𝟢𝟦𝟦，𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
"Minho?"
He groans from above the bed. "What?"
"I need to go to the toilet," I whisper. This is obviously annoying him as well, but I think he will be even more annoyed when I piss my pants. "And... a shower... would be... nice," I say slowly. Hesitantly. Afraid he won't allow me to take a shower. 
"I guess everyone's asleep, so alright," he mutters. "At night, most dudes are too tired to walk to the bathrooms anyway and they just shit or piss in the grass."
"I have no words for that," I decide. "Disgusting," I add. 
He unlocks the door of his hut, not a word leaving his mouth as we step into the dark night. 
I'm not saying I'm not thankful for what he's doing, but I don't think this is the solution. Hiding away for the rest of my life, laying below a bed, in the hut of someone who hates me, without any comfort or warmth. 
I swear the floorboards whisper to me now. They tell me things, you know. Like how the walls are closing in on me, even though the walls argue that they're not doing that at all. The shadows have been trying to touch me. I thought they would grab me last night. Maybe they will. Maybe they already have, and I'm just too far gone to notice.
"I'll keep watch," he says gruffly. 
"You don't have to. You can go back to sleep if you want. No one will catch me. If they do, that's too bad."
"Too risky."
"I could kill them as well," I blurt out, praying he notices the playful tone. 
"Maybe not," he responds. He seems to force his lips to twitch in... not even a smile. Just one corner that goes up— like he's really trying his best not to call me pathetic again. 
Old Minho would've liked the joke— old Minho would've made the joke, and I would've been the one scowling— don't think about it, weirdo. 
"Alright, then. If you change your mind, I'll notice when I get back." I step inside the bathroom.
There are a few sinks on the right, and like six shower cabins on the left. They're not made from glass, thank god— they're the kinds of showers you'd find at a toilet building. They have locks, too, but you can easily open it from the outside if you want to. It's not exactly comfortable, but I have learned to trust the Gladers. I grew up with the ones who weren't perverts and they now make sure everyone knows they're dead if they try anything. 
Not now, though. You learned to trust them only for them to want you dead. But Nick still wouldn't let anyone touch me, right? I really do believe he's my friend. He just thought what he did was right— did what he thought was right, I mean. 
I take a towel from the pile that's gathered in the corner of the bathroom before I step inside one of the cabins. Layer by layer, I peel my clothes off. Sometimes, I wish I could peel off a layer of skin, too. Maybe it would make me feel better.