Nonconformity | Henry Creel

War

"I'm barely restraining myself," She replied sarcastically. Usually, her jokes were a welcome distraction. Today they just felt forced and out of place. I hoped it wouldn't stay that way for too long. "Okay, fine, you can apologize. Some light groveling would be appreciated, too."

"Alright, are you ready? I've been planning this all night."

"Can't wait."

"Six," I started, "I'm very very very sorry for what I said. And I know you're trying to make jokes and avoid the serious stuff, but what I said wasn't okay, and I'm not tired of you."

A pause.

"It's about to get sappy so cover your ears if you don't want to hear the rest," I muttered. She didn't cover her ears, though. Instead she offered me another placating smile and gestured for me to continue. So I did. "I really hate it here. I hate the people and the lights and just about everything. Not you, though. You make it so much more bearable and I took that for granted. I'm sorry. Really, really sorry."

"Finished?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. I nodded. "Okay, good. I forgive you."

"That easily?" I frowned.

"Yes, that easily."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not an idiot and I can see that something's wrong, and sometimes I lash out when I'm not doing great, too," She said, "You know you can talk to me about this stuff, right?"

I nodded. "I missed you."

"Who wouldn't?" She scanned the room around us, brown eyes flitting over a few different patients. She leaned forward and began speaking in a conspiratorial whisper, "Two and Four have been glaring at me literally all week. No offense, but I thought they hated you, not me. They actually won't stop and it's getting creepy."

I spared a glance over my shoulder, and just as expected, I locked eyes with Two. His eyes were narrowed, head lowered. Something like anger or bitterness swirled in his gaze. I kept on staring until a few seconds had gone by and he refused to relent. It was as though he was trying to split me in two with his glare alone. Part of me expected it to work. Tension weighed heavy on my shoulders until I gave up and turned back to Six. "Jesus Christ," I scrunched up my face.

"In one way I'm flattered," Six breathed, "It's like we have our own little fan club."

"Our own little murderous, emotionally stunted fan club," I replied.

"They do look a bit stunted, don't they?" She frowned, glancing over my shoulder once more. "Anyways, tell me what happened. Why did you disappear for a week?"

I knew the question would arise eventually, and I dreaded it. That was one of the many reasons why it took me so long to pull myself together. There would be questions I didn't know how to answer and words better left unsaid. Part of me still didn't entirely understand what happened. The lines between reality and dream had blurred beyond the point of separation, and when I looked back on all that occurred, I only managed to give myself a headache. The only thing I knew for sure was that Peter was a little bitch, and I would sooner cut off my arm than have to speak to him. And I might've gotten tased. My memories were a patchwork quilt, mismatched and disorganized, blurring together and contrasting one another at the same time.

"That bad, huh?" Six asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

I laughed breathily, "You have no idea."

"Was it Peter?"

"Yes. No. Sort of?" I sighed, "It was a lot of things."

She reached forward and patted my shoulder, "Aw. Feelings are hard."