Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Afraid

"You look awful," was Six's form of greeting as I collapsed in the chair beside her. My entire body ached with exhaustion. I wouldn't have been surprised if I just dropped dead at any given moment. Even my fucking bones hurt. Was that possible?

"You have such a way with words," I replied. With slow, lazy movements, I laid my head against the table. The coldness of the wood was sobering, a welcome respite from the alluring pull of sleep. I looked at Sixteen through bleary, half-lidded eyes.

She was right, of course. I did look like shit. That morning, when I had finally given up on any attempt at rest and staggered into the bathroom, I almost didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Just like the rainbow running along the wall, Papa's facility had slowly begun sucking the life out of me. I could see it in the hollowing of my cheeks, the bags under my eyes, and the lethargic way in which I moved.

I hated it.

How long could I go on in such a state? Were it not for the rising and falling of my chest, I would have mistaken myself for a corpse. The once healthy, warm glow in my cheeks had completely disappeared, leaving me to wonder if it'd ever been there in the first place. I'd been reduced to a stranger in my own body.

"Let me rephrase," Sixteen sat up and cleared her throat, "You look as though you haven't slept in your entire life. And I say that in the most loving, respectful way possible." She smiled, "Better?"

With an amused roll of my eyes, I replied, "Yes, much better. Thank you."

"Seriously, though, are the pills not helping at all?"

"I mean, they can't help if I'm not taking them."

She frowned, "Why aren't you taking them?"

"Uh, I don't know," I muttered, "They give me weird dreams."

Over the past few days, I'd been seriously considering taking the pills again. Were dreams about Peter really as bad as being so exhausted I couldn't think? Not to mention, it was only one dream. Perhaps I'd been too hasty in my decision to give up the drug. For all I knew, it was a one-off occurrence that wouldn't be repeated. Maybe that night, Peter just took up too much space in my head. Then, hormones had intermingled with my subconscious and fabricated the entire thing.

Either way, it'd been far too real. If I just closed my eyes, I could still feel his hands all over me. The harshness of his breath, the precise blue of his eyes. It was like he was right there, standing in front of me. I recalled each and every moment in excruciating detail, which certainly didn't help. My face burned with the shame of it all.

"They're staring at us again," Sixteen's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I followed her line of sight all the way to number Four and number Two. They sat in front of the wooden maze, narrowed eyes zeroed in on the SIxteen and me. A twinge of fear made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I peeled my eyes off the pair.

"I got the position," I said, "In the 'program.' Which actually sucks because I think Two and Four are going to wear my guts as necklaces. Not to mention, Papa is being annoyingly vague about the entire thing. There's no way it's just called 'the program.' That's an awful name."

Six's gaze snapped to mine, "That's really, really bad."

"Yeah, I know. It's a stupid name."

"No, not that," She leaned closer, wide-eyed and conspiratory, "They look like they want to kill you. And, considering their last threat, I wouldn't put it past them."

"Yeah, well, Peter is convinced that they're going to leave me alone, but I'm not so sure. My plan is to just stay around a bunch of people so they never get the chance to try," I shrugged, "It's not the most brilliant strategy, I know, but I'm so tired I feel like my brain is eating itself. And I'm too lazy to come up with another one."