Nonconformity | Henry Creel

Metalsmith

So I stayed there for a week, tied down, content as ever because I didn't have to feel anything else. And when I did feel, I could force it down all over again until the chains tightened and my blood stopped circulating.

I tried not to think about Peter for the first few days. Then, dusk had turned to dawn so many times and I figured he wasn't even a problem anymore. A week had passed. Maybe the entire world had forgotten about my existence, and so thinking about Peter wouldn't have to feel so real. At first, I worried if I thought about what he'd done, he would somehow know. Know that I cared so, incredibly much that it made me sick. And if he knew I cared, he knew he still had a modicum of power over me.

Peter wasn't god, though.

Peter was an average, mediocre boy. He wasn't extraordinarily smart, he wasn't extraordinarily cruel, he wasn't extraordinarily powerful. He was just a thoughtless, insignificant boy who had tricked me into thinking he was anything but. He could claim to hate this place as much as I did, he could pretend to care about me, he could do whatever he pleased. It didn't change the fact that he was a snitch, a liar, a person utterly incapable of loyalty. He was a hard lesson learnt, but good god, had I learned it.

I was finished with him. I was finished with the lab, I was finished with Papa. I was so, beyond finished that the thought of having to endure any of it ever again made me want to blow the brains out of the back of my head.

My only regret was that I hadn't seen through Peter.

That, and the way I'd spoken to Six.

On day number three, Six had knocked on my door. Assuming it was Gloria, I had told her to come in. I remember the exact thought that crossed my mind when she entered. 'I can't.' Can't speak to her, can't look at her, can't watch her realize something was wrong with me. And so she sat down on my bed, prepared to smile and laugh and soothe every aching muscle in my body until anything awful in the world just disappeared-- as though it had never existed in the first place.

I never gave her the chance.

'I don't need your sympathy,' I had said, 'I'm so tired of you.' And then I watched the smile melt off of her face. Watched the hurt fill her eyes. She breathed the word 'okay,' and then smiled again, as though she wanted to make me feel better for hurting her. Like she had any right to feel sorry when I'd completely disregarded her kindness and lashed out solely because I was spiteful and bitter. 'We'll talk later, okay?' She'd said from the doorway, 'I miss you.'

And then she left, and I curled up and cried until my head pounded.

I regretted that. I really fucking regretted that.

In some twisted way, maybe I'd done her a service. Hurting her once so early in our friendship was better than hurting her later down the line, which I was bound to do. Better than her potentially hurting me.

The door opened, pulling me away from my own self destructive thoughts. I was certain my room smelled bad by now. I hadn't gotten up to shower in nearly a week, nor had I moved from my bed. Gloria noticed, but she never showed it. Never crinkled her nose or winced or even wavered for a moment. She walked over to my bedside, a smile on her face and a cart rolling in front of her.

She gathered my uneaten lunch from my nightstand. "Still not feeling well enough to eat?" She asked, tucking the tray on the bottom level of her cart. I could almost cry as I thought about gathering the strength to nod. How many muscles would that require? I tried to rationalize it. A simple up and down movement of my head. One I'd probably done a million times before. So why did it feel like the world was ending? Why was there a pit in my stomach telling me I simply wasn't capable of what was demanded?

I took a deep breath and nodded despite my unwillingness. The smallest possible gestures, and yet it weighed on my limbs like a two hundred pound weight. I almost felt out of breath when I'd finished. Gloria and I watched one another in silence. Her mouth opened and closed, as though she wanted to say something but wasn't sure if she should. Whatever it was, she opted against it and grabbed a familiar pill bottle.

I counted the days spent in my room by the number of pills resting beneath my pillow. I didn't have the energy to pull up my mattress and stuff them in there like I had with the other ones. Instead, I tucked them under my pillow and pretended like they didn't exist.

Of course, I couldn't take the pills. I could hardly breathe, let alone entertain Peter for hours on end. If nodding was impossible, then that was the ninth circle of hell. Luckily-- I use that term loosely-- I was able to catch a few minutes of sleep throughout the week. After all, I spent every moment of every day sitting in my bed, eyes half shut, staring at one insignificant thing or the other. I was bound to fall asleep. When I did, though, it was fitful and dreamless, and I'd wake up after no more than fifty minutes. Still, it was a welcome respite from my ever-buzzing mind.

When Gloria handed me the pill, I did as I always had. I thanked her, dreaded the process of sitting up and taking the cup in my hand, and then palmed the thing and pretended to drop it in my mouth. By the time I was finished, my entire body was screaming at me to lay back down. Gloria was abnormally quiet, though I almost didn't realize, too preoccupied by my own exhaustion.

Just as I was about to roll over and offer my bone-weary limbs some respite, Gloria caught my wrist. Her hand was surprisingly soft, or maybe it was her grip. Her touch was tender, loving, and so clearly that of a nurse.

"I know you're not sick, Baby," She said with a meaningful nod of her head. I didn't reply. I didn't really know how. Part of me had hoped she'd let it go on like this forever. "Now, I don't need you to tell me what happened or why you're feeling so blue." She turned to her cart and produced a little cardboard box, "But I do need you to eat. And I know that I'm asking a lot, but look at all you've dealt with already. A muffin is nothing compared to all that."

I stared at her. Stared at her until the room went blurry and my shaking hands clenched around the box. "Okay," I muttered. It felt like a promise I couldn't keep. A dirty lie that Gloria would no doubt resent me for when she returned in the morning and the box remained unopened.

Suddenly she was moving forward. I flinched away when she raised her arms towards me, convinced that she'd rather hit me than do what she actually planned on doing. I didn't even really register the hug until I smelt the cigarettes on her clothing and her hair was rubbing against my cheek. The metal which cringed onto my limbs loosened, if even just for a moment.

She was warm. She smelt nice. I wasn't even embarrassed that I hadn't showered. I was crying when I wrapped my arms around her, too. Crying because this was the first time I had been hugged in months. Crying because I didn't want to feel this way. Crying because-- oh my god-- someone wanted to hug me and I didn't even need to ask.

She rubbed circles on my back.

"I know, Baby," She whispered, "I know."

SO this chapter is another heavier chapter because I wanted to dive into sixteen's mental health/mind set following the incident. THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE PETER!!! (I know u guys r here for him so I will deliver ofc) I'm also planing on writing a chapter in Peters POV(I might have said that already)

I HOPE YOU ENJOY PLEASE COMMENT!!!! <3