Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Calming Morbidity

My slippers slapped against the white tiled floor. The air conditioner hollered without pause. It taunted me with its insufferable, billowing laugh. This was all a big joke, wasn't it? If there was a God, he must have been up in the clouds doubled over, wrecked with omnipotent laughter strong enough to turn every tide and ravish every country.

That night had been spent agonizing over my entire existence until I wanted to reach into my chest and rip out my own heart. The guilt was indescribable. I'd been responsible for someone else's suffering before-- in fact, I'd even killed someone-- but it had never hurt like this. It had never felt like all of the nerves in my body were splitting in two.

The moment I was allowed to leave my room, I made a beeline for The Rainbow Room. No one was awake yet. Even the guards seemed caught between consciousness and sleep. It took all of my willpower not to reach over and smack them across the face. Couldn't they see what peril we were in? Didn't they hear the incessant clicking of tasers echoing down every hallway? Didn't they know Peter was hurt? Didn't they know it was my fault?

For the millionth time, I pictured his face. Oceanic eyes clamped shut, bracing against a pain I could hardly imagine. Papa's glare, impersonal and cold, evil in its own right. The thought alone had my composure withering to ash.

I threw open the door to The Rainbow Room and scanned my surroundings with bated breath. No one was here. No one except Peter, who oversaw the room as per usual. He stood in the back with a placid expression that certainly didn't fit the occasion. The entire world should have been furious. How could he be so calm in the face of such an injustice? I was even more taken aback when his eyes met mine with worry. The irony was laughable. He was worried about me. After it may as well have been my hand that ripped apart his flesh with the taser's metal teeth.

"I'm so sorry," I could hardly breathe, "Peter, I'm so sorry."

He didn't reply. He didn't even seem to hear me. Those blue eyes glanced above my head, sharp and exacting like he aimed to cut the room in half with nothing but his stare. I would not have been surprised if he was successful.

Then, he was storming towards me with a limp impeding upon his flawless posture-- the only indicator that something had gone awry yesterday. A smooth, cold hand wrapped around my wrist. He would not meet my eyes, even after pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit.

I didn't move.

"Sit, Sixteen," His tone was stern. I had never heard him speak in such a manner. My unsteady legs practically moved on their own, and then I was sitting. He took the chair opposite me, icy eyes finally meeting mine, turning blood to ice. Rational thought abandoned me.

"I know what happened," My fists turned white around the sides of the table, "I saw what happened. How Papa hurt you. I heard what he said. He hurt you because of me, didn't he?" Peter's face was impassive as I spoke. I almost would have preferred his fury to the cold, collected expression he now wore.

"I need you to do something for me, Sixteen," His voice was soft, cascading over me like ice cold water, "I need you to be calm. Do you think you can do that?" I wanted to scream in his face. How could I be calm? The word felt foreign when it left his lips-- I had nearly forgotten the meaning. "I'll explain everything, but you must not show any emotion as I speak. Do you understand?"

Briefly, my eyes snapped up to the cameras. Their metal glares cut through my skin with scalpel-like precision. Oftentimes, I paid them no mind, always too preoccupied with the air conditioning to notice much else. Now, I could feel the cameras like a breath of air fanning down my neck. "I understand," I muttered.

He reached for the deck of cards in the center of the table. "What you saw was not meant for your eyes, Sixteen." His brows furrowed. For once, Peter did not quite know what to say. Under different circumstances, I would have been amused. "And it was certainly not your fault." The cards clacked against the table. Peter would not look at me. "The man you call 'Papa' administers such punishments often. I'm not the only person here who has suffered his wrath."

The implication made my stomach drop. "The kids, too?"

His eyes finally met mine. The cards came to a halt in his grasp. A soft, hesitant nod of his head nearly made me forget his request. I forced my face to remain impassive, a stark contrast to the war that raged in my mind. "Why?" The word was like a razor cutting up my throat.

"Control," He rasped, "Obedience, power. Take your pick. He instills fear in those around him to keep order. However, his preferred method of manipulation for you and your siblings is a bit different."

"I know," I whispered, "I've known for a while. He makes us believe that he loves us because no one else will." I didn't know if I could even call his type of connection 'love.' The term infatuation seemed more suitable. But how were any of the children here supposed to know the difference? I already suspected most of what Peter was telling me; all he did was confirm it.

So why did it hurt so bad?

Peter's warm, gentle hands enveloped mine. The deck of cards lay forgotten. His stare was unrelenting, and there was no questioning if he understood. Papa was awful, this place was awful, almost everything around me was awful. Not Peter, though. Never Peter. A calming sort of morbidity lingered in the air until I felt like I was choking on it.

"You're smarter than the others," His voice was low, his smile was soft, "I suppose, in one way, I should be proud. Here, though, that will only make things more difficult for you. Your siblings grew up without any knowledge of the world. They don't have anything to miss. You, however," His gaze swept over my face, "You're not so lucky."

The sound of the Rainbow Room door opening made him pause. His hands lingered on mine for a little longer than what was wise, and then he stood. "Training is canceled today, Sixteen. Please, get some rest."

I nodded. All words had abandoned me.

Peter began towards the door and smiled at Number Two.

The look he offered before leaving the room was for me and me alone.

Honestly i dont really like this chapter that much but the next few chapters r rlly good in my opinion so read or else. 

Also, for my fellow whores, there is going to be some spice soon.

OH MY GOD FUNERAL BY PHOEBE BRIDGERS IS PLAYING STOP THIS MADNESS.

IM SINGING AT A FUNERAL TOMORROW OFR A KID A YEAR OLDER THAN ME AND IVE BEEN TLKING TO HIS DAD IT MAKES ME SO SAD WHEN I THINK TOO MUCH ABOUT IT I CANT BREATHE

and i have this dream where im screaming underwater while my friends are waiting from the shore and i dont need you to tell me what that means i dont believe in that stuff anymore. 

Okay im done now i fucking love that song its so beauitufl 

okay time to threaten the reader with violence <<3

READ THE NEXT CHAPTER PLEASE OH YM GOD PLEASE IM STANDING OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE WITH TOILET PAPER AND I WILL TOILET PAPER YOUR HOUSE AND STEAL YOUR DOORBELL PLEASE READ THE NEXT CHAPTER I DONT WANT TO DO IT BUT I WILL