Nonconformity | Henry Creel

We Warned You

The next day, Papa called on me to 'sort things out.' Whatever that meant, I dreaded it. Who could blame me? The last time I'd seen his face, he was burying a taser in my neck. Dream or not, the memory was far from pleasant. Not to mention I was supposed to meet him in his office, where I massacred four different people only days prior. Why he would decide to meet there of all places, I couldn't say.

I figured my inevitable 'punishment' would be more lenient if I was on my best behavior, so I obliged despite whatever protests I had. My shoes padded against the floor, the only indication that the hallways weren't deserted entirely. Nervous fingers tapped against my outer thigh as I, once again, contemplated just going back to sleep.

It was a lovely idea, one I toyed with but wouldn't submit to so easily. I kept on having to remind myself how much effort I already exerted just getting up. I wouldn't jump at the opportunity to repeat that awful process again.

I placed one dread-filled foot in front of the other, walking as slowly as I could.

I hadn't gotten much sleep last night. The tiredness didn't bother me too much, though. My mind was constantly brimming with nervous energy, much too full to dwell on such a trivial matter as sleeplessness. That mentality was evident by the growing pill collection beneath my pillow, which had begun to spill out onto my sheets. I'd have to put them under my mattress when I got the chance.

Peter took up most of my mind last night. Which annoyed the hell out of me as one would expect. I could pretend to be indifferent all I wanted, but nighttime kept me honest. It coaxed my most pressing thoughts to the surface whether I liked it or not. The second the moon budded like a rose into the night sky, my brain insisted on turning over every single detail of our last exchange. It was infuriating.

Still, I did make an interesting revelation.

I realized Peter acted eerily similar to how he had in my dream. 'I'm on your side' he insisted; the exact same words he used when I was strapped down to that chair. Almost verbatim, all the way down to his promise of 'always' afterward. I suppose spending hours upon hours in his company would could make me subconsciously aware of the way he spoke, which then manifested itself in my dream. After all, Peter didn't have the power to read my mind or enter my dreams. I decided to write it off a coincidence. An eery one, to be sure, but a coincidence nonetheless.

I intended to keep my promise of finding out what part Peter played in my arrival. Not just because I was curious, but because I needed a distraction. Something to throw my mind, body, and abilities into in order to avoid the headspace that I'd just recently escaped. The promise was, admittedly, uttered in the heat of the moment, meaning I didn't have a plan quite yet. Still, I had no doubt that I'd be able to figure out what happened. The people here weren't nearly as smart as they thought they were. After all, I got so close to finding out the truth without even really trying. Next time around, I'd have to be far more conniving and far less impulsive.

My first move would be to get out of training with Peter. I certainly couldn't delve into the events of my arrival with him breathing down my neck at all hours of the day. Not to mention I didn't like him all that much. It would be difficult, though. I didn't want to admit it, but I knew a part of me would mourn our sessions together. After all, that's where this all started. With his invigorating smiles and stupid fucking words that I once loved so much.

I dispelled any further thoughts of him as I reached the familiar wooden door of Papa's office. I didn't want to dive down that particular hole today. The Peter I knew, the Peter that enamored me, he wasn't real. The real Peter was calculated and perfidious. Every action he ever made was premeditated and intentional, and I simply couldn't get twisted up in his mess all over again.