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“Hey!” Minho yelled, startling me. “Who’s over there?”
“Are you crazy?” I whispered. “Let’s just focus on getting inside the motel! How ‘bout that?”
“Slim it, dude. If they wanted to shoot us or something, don’t you think they would’ve done it by now?”
I just sighed in exasperation. What’s with that reckless line of thought? Denver was already not a very welcoming city, in the state that it was, so screaming in the streets and calling more attention to ourselves was not a good move. It was no surprise to anyone that Minho could be stubborn and impulsive, and even reckless at times; but recklessness to the point of stupidity was not like Minho.
“Hey!” Minho yelled again. “Who’s over there?”
I smacked him on the shoulder. “Seriously, Minho, stop that shit.”
Instead of answering me, he moved like he was going to cross the street, headed toward the shadowy spot where the strange movement had come from. My hand jumped to grab his arm. “No way. You couldn’t’ve had a worse idea. It’s dark, it could be a trap, it could be a lot of terrible things. Let’s just fucking focus on getting inside the fucking motel,” I repeated. “How ‘bout that?” I asked, pronouncing each word very pointedly and tightening my grip on his biceps.
He wrenched his arm free from my grip, but didn’t insist on crossing the street. Just looked straight ahead, avoiding meeting my gaze and walked on. “Fine. Be a wuss. But I get one of the beds tonight.”
“W–” I began to ask What? . What was he talking about? We were both getting a bed. The same bed. Just like the previous night. The motel was no five stars, alright, but at least it had large beds, which could accommodate comfortably two people, and we weren’t in that bad a situation regarding money so we could rent two rooms, one for Brenda and Jorge and one for me and Minho.
But then I got it. I understood why he was saying that. I remained silent and walked on faster to reach him.
-
Minho still hadn’t said a word when we got to the motel. As Brenda and Jorge said their goodnights to me at the door to their room and I said mine from the door to mine and Minho’s, he was already inside, having entered without even a look at any of us. When I entered, the door to the bathroom was closed and I heard the sound of the shower running.
Very quickly he was done and left the bathroom, still not saying anything. I didn’t have it in me to be mad at him for being like that. I understood him too much to be mad at him for feeling how he was feeling and reacting how he was reacting. I almost felt the urge to do the same, but I didn’t, because all I could focus on right now was finding a way to comfort him.
I relished the shower, trying to relax and let the water wash away my worries. Of course it didn’t work, but it did allow me to absorb better the circumstances we were in and think more rationally. There was really nothing we could do right at that instant. All we could do was wait and, first thing in the next day, rush to the Berg to check in on Newt.
Newt. I sighed at the image of him in my mind. His blond hair being agitated by the wind in the Glade, reflecting the sunlight, glowing golden. The first person to offer me a smile in that place, the first person to listen to my questions while the others rolled their eyes and acted impatient at my curiosity; of course Newt himself wouldn’t go over Alby’s authority and start answering my questions –Alby having said I had to wait till the next day–, but he listened . I knew instantly that that boy was a friend.
Rat Man’s words still hung in my ears. About how Newt was already in an advanced stage of the infection. About his inevitable fate. Could I really help WICKED get to a cure and save Newt? Was there really still time for that?
And before I could avoid it the image of the people in the tunnels of the Crank City in the Scorch came in. The association between the two things –Newt and the Cranks– made me want to lie down there and then in the shower and just stay there pretending nothing of what was happening was real. The thought that Newt would become one of them gave me the chills.
If I had become so attached to that boy having spent less than two months with him, I could only imagine what it would feel like had I known him for two years. Like Minho did. Minho. I had to go check on him. I turned off the shower.
Minho’s aggressive behavior was simply a response. A coping mechanism. He was in pain. The same thoughts that occurred to me in the shower had been occurring to him. That’s why he wanted to go see whoever it was who was hiding in the shadows, and had he gone there, I’m sure he would find an excuse to beat the shit out of the hidden Crank. That’s why he acted like we were not sharing a bed, he just wanted to say something angry and be angry, so he could release all the anger and hurt he was feeling. That’s why he didn’t look at me after releasing his arm from my grip, because he didn’t want to lose his patience and lash out on me, or on any of us, so he remained silent.
In the bed, I found Minho lying on his right side, facing the wall. His knees were flexed and his legs halfway curled in, like he had begun to get into fetal position but gave up. A sniff. He was awake. When he felt the movement in the mattress of my body weighing in, he moved a little bit. Another sniff. When I was accommodated and put my left hand on his left arm –not gripping it like moments ago, but gently caressing it– he stopped repressing his crying and began sobbing.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I whispered. His shoulders shook, heaving up and down. He put his right hand on top of mine and pressed it. I knew how much he hated showing vulnerability –me and Newt were the only ones he allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of, and even then, he tried his hardest to avoid it– so I was glad he didn’t repress it now. “Let it flow, Min, let it flow.”
Let it flow . The mantra we used with him whenever he was having a hard time dealing with his emotions.
“I don’t know how to be like you guys. Like, you aren’t afraid of showing your emotions to others. Thomas here even cried in front of me that time we got stuck in the Maze overnight. Did I ever tell you that?” Minho asked Newt.
We were sitting on the grassy floor at the corner of the Glade where I liked to go to relax. It quickly became our spot; whenever we wanted to be alone, only the three of us, we’d go there.
“That’s one kind of bravery, you know,” he went on. “I wouldn’t cry in front of you in a situation like that. Not… yet at least, before I actually knew you.”
“Well, emotions will be there, like it or not. So you better just deal with them,” I said.
“Yeah, but like, I don’t know where to put them. Where to channel them to.”
“You think of them too much like it’s a switch. On and off,” Newt said.
“And it’s not?”
“No,” Newt said. “It’s more of a flowing thing. You just let it follow its course. Like a river.”
“Yeah,” I joined, “think of it as a riptide, sometimes it’s stronger, sometimes it’s calmer. Sometimes it’ll be good and soothing, but, well, sometimes it’ll be bad. There are bad emotions, too, but that’s life.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how to do that,” Minho said laughing and resting his head on the wall behind him. He closed his eyes. I remember noticing how very peaceful he looked at that moment.
“Well, if you imagine a riptide of how you’re feeling right now. How is it?” I asked.
“It’s calm. And soothing.”
“See? You just need to let it flow, Min” I said.
“Ah, but with you two near me it’s easy.”
“Well, we’ll always be near you,” Newt said.
“Hm,” Minho made, his eyes still closed and a smile on his face, “looks like I have been shucked and sent to heaven,” he said very peacefully.
“Let it flow,” I repeated. He squeezed my hand tighter. He was sobbing copiously now. “I know. I know,” I said.
He then presently turned to lie on his left side, facing me and, without saying anything, pressed our bodies together, hugging me tightly, his face nested on my chest.
I hugged him back as tightly as he was hugging me, and caressed his head gently, the way I knew he loved when Newt used to do it. I wished I had some super power or some sort of secret weapon that could give me the assurance of knowing that I’d always be able to protect that being from all the harms of the world, and felt sad for knowing that that wasn’t possible.