FOREVER. newt

six. secrets

"Don't mind me," I tell them, feeling a bit uncomfortable. "Now let's go and get them back."

—

The pain takes over a portion of my brain, as if dealing with it is energy expenditure enough, without the effort of new thoughts. It steals the part of me I most want to share with others, my light and laughter, my generous heart. It is the sort of pain that burns, as if some invisible flame where held against my skin. The emotions of loss are that way, right?

Or maybe it was something else?

There's no way. Absolutely no way. You're immune.

As if my worries aren't enough, Frypan leaned behind his chair and stares at me through the mirror, looking at me with confusion. "You look a little pale, Nini. Are you good?"

As Newt scrunches his eyebrows in confusion, my eyes meet Thomas', who looked frantic. I try to tell him visually to shut up and not look suspicious as I lean on my chair, shaking my head. "I'm fine. I think I just have a cold. One of the kids I was treating the other day was sick."

I knew Newt was smart, in addition to that, he saw right through me. So when he places a hand on my knee and tries to comfort me through his eyes, I feel a pang of guilt.

I should have told him.

The moment was perfect; it was calm. We were already too far away from our camp so they couldn't bring me back and it was peaceful; the perfect time to tell him what actually happened to me.

But I didn't. Instead, I leaned a little closer and pecked his cheek in an attempt to distract him, which proceeded in me closing my eyes to drift to sleep. I could hear Frypan snickering lightly to himself, but I ignore it, walking over to dreamland.

—

I'm dreaming again.

I know I'm dreaming again— because the background of the place was too familiar. Bright lights that were almost too bright, a tray of medical tools on one of the corners of the room; medicine, lots and lots of medicine.

My brain is fighting itself, like a desperate tug of war. One side is trying to convince me that this was actually happening and that it wasn't a dream, while one side, the rational one, kept on reminding me to stay focused and remember that it was, in fact, a dream.

But these days, the rational side of my brain is weak.

Now, I am convinced that this was actually happening to me.

I'm five.

Peeking softly behind the curtain, I watch as my parents whisper softly to each other, looks that I couldn't read evident in their faces.

Walking over to hide behind a table, I lean forwards to get a whisp of what they are talking about.

"... the Government sector is pressing me to come up with another plan. She says whatever I'm doing isn't working at all."

I've never heard my mother's voiced laced with so much worry. She was always confident, levelheaded, never this.

"We'll find out another way. All they need to do is give us some more time."

"How much time do we have? You know what's about to come, Nathaniel."

My heart drops when I hear those words. It wouldn't take a genius like me to find out what she were implying when those words came out of her mouth.

"I don't think we have the answer to everything..." my dad mumbles in defeat, and I hear him lean onto his chair. In my brain, there is a vision of him rubbing his eyebrows together, something he did when he was stressed.