Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Crime and Punishment

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!

I wanted to give you absolute virgins something for Halloween because I am so generous and kind 😇😇😇😇😇

THIS ONE IS IN PETER'S POV WOOOOOOOOOO (guys. I'm gonna be honest. This man is a little toxic. Im trying to keep him canon and he's definitely a gaslighter)

I hope you enjoy!

Plz comment :)

(Sorry for calling you a virgin plz don't block me)

Henry watched the patients file into the training room one by one. Each child had a look of apprehension written across their face as they lined up near the wall. Word of Two's attack hadn't broke yet, and so Brenner's impromptu mandatory meeting must've been a mystery to them all. Of course, they'd been here long enough to know it couldn't mean anything good.

Sixteen, however, was new.

Henry saw her walk into the room, seemingly unfazed by the prospect of a group meeting. She tried to get the attention of her friend, Six, but the girl wouldn't respond. The entire room bubbled with nervous tension as they anticipated the brutality which was no doubt about to ensue.

Henry couldn't deny the pit in his stomach, either. It wasn't like he empathized with the others-- no, that wasn't possible-- but standing there, watching it unfold, he was reminded of being in their place. Being a confused child wrapped up in colorless hospital gowns, forced to navigate an impossible situation. He mourned for himself.

It was a rare occasion when he felt grateful for his status as orderly, but days like these, he couldn't help it. Maybe it was selfish, but Henry would much rather be on the inflicting end of a taser than the receiving one. He didn't take a great amount of joy from hurting the kids, but he certainly didn't feel bad about it, either.

It was them or himself. Self-preservation was all he had left.

Things had changed since then. Just a little. Now he had Sixteen to worry about, though he much preferred the way it was before. Back then, he didn't have anyone to hold him accountable for his reprehensible actions, and even if they did, it didn't really matter.

Now, Henry couldn't deny the import of Sixteen's opinion. In his head, she wasn't just on a pedestal. She sat in the clouds, glaring down at him with her sovereign gaze. He used to hate her for it but, eventually, he realized he had no one but himself to blame. He was the one who let her crawl inside his head.

Of course, though, Henry knew the feeling was mutual-- perhaps even stronger on her part. Sixteen wouldn't ever admit it, but he knew the power he held over her was far greater than she let on. He liked that. So much was out of his control, but Sixteen wasn't. For months, he'd been carefully weaving a web around her, tying up her wrists and ankles without her even noticing. Now, she was reduced to a puppet on his strings. One Henry had no problem maneuvering around, bending to his wishes, but only at the cost of his own sanity.

Sixteen wasn't stupid. She knew which strings to pull, too.

It seemed like today, she didn't want want to play puppeteer at all. Henry could see her across the room, making a conscious effort to avoid eye contact. It didn't come as a surprise to him; not after the dream he'd given her. Sixteen's modesty would be her undoing, as much as Henry adored it. Even last night, when his fingers were buried inside of her, she clung onto it. With the furious, humiliated flush of her cheeks, she clung. Henry's stomach turned at the memory. What he would do to see that face again. To capture it and frame it like a trophy.

After all, last night was quite the victory. It wasn't everyday when a person as unabashed and brazen as Sixteen was beneath him, turned to clay while he sculpted her however he pleased. The days prior, she'd been angry with him for leaving her so unsatisfied, standing alone in her room when he knew she wanted just the opposite.