Nonconformity | Henry Creel

The First Stage

I was going to drown.

"You're panicking." The doctor said. "Calm down."

I could hardly hear him. I could hardly hear anything as the waves closed over my head and the sea swallowed me whole. My breaths were labored and erratic. No amount of air was enough. "What's my name?" My voice was all wrong; breathy and high-pitched. Dear God, what was my name?

The doctor didn't reply for a few seconds. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity I couldn't possibly understand. "Your name is Sixteen," He stated calmly.

I waited in silence, hoping the name would strike a familiar chord in my mind. When it didn't, I frowned. "Like the number?" I tried to force myself to be calm, but my voice betrayed me. Panic filled each and every syllable.

"Yes, like the number."

"What's your name?"

"The patients here call me Papa," He explained as he moved to grab my hand. I couldn't help but flinch away from the contact. "Would you like to know why that is? It's because I treat each patient as I would my own child, and I've proven to be something of a parental figure." He squeezed my hand and offered me another smile, "You can trust me. I know things may be confusing right now, but my number one priority is making things comfortable and easy for you. I want to create an environment where you can flourish."

"Parental figure?" I felt foolish as soon as the question left my lips. There were odd holes in my mind; ones that clearly weren't supposed to be there. I didn't know the meanings behind some of the words he used; some of the more simple ones. Yet, I knew that wasn't right because I could understand the more difficult words. Anger fluttered around in my gut. Maybe it was helplessness. Why did I feel like a stranger in my own mind?

"A parental figure, a 'Papa,' is someone who looks after you, keeps you safe, and always has your best interests at heart," He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, "I want to be that for you throughout your time here. Would you like that?"

My gut instinct told me not to trust him.

"Uh... sure," I breathed, "How long will I be here?"

His demeanor changed almost as soon as the words left my mouth. The smile ran screaming from his face, replaced with a cold, impersonal stare. "This is not your typical hospital, Sixteen." A shiver ran down my spine. "You will stay here until I deem you ready to leave."

I pushed off the bed, raising myself so I towered over him while he sat in his chair. "What do you mean 'I'll stay here?' I'm not a criminal, you can't just keep me here."

He didn't reply. Instead, he just stared at me, completely stoic. Each passing moment made me feel smaller and smaller, as if I was a misbehaving child. Despair and confusion intermingled, producing a bottomless hole in my stomach that I had been freefalling from since I woke up. With a sigh, I took a step back from him, trying my best to ignore the tense atmosphere that had suddenly been thrust upon the room. "I'm sorry," I conceded, "I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Why am I apologizing?

Without warning, the doctor--Papa-- raised himself from his chair. Now it was he who loomed over me, expressionless and cold. Panic created a ball in my throat. "You're in danger, Sixteen. Grave danger. Do you know why that is?"

I stared at him blankly.

"Do you remember killing three men?" He asked. My eyes went wide as I took another step back. I wasn't a murderer. "I didn't think you would. You're powerful, daughter. More powerful than you could possibly imagine. And that power gave you the ability to brutalize three different people. Left unchecked, your powers will overwhelm you."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and defensively spat, "I'm not a murderer. I don't have 'powers.' You have the wrong person."

"Denial is the first stage, Sixteen. Best we get through it quickly, hm? You're a danger to yourself and to those around you. That is why you can't leave. That is why we have to teach you to regulate your abilities... To make sure nothing like this ever happens again," He spoke with genuine conviction, I almost believed him.

Almost.

The following night was spent tossing and turning on a stiff, scratchy mattress. When 'Papa' told me I was being relocated, I was hoping I'd end up somewhere a little less bleak. What I came to realize, however, was that the entire facility had the same dreary, placid atmosphere. The hallways blurred together to formulate an expansive, boundless labyrinth made of white tile and harsh lighting

My bedroom was no different.

Tucked beneath a blanket that felt more like a napkin, I was free to dissect all that had happened since I arrived. A million questions ran through my head, and I was helpless to answer any of them. Who had I killed? Should I feel guilty? How can I feel guilty if I don't remember? Were there people looking for me? Did I have family looking for me?

I yearned for something I didn't remember. I wanted my real parental figures to be here. The man who wanted me to call him Papa had been nothing but honest and adoring, but I didn't entirely trust him. Whenever he spoke to me, he was armed with a perverse type of kindness that he dangled in front of me. And whenever I got close enough to touch it, he yanked it away, continuing the exhausting, foolish game we'd been playing since day one. I didn't trust him, and I certainly didn't trust the story he'd told me.

Me? Powerful? What a joke.

i dont know about you guys but i think the whole hawkins lab thing is kind of odd.

it screams someone's getting diddled alr thats all im gonna say

read the next chapter or ill cry so hard