Project Apollo: Book Two ✔️

Chapter Three

Jason Archer

"You're unnatural." He gripped my chin and forced my cheek against the mirror. "Look at yourself. Do you see the abomination I see?"

I blinked as I stared at the covered mirror I'd hidden the day prior. I stood there with the soft carpet tickling between my toes. I didn't move. I couldn't see past that day. I couldn't scrub my fucking brain. Escaping campus did little for the monsters they created that day.

"Sit pretty, Jason. I want to take a photo." His laughter howled through my ears. "Though, I suppose you don't have a choice, do you?"

Swallowing, I reached up and tried to tame my hair to the best of my ability. I showered. I had to look somewhat presentable. I was sure of it. I did my skincare. I didn't need a mirror to wash my face. It was probably a little red, but that had to be okay. No one in this house cared what I looked like because they didn't care about me. It was perfect. The perfect scenario, right? If they didn't care, then I didn't have to do anything extra to prep my appearance. They weren't looking at me anyway.

But I was still on the verge of panic. It didn't matter.

So, I started running through my favorite facts in my head. Stupid facts that no one gave a shit about. Hell, Emery asked me once to provide him with facts about volcanoes, and he absorbed every single one. Then he started teaching me about them. Giving me every single one he came across. I remembered them. My brain always remembered facts. I absorbed them. It was a skill I had–a useless one, at that.

Yet, at times like these, it helped soothe me until I came down from the edge of panic I found myself on.

Bees can fly higher than Mount Everest. Which, in retrospect, is fascinating. Mount Everest is almost thirty thousand feet, and bees can fly higher than that. I've always meant to do more research about it, but the information never sticks past the facts and the bit of explanation it.

Aquarium actually means a watering place for cattle in Latin. Which, again, is kind of funny because they aren't used for cattle at all. They never were. They've always been meant for fish. It makes one wonder how one came up with it.

A waffle iron inspired the first pair of Nikes. Imagine that, though. Yeah, hey, the first ever pair of Nikes was inspired because Bill Bowerman looked at running shoes and said, "Those are shit," looked at a waffle iron, and thought, "Yup, that's it. The perfect running shoe." I'd give anything for a look inside of his mind.

There is a dumb one that always makes me laugh. But there is a woman who called the police because her ice cream didn't have enough sprinkles. Imagine calling the police and explaining that one to the operator. I could only imagine how that conversation went. I was pretty sure the operators weren't allowed to hang up until the call was complete, but I would have broken the law on that one. Who calls because of that? Why not ask for more? I didn't look into that one either. I only remember it because it's so insane.

Penicillin was first called "mold juice." Not shocking.

A man dressed as Santa Claus went skydiving over the North Pole.

I jumped when someone opened my door and looked to see Emery peeking inside with a smile. Jesus. I was stuck in my head again. A compilation of useless facts calmed me enough to appear somewhat presentable when Emery waltzed into the room. Those green eyes were watching my every move. My every muscle twitch. My every blink. He wanted to know why I suddenly dropped out of college right before I was set to graduate—I'd never told anyone the whole story.