Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Don't Apologize

Never, ever again.

'Benzodiazepines' was officially my worst enemy, and I would avoid it at all costs. Gloria would have to hold me down and shove the pill in my mouth by force if she ever wanted me to take it again. Either way, if we ever got to that point, it wasn't looking good for Gloria. I didn't care if she was three times my age, I would body slam that woman without a shred of remorse.

I knew better than to like Peter. In a certain light, he was entirely lovely. With that loveliness, however, he was also exacting and meticulous, constantly armed with a tongue coated in sugar. The man could probably smile his way out of hell. I would not allow myself to be manipulated by him, no matter the insignificant feelings I felt for him. I owed myself that, at the very least. The dream meant nothing. It was simply the feverish amalgamation of a pill I had never been on and far too many hours spent training with Peter.

Still, I could not forget. Could not forget the way my name sounded on his lips, rasping and breathless and gravelly. Could not forget the way his calloused hands ghosted over my skin, evoking goosebumps and shuddered breaths. Could not forget his eyes, and how they never left mine for a single moment, even after the intimacy turned my face red and I could not stand the eye contact for one more moment.

It wasn't real, though, and it never would be. I sought refuge in that thought.

The slapping of Peter's clipboard against the table made me flinch. Training had only just begun, and I hated it. We hadn't spoken since he told me about Papa. The dream was inconsequential compared to all he had told me, and yet it still remained at the forefront of my mind. My foolishness truly knew no bounds.

"What's on your mind?" Peter asked conversationally. His eyes met mine, and I was immediately transported back to the night before. My gaze shifted to my hands, balled up on the table in front of me.

"Nothing," The response was hasty. "Nothing is on my mind. What are we doing today?"

He regarded my hurried response with a raised eyebrow. Part of me wondered if he knew about the dream. "Today," He began, "We are going to work on your extrasensory perception."

"You know I don't know what that means," I replied.

He gave me an amused smile and shook his head, "It's quite the mouthful, isn't it? Extrasensory perception is the ability to observe a subject of your choosing without using your five senses. Do you remember the training we did in the pool?" I nodded. "You located the ball without being able to see it. That was extrasensory perception."

"Oh, okay."

A few moments of silence stretched between us. Surely, he was waiting for a sarcastic reply or a complaint, but it never came. I feared that if I spoke, he'd somehow be able to piece it all together. The memories of last night burned into my skin. I half expected to look down and see Peter's fingerprints branded on my waist.

"Are you alright, Sixteen?" His eyebrows furrowed with worry. My entire body flushed at the sound of my name on his lips. It's like he knew, and he was toying with me.

"I'm fine," My tone certainly didn't sound fine, "I just haven't been sleeping well."

"Bad dreams?" His lips curled into a polite smile at the question. I very nearly fainted.

"Uh," I dug my fingernails into my palm, "Yeah. Yes. Very bad."

Peter's eyes flickered up to the camera in the corner, then back to me. He took the clipboard from the center of the table and began scribbling on the paper clipped to it. I observed his movements through weary eyes.

"Now," He placed the pencil on the table. "Tell me what I wrote."

I immediately knew what he wanted me to do. I sighed. "Do I have to?"