Everyone looks at me weirdly and I hate it.

I'm not the one who did something wrong.

Or am I?

No, I'm not.

I'm sure of it. All I've done the past days is defend myself against a horrible person and bursted out on Nick, Newt, and Alby, which was their fault, because they kept going and going and going.

But they're all often staring at me. During meals and... well, kind of only during meals because I'm still not allowed to run or work, as if I'm some baby.

I know the Maze. I know it better than anyone. I don't have to get used to it again.

All I have to get used to is how everyone just accepts there is a murderer, betrayer, and assaulted amongst us.

I'm forced to get used to that because no one believes me and they all refuse to listen.

No one listens.

I hate to admit it, but it makes me feel incredibly awful, angry, sad, and pretty much everything but happy.

Fry tried to listen but he interrupted me over and over. When I told him to quit doing that, he obeyed easily. But I never got to finish my story because she showed up right then and there, hands all bloody.

I think Winston was beside her and he might've also been bloody, but every time she's around, she's all I see. As if it's some dark pit forming around her and my eyes pull to her like magnets. It's the worst.

"Hey, man." Alby plops down in front of me. "You good?"

"Truly better than ever."

At that, he sighs a bit. "Look, I know you want to start running again, and I promise you will, but not now. George is... no longer with us, and—"

Your fault your fault your— no, her fault. Hers. On the exact day she arrived. I didn't do anything— no, I was with George. What happened? I remember hitting him. Did I hit him that hard— no, it's on her, like everything is.

"Minho." His hand waves in front of my vision.

I blink, looking up. "Sorry. My mind, eh... mixes everything up."

"I've noticed," he says dryly. "Anyway, you can't run yet because your usual partner Ben has a fever. It's that time of the year, where half of the Glade has it. And the other Runners... you don't know them very well, and I just don't think it's a good idea to pair you up with people you don't know or don't have decent memories of."

"Or I can go on my own."

"I don't think that's the best—"

"Why not? I know the Maze, Alby. I won't go far. I'll be back before you know it. I've got to start somewhere. Plus, I think it's better to start running alone instead of in duos. We can spread out more."

He watches me for a while, shaking his head in the process. "I'm not sure, Minho."

"I'm the Keeper. I get to decide what's best for my Runners."

"And Nick's the main leader."

"Yeah, and that gives you a spot below both of us. So you don't have a single word in this," I snap.

Again, he watches me. I've never seen Alby shocked, but the expression he is currently wearing seems closest to it.

I avert my eyes. "Sorry," I mumble.

"It's alright." He gets up. "You can't do anything about it."

"I clearly can." 

"You can't. Your brain has gone through damage and several parts of it got affected. It isn't the same and it might never be the same again. That changes your personality, even if it's just slightly. You just have to... sort of get used to it."

"Right. Means my mind has to figure out the Maze." I jump up as well. "Thanks for the speech."

"Wait, no—"

But I'm already on my way to my hut so I can put on the good old running vest. After that, I put my compass in my pocket. A belt that has a dagger attached to it around my waist. Water bottle in my backpack. Watch on my wrist. No time to gather food.

❧

I don't know why everyone made such a drama out of this, because it's going perfectly fine.

I've been on track for a while. I do notice that my shape has changed. I need more breaks— but I'll catch up on that soon.

At some point, quite deep into the Maze, I pass a corridor. And something about it feels strange.

I don't think I've ever seen it before. The stone is rather shining in the light, like little sparkles are in it. The color is a bit off. And the tight space that follows after it is dark. A dead end.

The longer I stare at the dead end, the louder something buzzes in my ears.

I spin around.

Nothing. Nowhere.

When I press my hands on my ears, the buzzing remains at the same volume. It's inside my head.

Louder and louder and louder, until with a final crack, the image flashes through my mind.

And I found a secret path I haven't told anyone about. Secret path. Secret path— deal, desserts.

It hurts. I press my hands harder against my ears, desperate for the flashes and buzzing to stop. It's so loud that it makes my brain vibrate against my skull— it's scraping against it.

Green flashes— woods. A flash of two hands— deal. Liar— who's a liar? Me? Her? She called me a liar and then I called her one— fight? They repeat and repeat and repeat and I am so confused that I just drop to the ground, my head between my hands.

I hit my head, hard. It doesn't do anything. Slamming my head against the hard walls doesn't do anything either.

"Stop," I say quietly. It doesn't help.

Forcing myself to move, I somewhat crawl away from the dead end. My breaths are ragged. They feel wrong. In the wrong place, at the wrong time, in the wrong way. Like everything.

Nonsense. I don't even know what I'm talking about. A big exhale leaves my mouth once I lean against softer ivy, away from the path. It's no longer in sight. That brings a strange kind of comfort over me.

Softer ivy— very soft ivy.

Look away.

Look. Away.

Helpless, my eyes search around. Look away from what?

Catch him. The image of a pile of things flickers through my mind, so fast it only makes me crazier.

I cut off some of the stupid soft ivy. I stack it on the ground for no reason.

A whoosh. A crack. A cry. Silence.

I hit my head again. And again. And again. Against my fists, against the walls, until the urge to knock everything out of there is so big I just want to take ahold of my dagger.

I need to get out of this place— it's messed up. Secret path. Look away. Deal. Pile. Catch.

Catch what?

Even through my awful headache, I look up. One single leaf of the ivy I just cut floats through the air, slowly swirling down.

I catch it before it hits the ground.

My other hand reaches for my head. It's really began to hurt. Once I touch it, I wince. It's sensitive. It could be from either hitting my head or the images and the buzzing— maybe both.

I force my attention back on the leaf. I hold it with both of my hands. The one that touched my head has a tiny drop of blood on it.

That would be something. Alby warned me not to leave. What if I end up dying because I hit my own head a little too hard? Ridiculous.

Even though everything feels stiff, I push myself up.

I drop the leaf, so it starts floating again.

Float catch bleed death stiff push.