Nonconformity | Henry Creel

War

It took another two days for me to gather the strength to get up and go to the Rainbow Room. The night prior, I'd managed to grasp onto three glorious hours of sleep. My muscles still ached and most everything felt like a chore, yet I'd risen from my bed. To the average person, it would be an easy, insignificant feat. To me, it was exhausting, and though I wanted to just collapse and wallow in everything for another week, I didn't.

I dragged myself down the hallway, feet shuffling across the floor. The smell of lilac lingered in the air around me, a gentle reminder that I had already finished the hardest part. I was showered, I was clothed, I was as put together as one could be. I could still feel metal scraping together beneath my skin, but for now, the chains were loosened, and I was free to breathe again.

The air-conditioning annoyed me. I took that as a good-- though irritable-- sign, because it meant I was feeling something. For once, the cacophonous exhale of the a/c was like music to my ears, a soothing melody that urged me forward, beckoning me towards the Rainbow Room. And so I obliged, no matter how much my body screamed at me to turn around.

I would be fine.

This would all be fine so long as I persisted. Pulling myself together wasn't impossible, even though it often felt that way. I had Gloria, I had Six. They were all I needed. For them, I got up this morning. For them, I would smile and laugh and force myself to feel better until it was real.

I paused outside of a familiar pair of metal doors. My fingers curled into fists by my side, nails digging into my palms. I inhaled once, twice, three times. My racing heart didn't exactly steady itself, but it did slow, and I suppose that was the best I could hope for.

My palms met the cold metal panels on the door, and a moment later, the dismal rainbow along the wall was burning my eyes. Nothing had changed. I don't exactly know what I was expecting, but nothing had changed. The children occupying themselves with the same toys, under the same lights, with the same bland attire was typically a miserable sight. Today, I found comfort in that misery. As much as I hated to admit it, at least it offered a shred of normalcy. The world would spin and the sun would shine no matter what awful thing happened to me.

I felt a pair of eyes almost immediately. I barely withheld a flinch and continued into the without even looking in Peter's direction. Last night, amidst haphazard sleep and groggy eyed pondering, I'd decided not to engage with Peter. I could simply pretend he didn't exist. Of course, that was a short term solution, but I wasn't in a rush.

I met Six's eyes instead of his. My legs marched towards her before I could talk myself out of it. The weight of our last exchange hung heavy in the air, and though she didn't say anything when I sat myself across from her at one of the tables, I knew she could feel it too. A whole speech had been composed in my head meant just for her, but as we stared at one another, I suddenly couldn't remember a single word. The unrelenting sigh of the air conditioner continued to break my focus.

"Feeling better?" She asked, a soft smile lighting up her face. I knew she wasn't referring to my supposed 'illness,' yet I nodded nonetheless.

"I'm getting there," I replied. 'Getting there' was certainly a term to describe it. "Thank you for asking."

She nodded. Another short silence followed. I didn't know whether to get right into my apology or continue to beat around the bush until I had the balls to bring it up. She didn't seem nearly as troubled as me, but then again, Six had always been particularly skilled at hiding her emotions.

"Six..."

"--Don't," She shook her head, "Don't apologize. I'm not angry."

"Okay, well, that's too bad," I frowned, "Please let me apologize because if I were you, I would have slapped me across the face by now."