Even before I opened my eyes, my heart felt as heavy as a coffin sealed with sorrow.

I didn't want to open my eyes, not really. I didn't want to face the world where I had broken him.

Even the dim light pressing through my eyelids felt like punishment—gentle, but insistent, as if the universe itself refused to let me hide. I turned my face into the pillow, hoping that if I stayed still enough, quiet enough, maybe time would rewind, or at the very least, pause.

But the silence wasn't kind. It was full of echoes—his voice brittle with disbelief, the way his shoulders sagged when I said nothing to stop him from walking away. When I made him walk away.

I had broken him. Not like a vase that shatters with a crash and cries for help, but like a branch bent too far for too long. Quietly. Irreversibly. And now, every beat of my heart was a reminder that I hadn't just lost him—I had let him go.

The bed felt cold. Too cold. But maybe that was what I deserved after all. Nothing to keep me warm, no one to tell me that I'm at least worth something.

The room looked exactly how I left it. Like no one had even entered it after I left. And maybe that was true. Maybe my thoughts of Sonya sleeping in my bed to chase some comfort of losing his brother was an illusion I made up, just to keep myself from slowly going insane.

"You'll wake him up," a voice whispered behind the closed door.

"Very well, he needs to wake up."

I heard my door creaking, but I didn't budge. I closed my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat that had gotten so big that I was afraid it would kill me. But if that wouldn't kill me, my brain surely would.

"Newt," I heard a voice not so far away from me. It was soft, but bitter too. Like saying my name physically pained her as a mother who had destroyed her own son. "You can't remain locked in here forever, you know that right?"

'I did remain locked in that godforsaken camp for three years though, no?'  I wanted to say. But I didn't. I remained quiet, eyes closed, mind somewhere that wasn't here. Not where everything had started.

I had no idea what had gotten into me that night which made me want to visit the home that sucked the light out of me. Maybe the comfort of being in a house where I was given life, or maybe, it was only because I had Sonya there.

Life felt strange. It was the type of strange when people feel that this is the end, that there's nothing after it. Just darkness that consumes you as you close your eyes. Maybe that was it. Maybe I would die sooner than the doctor had said.

"You can't rot in bed like your world has ended. Not in my house." My mother's voice reached my hearing again, but I refused to let myself answer.

I bit my tongue, hard enough to remind myself that there was no point. No point in talking to her.

"You're young," she started, as she always did. It was her favorite activity to remind me that I was young, that I had no idea what sadness was. "You haven't even experienced your life yet! You can't be like that, Newt. Get up."

I opened my eyes, glancing at her for a second before looking outside the window.

"He's mute," my mom scoffed, speaking to Sonya. "He won't speak!"

"Mom—" Sonya tried, her voice laced with a plea. "He needs some time."

"When the hell did you two get so close? Suddenly you know a whole lot more about my son than I do, huh?!"

"Mom come on—"

Footsteps grew closer, making me shift my attention to her.

She reached out, grabbing my shoulders in a tight grip and pulling me up in a sitting position. "Speak! Say something!" She screamed, but I didn't flinch.

She shook me, strong enough to make my head spin. "You want to die in misery? Fine! But not in my house, do you understand?!" She yelled again, but this time, her voice cracked.

I looked at her, seeing tears streaming down her face which she rarely ever allowed herself to do.

"Your dad would be so disappointed in the way you've turned out." She choked out, her voice lower but tone still as bitter as ever.

I tilted my head, scoffing. "Yes, mom. He would be." I answered, my lips twitching in an almost unnoticeable way. "But you know what? That's a good thing."

"How dare you—" she started, but I cut her off sharply, pulling away from her touch.

"He ruined me, mom. And you did nothing about it. You stood there and watched."

"He didn't ruin you. You were just confused and needed some discipline, what's wrong with that huh?"

"If you think what he did to me was just a simple lesson, then you deserve to rot in hell as well."

She slapped me before I could finish the sentence, my head twisting from the impact, my cheek already burning before I could even register what she had done.

I scoffed, slowly touching the spot she hit. "Still strong as ever."

My eyes flickered towards Sonya, who was standing at my door, unsure of what to do. I smiled softly at her, reassuring that it was okay, before I glanced at my mom again.

"Don't speak about him like that again."

"Yeah? What are you gonna do, send me to wilderness therapy? Oh wait, you did that already!"

She clenched her jaw. "I didn't do it."

"You didn't do anything to stop it," I spoke through my teeth.

"Newt—" I heard Sonya's sniffle and as I turned my attention to her, words died in my throat.

"Hey," I called out, pulling away from my mom entirely and getting out of bed to go closer to her. "I'm okay. I'm fine, see? Stop crying,"

"Are you mad at me too for not doing anything to stop Dad?"

"No, no of course not." My voice softened, my arms gently wrapping around her. "I could never blame you for anything, you know that."

"I'm sorry I hit you that time. I didn't know what had actually happened."

I scoffed, turning my gaze to my mom. "So you didn't even tell anyone what you had done to your own flesh and blood, huh?"

"It was for your own good."

"Sure it was." I grimaced, my jaw tightening as her words sunk in. "It was always for my well-being, wasn't it? It wasn't to hurt me, to punish me for what I was, for what I am, right?"

"You were confused!" She snapped, quickly moving closer to me.

I turned towards Sonya, urging her to get out of the room. "Wait downstairs, okay?"

"Why do I have to leave? The only person who is supposed to leave is her!"

"How dare you—" Mom started, but I cut her off.

"You have a problem with me, stop taking it out on her." I turned my attention to Sonya, gesturing her with my eyes to leave the room.

Her shoulders slumped, knowing she wouldn't be able to change my mind. With slow steps, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

I sighed, frustration crawling under my skin, tightening every nerve with each passing second. "You have no idea what happened to me there, Mom."

I didn't look at her. I needed to get everything off my chest, which I wouldn't be able to do if her eyes would pierce into my soul, making me forget everything.

"You know, there was this man. Janson was his name. I'm guessing you know him, since you both had to fill out the forms to send me there. But the form said they would make me develop essential skills, which was the biggest lie to be told."

I paused, walking over to the window, looking out for a second before continuing. "If I'd mess up, they would lock me in what was supposed to be a room, though it had nothing other than mold and dirt inside. I'd go from days to week with no food and just water, so I wouldn't die. Sometimes they would deprive me of water too, but not long enough for my system to shut down."

My voice faltered, my gaze stubbornly staying outside the window, like that would make speaking any easier. But I needed to stay steady. I needed to stay composed.

"They got physical too," I said, my voice low, shaking—not from fear, but from the effort it took not to scream. "And I don't mean just hitting, Mom. I mean things that made me wish I didn't exist." My stomach twisted, and I swallowed hard against the acid rising in my throat. "And this is just the surface. You don't even know the worst of it. And you never will." My jaw tightened, nausea rising like a wave I couldn't hold back. "Because you don't get to know. You don't get the truth when you were the one who handed me over. You knew what they were capable of. You knew—and you still let them break me."

I turned around, meeting her eyes at last, searching for any type of remorse in her stone-cold gaze.

"What do you mean by physical?" Her voice was tight, like she was trying not to let it falter.

A wry smile crossed my face, my head tilting slightly. "I think you know an answer to that."

Her face twisted. It was barely noticeable, but I could see it. "I didn't know that would happen."

"And that makes it any better?"

"I thought they would only fix you."

My eyes widened, a scoff leaving my mouth. "Fix me? What was there to fix, Mom?! Say it, what was so disgusting that you hated in me?!"

"Well, you— you—"

"You punished me because of love. Do you understand how disgusting that is?! You sacrificed your son just because he loved someone you didn't approve of!"

"I didn't sacrifice you! It's not like I sent you to a death trap!"

I ran my hands through my hair, gripping my roots from frustration. "Yes, you did! That is exactly what you did!" My voice cracked, eyes finally stinging with tears. "I am dying, mom. You did this! You both did this to me!"

She froze, her eyes widening, her eyebrows shooting up. "You don't mean that. You're not really—"

"I am." My hands dropped limply to my sides, shoulders slumping as I forced out the words. "That camp of yours did irreversible damage to my brain."

She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head as her eyes welled up with tears. "That's not true. You're just trying to make me feel bad, right? Right?"

"You know what scares me about death?" I started, not paying any mind to her words. "That if the afterlife exists, I'll see Dad there. I don't want to see him ever again, even if it's after my body is rotting six feet under just for you to cry over it, assuring yourself that you've done nothing wrong."

She stood there, her shoulders stiff, her face no longer calm. Though as I tried to search for anything merely close to remorse, I found none. She wasn't speaking, but I could tell she was thinking that it wasn't her fault.

"I want to be alone."

"You can't lock yourself in here, Newt. I know you hate me but at least for Sonya's sake, you have to be around. She deserves her brother by her side even if it's for a short amount of time."

"I would've been around for much, much longer if you and Dad didn't hate me for what I am. You took away my chance to be in her life. You took away my chance to be an older brother. You took away my chance to live."

"Newt—"

"I want to be alone. I will be around her, but not around you. I already have a lot on my plate at the moment, I won't deal with you too. Get out, Mom."

She stared at me, like she was searching for excuses to refuse. Her eyes were filled with confusion, pity, maybe anger, too. But not guilt. Not a single trace of remorse.

Then, her shoulders sagged, and slowly, but without another word, she left the room.

I exhaled shakily, like I had been holding my breath ever since she had come in. It was exhausting, really. To have a mom who not only didn't care, but hated my guts for something I wasn't responsible for.

The phone rang, but I had no energy to answer. I waited until it stopped ringing, only for someone on the other side to call again.

I picked it up from the nightstand, staring at the screen. 'Unknown number.'

I hung up, sitting down on the edge of my bed with a loud sigh.

The phone rang again.

'Hello?' I said, my voice laced with frustration as I answered.

'Is this Newt? Newt Isaacs?'

I frowned, pausing for a moment. 'Who's asking?'

'It's Gally. Gally Williams? From the camp?'

I could feel the panic eating away at me as more memories crashed over me.

'This is Newt.' I tried to sound composed, but my voice gave out. It was weak, quiet like a whisper. Maybe slightly above the whisper.

I heard him exhale on the other line. Maybe out of relief. 'I've been trying to reach you forever.'

I didn't answer.

'I'm sorry, you probably don't want to be reminded of that camp. I get it. But—' he sighed, trying to search for words. 'Can I see you?'

'For what?'

'I did some things. Pulled some strings, you know?' He paused, exhaling again. 'Long story short, I found Maliah's grave.'

My fingers clenched around the phone, hard enough that I thought the plastic might crack. Maliah's grave.

I didn't say anything. Couldn't. Because the moment he said her name, it was like the world stopped spinning and every sound in the room fell away. Her name still did that to me—left me breathless, bruised, buried under the weight of all the things I never got to say.

There was a grave now. A real one. Somewhere out there, Maliah had a place in the world again, carved into stone. Not just in my head. Not just a shadow in my dreams, not just a voice screaming my name in the middle of the night when no one else could hear it.

A grave meant she existed.

But it also meant that she was gone.

And maybe it should've given me peace, knowing she wasn't just another forgotten ghost from that hellhole. But instead, it ripped something wide open inside me—something I'd spent years trying to stitch shut with silence and shame.

I used to believe grief was loud. Screaming, sobbing, breaking things kind of loud. But the truth? It's quiet. It's the silence after you hang up the phone. It's the way your chest doesn't rise the same when you breathe. It's standing completely still in a room you once felt safe in and realizing it's not yours anymore.

Maliah had been everything in that place. The only spark left in the darkness. She kept me alive when I wanted to die. She held my hand when I couldn't move. She made me laugh when I swore nothing good would ever exist again. And I—I let her die.

I let her fade. I watched her dim. I listened to the way her voice cracked when she stopped believing we'd ever make it out.

And I had the audacity to survive.

She was my best friend. She was my family. She was the only person who knew what it felt like to be punished for something you couldn't control—what it felt like to be told, over and over again, that your love made you unworthy of breathing freely. And still, she loved. Still, she fought. Until she couldn't anymore.

And now—what? I was supposed to go to her grave and do what? Say sorry? Pretend that made anything better?

I should've died there too.

And that thought, it wasn't new. It sat with me at breakfast, followed me on every walk, curled up in the corner of every room. The guilt. The uselessness. The question: why her and not me?

She'd have done more with this life. She'd have found joy again. She'd have painted the damn sky if they just gave her a chance. Me? I can't even look in the mirror without flinching.

I stared down at the floor, the phone still pressed to my ear, my lips trembling, my heart thudding so loud I thought maybe Gally could hear it.

'Newt?' he asked again, his voice softer this time, almost unsure.

I didn't respond. I couldn't yet.

I was too busy imagining the grave. Imagining her name in letters. Imagining kneeling beside it with my palms on the earth, like maybe if I held it tight enough, she'd feel me. Like maybe I could say something that would reach whatever was left of her soul. Like maybe she'd forgive me for letting her go.

Because the truth is... I stopped fighting before she did.

And that's what kills me.

Not the beatings. Not the starvation. Not the bruises I still carry under my skin. No. What kills me is the way she looked at me that last night, eyes wide, scared, begging me to hold on—and I didn't.

I looked away. I looked away when she needed me most. And then I never saw her again.

And now there's a grave.

And maybe that's something. Maybe it's nothing. But it's real. It's there. And part of me—some ruined, fragile part of me—needs to go. I need to see it. Need to kneel there in the dirt and apologize with every piece of me that still works. I need to tell her I remember. I never forgot. I never will.

'Yeah,' I whispered finally, so quiet it almost got lost in the static. 'Yeah, I'll meet you.'

Because maybe if I'd say her name out loud, she'd finally be able to rest.

And maybe—just maybe—I would, too.

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Hi loves!

Sorry for not updating a lot lately, I'm getting ready for graduation and everything is busy at the moment:)

I'd appreciate some feedback and opinions, since the fanfic is going to an end slowly.

Take care and have a good day!