Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Mind Your Language

"And now, because of you, I have a target on my back," I spat, "Succeeding isn't half as important as my wellbeing."

Peter didn't reply for a few seconds. He appeared at a loss for words. I suppose I had an advantage in that respect, having spent all night preparing my argument.

"Your safety is ensured, Sixteen. The threat is gone," He muttered, blue eyes filled with meaning.

"Is it?" I asked sarcastically, "Did you go up to Two and Four and fight them yourself? Or did you give them a stern talking to? If they didn't respond to the warnings of authority figures before, why would they do it now?"

He tilted his head down in order to see my face in its entirety. "The threat is gone," He repeated. A smile crept upon his lips. It was then that I realized he fully believed the words leaving his mouth. Something awfully convincing must have occurred for him to be so sure.

And I had this terrible, sinking feeling that he had resorted to other methods. Methods more impactful than a slap on the wrist. My words were a whisper when they slipped from my tongue, "Peter... Peter, what did you do?"

Something dark filled his eyes. Something depraved that made me wonder if I truly knew him at all. The strangest feeling crawled beneath my skin. "I kept you safe," He breathed, "Someone had to."

I took a step away from him, stumbling over my own feet. He regarded my clumsiness with a light, amused smile. "Don't look so scandalized, Sixteen," He taunted, "Threats such as theirs are not tolerated. Especially not by your 'Papa.' If I hadn't reported them, another orderly would have."

"So, what then?" I hissed, "You had them punished?"

His steady breathing was the only sound in the entire room. He nodded.

"Oh my god," I put my hand over my mouth, "Fuck. If they were going to kill me before, what do you think they're going to do now?" A frantic laugh bubbled from my throat, "Holy shit, I'm fucked."

"Nothing is going to happen. They won't be bothering you again," He spoke as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "And, please, mind your language."

I blinked.

"You don't understand," I whispered, "There's a hierarchy among the patients, and they're at the top of it. Two has broken wrists and arms just for looking at him the wrong way. His pride is what drives his every breath, and if I've wounded it, then he won't stop just because you had him punished."

Peter took my hand in his. "Listen to me, Sixteen," He coaxed, voice earnest, "They are not going to do anything to you ever again." He shook his head, blonde hairs falling over his eyes. "I'll make sure of it."

Training passed in a blur of anxiety and exhaustion. When the mood eventually lifted, Peter had me locate different objects in the room with a blindfold wrapped around my head. I did so without complaint. I was too tired to fight him, and far too busy sifting through my own thoughts.

Using my abilities drained me far more than usual. I could feel their weakening pulse beneath my skin, less prominent but still there. I wondered if I continued on like this, would they go away entirely? I welcomed the thought. It would save me a lot of strife. But, of course, things weren't that easy, and they'd probably be restored after a full night's sleep.

I held it together long enough to reach free time, where I was supposed to report to the Rainbow Room. Instead, though, I snuck into the room where Six and I had watched movies a few days ago. I sought solace in the quiet, the lack of air conditioning, and the isolation.

My entire body felt too reactive. Each time my shoulder brushed against the cold tile, a biting chill would rush down my spine. My nerves groaned as they scraped against one another, alive and cognizant in a way they had never been before. I held a hand to my chest, painfully aware of my heart as it pounded against my ribcage.

My peripheral vision blurred. I closed my eyes, willing everything to slow down, only to find myself completely unable to control all the emotions eating away at my sanity. The lights flickered. My hands shook. I couldn't breathe. My head was so full I feared my skull would burst.

The term 'panic attack' could not begin to describe the sensation.

I feared Peter didn't understand the gravity of what he had done. He must've faced so many punishments that he'd become numb to the significance of them. Two and Four would not stop. He could swear up and down that I was safe, but I wouldn't believe him.

Even now, I could feel the threat of their presence looming over me. Like a bird of prey, they watched and they bided their time with hungry, piercing eyes.

I had completely and utterly misread Peter. I always suspected that he had a darker side. And, even then, he still had me fooled. A few days ago, if you had told me he was a guardian angel, I wouldn't have doubted it for a second. What, with the way his eyes bewitched, his voice caressed, and his touch soothed. Something about him had to be divine. No one was that perfect.

I feared he was much more complicated than that. Where he was beautiful, he was cruel. He had condemned two children to a fate I would never wish upon anyone. At the same time, his reasoning was perfectly logical, and in one way, I should have been flattered-- but I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong with him. That I had only just scratched the surface of his formidable, almost indestructible walls.

And what was more frightening than anything was how much it enamored me. How it only made me want to be around him more. To pick him apart piece by piece until I could see his insides, as ugly and rotten as they may be.

Something was truly wrong with me.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of footsteps walking down the hallway on the other side of the door. Truthfully, I welcomed the distraction. My mind was too loud, and I was far too tired to spend any more time thinking.

I took a deep, steadying breath and faced the shelves full of tapes. Since I had no idea how to work the television, I'd distract myself with the tapes. My knees were wobbly, shaking underneath my weight as I neared the shelves.

My touch ghosted over the plastic labels marking each tape. When I pulled my hand away, the tips of my fingers had turned grey. Whoever maintained this room was not very good at their job.

Suddenly, a thought popped into my head.

My arrival at Hawkins lab was all sort of a blur. When I closed my eyes, there were flashes of doctors, white lights, and hospital beds, but that was about it. I had never thought too much about it, though. A seizure wasn't really something most people would enjoy thinking about. I wondered what lost memories of mine were immortalized on that day's camera footage.

With discerning eyes, I scanned the label of each tape. The further I walked to my left, the older the tapes were, and the dustier. When I reached the end of the first shelf, I fought through a coughing fit, and then ventured to the opposite side.

By the time I reached the month of April 1979, the labels were so obscured by dust and cobwebs they were nearly incomprehensible. I blew away what I could and strained to see the little numbers scattered across the spines.

The date of my arrival had been April 1st, 1979.

And that seemed to be the only tape in the entire collection that was missing.

Next five chapters r going to be crazy also...
MIDNIGHTS BY TAYLOR SWIFT WOOOOO
WOOOOO
PARTYYYYY