling to escape. Instead, you melted into him.

Let me go!

Your muscles ached, burning with the effort of trying to wiggle from his grasp, but it was no use. Whatever was controlling you had too much power, and it was useless to try and fight it.

"I missed you too. So bloody much."

The next thing you knew, your body was whirling away from him, spinning around to pin him to the wall, your face inches from his, Newt looking stricken.

"What-" but before he could finish you'd closed the gap and kissed him hard, moving your hands up to his hair, which had grown a bit longer in the last few months. You wanted to scream. To kick. To break away and throw something across the room and run back to the safety of the barracks.

But Newt responded almost immediately, his hands slinking around your waist, one coming up to the base of your neck, and you relaxed a little. He kissed you deeper, and it was a good few seconds before you realized you'd trailed your fingers down his chest and to the base of his shirt, bringing it up slowly, tantalizingly, up his torso. To your surprise, and slight horror, Newt didn't resist. He lifted his arms up and his shirt was off and tossed to the ground somewhere behind you. You ran your palms up and down his bare stomach, the solid muscle beneath rising and falling slowly. You, on the other hand, were trying not to hyperventilate, coming to the realization that you were at your body's mercy. There was nothing you could do or think to stop yourself.

WICKED, those bastards.

Newt ducked down to kiss you again, breaking away to whisper in your ear, "I love you, (Y/N)."

And it was like a switch was flipped.

All at once, the tension in your body left, flushed away by some unknown force. Newt was kissing your neck, and you pushed him away quietly, testing your arms to see if they worked. Flexed your fingers, took a cautious step back.

Newt was staring at you again, eyes a little wider, obviously sensing the change in your demeanor.

Again, you felt tears well up in your eyes, but this time they were your own. They were burning, angry tears that ran down your face and singed your cheeks red in shame. You felt like your entire body was on fire, a mix of rage and fear, and before Newt could open his mouth you were out of your stupor and booking it towards the door.

Down the hall, two left turns, then bursting through into the barracks. Thankfully, someone had turned the lights down and as you slowed your pace and walked carefully to your bed no one stopped to ask what was wrong.

Shakily you undressed and put on your pajamas, climbing into bed without a word.

Slowly, you let yourself begin to process what the hell had just happened.

But you knew what had happened.

WICKED.

229.07.04 / 8:15 a.m.

The next day you had free. And it was good too because you spent the entirety of it in bed.

Over the last few hours, before you'd fallen asleep the night before, you'd formed a rough recount of what had happened.

WICKED had decided to abuse their powers once again and take control of your body. For some twisted reason, they wanted you to see Newt again. To talk to him, make him forgive you. That was the part you didn't understand.

With all the big-headed scientist working at WICKED, they came up with some pretty stupid ideas.

You couldn't get past how much of a violation it had been. Newt, bare-chested and kissing you like he'd been holding it in for weeks, so happy to see you...

And as soon as he'd whispered in your ear WICKED had let you go.

Those three magic words.

Those words are what had shaken you up the most.

In this God-forsaken world, burnt to a crisp, his parents dead, overworked every waking hour, he had told you he loved you, and that was a terrible thing for many reasons.

It was an idiotic idea to love anyone, romantically or otherwise, that WICKED had dug their claws into (and, yes, you hadn't failed to recognize the irony that it was a similar situation with your father).

He might very well not even mean it. It was easy to latch onto someone or something in a world like this, a world where he would be, in a few months, subject to a massive experiment with unknown effects or end results.

And finally, you decided he was an asshole for dumping something like that on you at all. It was very likely one of you would be dead in a few years, if you ever managed to see each other again after the maze trials, and that is the last thing any bright-minded person in a situation like that should say.

Also, deep down, you knew it hadn't been you.

He hadn't been kissing you, and though you realized it was totally unreasonable, it was like he'd been talking to WICKED and not you at all. You'd barely been conscious at the time.

Groaning, you turned over in bed, unable to think about facing him, or WICKED again for the rest of your life.