I slept for a maximum of five hours every night.
No matter how much my body ached or my brain begged for relief, I never slept. It wasn't really a conscious choice I was making. Without a task to complete or a person to interact with, my unhindered mind would not allow me a moment of peace. It was as though, each night, I was being led on a leash, helpless to derail my train of thought.
When I did sleep, it was fitful, overloaded with odd dreams and unanswered questions.
I also hated being alone in my room. The air conditioner seemed as though it were screaming in my ear, unrelenting despite my every attempt to muffle it. Some nights I would be so wracked with tiredness and so maddened by the machine that I would curl my pillow around my face until I couldn't breathe. And then I'd sit there, anguished for air, until I eventually gave in and pulled the pillow from my face. I liked the control it gave me. At the very least, I was in charge of my airways.
They bent to my will even if no one else did.
Tonight was worse than the nights before. I didn't get a wink of sleep, despite my endless attempts. My mind felt as though it didn't fit inside my skull, swollen with questions, observations, dread, tiredness, and basically anything else that I got around to thinking about.
Training with Peter took precedence. All night, I combed over our previous interactions and how they would play into our training. Did Peter really allow me to escape, or was it simply an act of self-preservation? If someone were brandishing a taser at me, I would back off, too.
I dissected that interaction for an hour, before moving on to something else.
Whether he let me go out of the goodness of his heart or not, I didn't like him. He was too polished. There was something about him that just made me wildly uncomfortable. When he stared at me, I sometimes believed he was diving into my brain and swimming among my thoughts. And his eyes certainly did him no favors. A blue so vivid I felt as though I were drowning beneath them.
Training would be a nightmare, without a doubt. We would sit together for hours on end while he disapprovingly watched me achieve absolutely nothing. I think I dreaded that most of all. If I could, I would never speak to him ever again. I'd choose group training over individual training with him, and that was saying a lot.
I sighed at the sound of an orderly making their way towards my door.
The Rainbow Room was buzzing with life when I finally left my room. Usually, the place was quiet aside from the occasional whispered conversation and the clatter of equipment. Today, though, the children talked amongst themselves with something that resembled excitement. Someone even waved at me as I entered. I was so taken aback by the notion that I just stared without returning the gesture and shuffled my way towards my table. What shocked me even further was when they fell in step with me all the way to my destination.
And then I sat.
And she sat, too.
"I'm Six," She greeted, then smiled. I noticed a small gap between her two front teeth. I blinked twice, never uttering a word. My mind was racing too fast for me to even think about formulating a response. Why was she here? Was this Two's doing? I'd seen them playing chess before, perhaps this was a setup? But why would Two set me up?
I was stunned at my own paranoia. Good lord, I'd been here a month and had somehow been reduced to a paranoid, anxiety-fueled mess. I had also completely forgotten about common courtesy, apparently, "Hi, I'm Sixteen."
"Oh, we match," She gushed, "Well, kind of." Another gap-toothed smile was sent my way. She was quite pretty. Her doe eyes brimmed with warmth, bearing the same dark brown as the dusting of freckles across her cheeks. The beginnings of curly black hair peeked out of her scalp. She seemed to be around my age.
"I've been meaning to introduce myself to you," She continued, absently picking at the skin on her arm, "But then you disappeared for a little while and I never got the chance." She frowned, "I should've said something earlier, though, it would've saved you from talking with Two."
"It wasn't that bad," I shrugged, "Does he usually throw tantrums like that?"
She grinned with amusement and then quickly checked behind her, "Yes, he does. But lower your voice, he's been known to pick fights." I raised an eyebrow. Why would Papa allow fighting between the test subjects?
"And no one's stopped him?" I asked, "Why hasn't an orderly stepped in?"
Something angry flashed in her eyes. It was there and gone in a second, and then she was smiling again, "Healthy competition is good. It makes us want to do better in lessons. Sometimes Two takes it a little too far, though."
It all clicked. Why Papa made us train together, why he encouraged competition. He wanted us to fight each other. He wanted to breed insecurity and jealousy by keeping us all in conjunction, forced to watch as other subjects failed or succeeded. Making us resent each other would push us closer to him and more susceptible to his influence. Dissecting life in the lab felt like peeling layers off of the world's most rotten onion, and each layer was darker and more decayed than the one before.
I watched longingly as the children filed out-- wishing for nothing more than to go with them as I counted down the moments until I would have to speak with Peter. I could feel him a few yards away, eyes boring into the back of my skull. Being the odd one out within the 'sibling' dynamic wasn't a remarkable occurrence, but it was somehow more humiliating to be separated from them. At the very least, I could disappear into the sea of people after I failed my training. But with Peter, I would be forced to linger on my failures. I'd have to listen to him analyze and judge while knowing full well that had no hope of doing any better.
And, of course, I still wasn't free of my sibling's judgment. I saw their gnawing gazes as I lingered behind, full of verdicts and uninformed opinions. Exceptionally, Six offered me a wave as she left. I did not know the girl, nor did I trust her, but I decided she was my favorite. At the very least, she was cordial and entertaining to speak to. I hadn't lied once during our conversation-- a new record of mine, I should think.
"Are you ready to go?" Peter's voice penetrated through my thoughts. I didn't face him at first, instead allowing myself one more moment of peace before I began with what I was certain would be a humiliating day. I heard his footsteps beginning towards me and barely withheld a sigh.
When he was beside me, I mumbled a 'yes' and followed him out the door.
He led us down a few different hallways. I never said a word, led astray by all the thoughts circling around in my head.
"Are you nervous for our training, Sixteen?" Peter asked, gazing at me with ponderous eyes.
That's one way to phrase it. 'Nervous' was an understatement. Nervous was what I would have been, were it not for the added paranoia, overthinking, and exhaustion I exhibited at present. My bones felt tired-- was that possible? If I hadn't been paying for my sleepless nights before, I certainly was now.
"No, I'm thrilled," My sarcastic reply came as no surprise to him. Something like amusement tugged at his face.
We came to a halt outside of a metal door. He held it open and gestured for me to go inside. I took a few steps into the room and was thoroughly disappointed. If nothing else, I had hoped for a new breed of training. A slight deviance from the same, mundane activities I endured during group practice.
Instead, I got a barren metal room with nothing but a metal table and metal chairs to occupy the space. And a lamp, in the center of said table. "Lovely," I whispered before making my way toward my seat. It was stiff and cold beneath my skin. How welcoming.
Peter sat across from me, arms neatly folded ahead of him. He took a deep breath and motioned towards the lamp, "I want you to turn it on. Do you think you could do that for me?" I nodded.
He smiled endearingly, "Then go ahead."
My narrowed eyes lingered on his as I slowly reached forward and flipped on the lamp. He regarded my purposely naive response with a smile, before leaning forward and flipping the lamp off once again. "You know what I meant, Number Sixteen."
I sighed defeatedly and redirected my gaze to the lamp. With another deep breath, I began reaching for the concentrated strike of lightning that resided in my veins. It was like an aura surrounding me, something only I could see. And then I tried pushing it beyond myself, out into the real world as though it were material and not just a feeling. My muscles tensed with the effort, and the feeling strained against my skin, desperate to run free. But just like all the times before, it couldn't.
The lamp didn't so much as flash.
I gave an annoyed huff and sat back in my chair. Peter didn't reveal his reaction to my failure. Whether he was disappointed, unsurprised, angry, or unimpressed, his face remained impassive against the emotion. That only angered me all the more.
"Remember to focus on the coming and going of electricity within the lamp. Your mind will act as a buffer, all you must do is create a medium for the electricity to pass through," His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Peter genuinely believed I was capable of doing what he asked, which only dissuaded me further. Though I told myself I didn't need his approval, I knew deep down that I didn't want to disappoint him. I'd disappointed so many people already, and adding him to that list would be unbearable.
So I braced myself once more and focused my attention back on the lamp. The pulse of electricity emerged stronger than before. I focused on it as though my life depended on my success, desperately urging it to the surface. Instead of doing as I instructed and turning on the lamp, my focus decided to go somewhere else.
The air conditioning.
The sound it produced was more deafening than usual. I wouldn't be surprised if I discovered crimson streaming from my ears. A headache rose to the surface, so debilitating in its intensity that I would have preferred to smash my brains across the table than endure it for one more moment.
I gasped in pain as I finally broke my focus.
"Sixteen?" Peter's voice echoed with worry as his eyes bore into mine, "What happened?" He didn't get a reply. I shook my head and gingerly massaged my temples, bracing against the retreating headache.
Without warning, he reached forward. A soft, calloused hand pressed against my forehead as disarming blue eyes stared into mine. "You're burning up," He frowned deeply, "I could bring you to the nurse if you'd like. Training can wait."
"I don't want to go to the nurse, I want to go home." My voice was soft, barely audible. His hand left my forehead. "I don't have abilities. No matter how hard I try, nothing happens. I don't know why I'm here, but Papa must have made a mistake." Rabid desperation filled my voice, "You have to tell him. You have to tell him he made a mistake."
As soon as the words left my mouth, I wanted to sink into the floor beneath me and disappear. Something I had realized early on about the lab was that nothing within it was real. Papa's love wasn't real, the pleasant disposition of my siblings wasn't real, and the kind words and compassionate gestures of others were never, ever real.
But what I told Peter was real. So real, I felt as though my body had turned to glass, and his fingerprints had smudged the deepest parts of my mind. Laid bare before him, I was stricken to my very bones.
I recalled his face, drowned in red on the day of my escape. How a hurt so raw and palpable overtook each and every peak and valley scattered across his face.
Instead of pain, he now pooled with understanding.
"He didn't make a mistake, Number Sixteen. Do you seriously believe your Papa would have gone through the trouble of bringing you here if you weren't gifted?" Peter's stare was unrelenting. Something raw and honest and desperate filled his gaze. His face never shifted, but his agonizing, insufferable blue eyes said all I needed to know. "He did not make a mistake. Understand?"
I was silent.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes, Peter." My heart thumped wildly in my chest, "I understand."
Another lie.
honestly guys, idk how to feel abt this one its kind of bad LOL.
AND YOU DID SEE ME HERE. OH THEY NEVER DID SEE ME. AND SHES IN MYYYYYYYY DREAMMSSSS INTO THE MIST, INTO THE CLOUDS. DONT LEAAAAVVEEEE I MAKE A FIST , I MAKE IT COUNT AND THERE ARE PLACES I WILL ENVER EVER GOOOOOOOOOOO THINGS THAT ONLY CAROLINE KNOWS.
guys dont tell anyone but i really really really love taylor swift maybe more than phoebe bridgers (definitely more than phoebe bridgers but i love phoebe too)
READ THE NEXT CHAPTER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE OR MY GRANDMOTHER WILL DIE, DO YOU WANT MY GRANDMOTHER'S DEATH ON YOUR HANDS? (this is funny because theyre both already dead) #deadgrandma #deadgrandmacheck
should i do a dead grandma unboxing video?