The walk back to my room was probably the most taxing thing I'd ever done. My limbs were like lead, my eyes wouldn't stay open. I had to pause every few steps just to catch my breath and lean against the wall. I scraped at the dismal remains of my energy like a woman starved. I just had to get back to my room. I'd done it a thousand times before without fail.
This time, it was different. This time, my tiredness was so tangible that it blurred my vision and clawed at my insides. A sovereign force that demanded I bent to its will no matter how much I fought against it. And I was oh, so close to doing as demanded.
The hallway stretched infinitely ahead of me. Like a cruel being composed of tile that seemed to grow longer as I forced myself further into its depths.
I could almost laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Life was one endless, insufferable joke, and it seemed as though I was the punchline. That was the only possible explanation I could come up with. Either that, or some omnipotent being really got a kick out of fucking me over.
My mind swirled around in a whirlpool of self-hatred, bitter anger, and exhaustion. Why did everything have to be so utterly impossible? I couldn't recall the last time a problem of mine didn't require a multi-step solution.
My gaze briefly dipped to the tattoo on my wrist. The familiar, ever-present tug of hopelessness pulled at the back of my mind. Usually, I could ignore it. At that moment, though, all I wanted to do was fall to my knees and sleep. Did I really have to walk all the way to my room? What difference would it make?
No.
No, I had to make it back to my room. I needed my pills and I needed to figure out where that tape was.
The story I'd been fed about my arrival was clearly a lie. Looking back, the details had always been a little dubious. My hesitancy was only fueled by the fact that no one was allowed to talk to me about it aside from Papa. My worries had only been confirmed.
The seizure was real, of course. I'd seen it with my own two eyes. However, it was far too coincidental that I suffered a random seizure only after being kidnapped and transported to the lab. What were the chances? Very, very little-- of that, I was sure. Someone had certainly done something to cause it. I just had no idea who or what, and so I needed the tape. I also needed to find out what Peter had to do with it all.
Why did everything always trace back to him?
I shook the thought from my head as I arrived at the cold metal door of my room. If it were any other day, I would hate walking in there. I'd hate the silence that greeted me and the stillness of the room, forever frozen in its bleached, lifeless mediocrity. Today, I welcomed it.
On my walk back, I had decided I was beyond the point of worrying about silly dreams. Come what may, I was exhausted, and absolutely refused to stay up worrying about what this all meant. All I could do was hold my breath and hope to be blessed with a simple, pointless dream. Truthfully, I was too tired to care either way.
Gloria wouldn't be coming around with sleeping pills for some time. It was only, what, midday? Maybe on the later side, but still, far too early to sleep. Luckily, I'd been stockpiling all of my pills underneath the mattress.
I closed the door behind me. The room went completely black, aside from the small sliver of light that crept beneath the doorway. I stumbled through the darkness until I was kneeling next to my bed, scraping my knees on the tile in the process. A slew of curses left my lips.
I suppose storing the excess pills underneath my bed wasn't the brightest idea. Most of them would likely be crushed by now. At that point, I'd be willing to snort them so long as it gave me some respite.
I searched underneath the mattress until my pinkie came in contact with something cold. Far too wide to be a pill. I closed my fist around the trinket, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I didn't remember hiding anything else beneath my bed.
The object was surprisingly dense as it rested in the palm of my hand. Probably some sort of metal. My fingers ran the length of it, coming across a little hole near the top and some sort of gear that was meant to be rotated.
I adjusted my grip and rolled the gear. A spout of fire bursted from the top, immediately warming my face as I gasped in surprise and dropped the damn thing. A lighter. Why did I have a lighter?
The night of my escape suddenly popped into my head. The guard that I'd killed and stolen from. How had I managed to forget hiding the lighter? God, what was wrong with me? There had to be some sort of lasting issue with my memory, otherwise I really was going insane.
I scrambled to find the lighter, palms running against the cool tile. The second I had it in my hands again, the sound of flicking filled the room. The flame sputtered lullingly, an ombre of red, orange, and yellow. It danced to the rhythm of my breath, fluctuating as I brought it closer to my face.
With slow movements as to not put out the flame, I situated my opposite hand in front of it. My eyes clamped shut as I focused on the electricity beneath my skin. It wasn't so reactive this time, likely as a result of my fatigue. Still, though, when I opened my eyes and urged it forward, the flame grew.
A curious, delightfully surprised smile came across my face. I closed my fingers into a fist, and the flame disappeared. When I opened my hand again, it was back.
An idea popped into my head. One that was rash, impulsive, and yet probably the best solution to my current predicament.
I needed to access Papa's office if I wanted the tape. Of course, though, I'd have to deal with an obstruction or two. There was always a guard situated in the hallway near his office, sending all who passed a warning glare. But what if I could get him to leave? What if a more pressing matter stole him from his position?
A fire, per se?
I had passed the veil of sleep and arrived in a dream. Of that, I was sure. The air around me echoed with each breath I took. There were no children this time. No screaming or running or... Well, anything, I suppose. There was only darkness. I couldn't open my eyes. Confusion was the first thing I felt. I'd never been so conscious during my sleep, able to recall taking the pill, the tiredness in my limbs, the events of the days prior. All in sharp, certain detail.
A wave of warmth brushed over my skin. Finally, the darkness disappeared, and I was able to open my eyes. Bathed in the blue hue of moonlight, the lab's hallways almost looked ghostly. Nor to mention they were completely abandoned. No night guards, no patients getting up to use the bathroom, nothing.
Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something else was there. Waiting, watching, prepared to jump out at any moment. My feet proceeded down the hallway as though they had a mind of their own. If this truly was just a lucid dream, I was in control. Nothing could hurt me unless I allowed it to.
And so I made the first move, angrily yelling down the empty hallway, "I'm not playing hide and seek with you."
Nothing happened. The silence persisted.
Annoyance shot through me, before something else caught my attention. The edges of the tiles blurred a little bit, coming in and out of focus every few moments. I could feel them move beneath my fingertips as though they were breathing. When I inclined my head, my eyes widened. There was no ceiling.
Stars freckled across the inky black wasteland, winking down at me. They contrasted the vacuum of space in the most perfect, empyrean way. If I reached up, I was almost convinced I could dip my fingertips into the darkness, shifting the moon and the stars as I so pleased. My heart dropped into my stomach as I became achingly aware of all that had been taken from me. How could the night sky possibly be on that list? Papa was not divine, and yet he'd managed to steal me away from divinity.
I liked to think that someone was in charge of the stars. That some god roamed around the galaxy, polishing each one until it was visible from millions of miles away. Watching over them as they had watched over me for so many years.
I was at a loss, overcome by grief until tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
"Beautiful, aren't they?"
I gasped in surprise, whipping my head around to see Peter. He stood beside me, head tilted back, observing the night sky. The peaks and valleys across his face were accentuated by the dim lighting. His hair almost looked brown as he stood there like a dark angel from the deepest depths of my imagination.
"Are you fucking kidding me," I spat, "I can never have one decent sleep without you showing up. It's infuriating."
The beginnings of a smile came across his face. His eyes remained glued to the stars above, "And who's fault is that, hm?" My gaze caught on his jaw, made all the more prominent by the moonlight ahead.
Good lord.
I shook the sultry thoughts from my head before they could begin taking root. This was all insane. He wasn't real. The sky above me wasn't real. If I could just will it all away, I'd finally be allowed to sleep without interruption.
"Please, just leave," I urged, hoping my desperation showed well enough in my voice, "I shouldn't be thinking about Peter like... this. It's not healthy. And I'm not very happy with him at the moment. So please, go away."
His eyes finally met mine. An unwanted chill ran down my spine. I hated him for being so beautiful. "I like when you say that word... 'Please.'" He faced me, completely disregarding what I'd said.
"What does this say about me mentally?" I muttered. Why did my brain insist of making things so difficult? Why did Peter have to occupy so much space in my mind? I must have been truly, utterly fucked in the head.
"Perhaps you're not the one doing it," He hummed.
"Oh, but I am," I frowned, "And do you want to know the worst part? I only ever have these dreams when I take a certain pill. And if I don't take that pill, then I can't sleep. Ever. This is the first time I've slept in almost four days because I don't want to keep dreaming of you like this."
"Quite the predicament," He mused. Though, he didn't look incredibly sorry. In fact, the smug little grin on his face told me quite the opposite. "What if I told you this situation doesn't have to be as awful as you're making it?"
"But it is as awful as I'm making it," I countered, "Don't you remember what we did last time?"
The memory simmered in the air between us. I didn't want to remember the heavy way in which he breathed or the wanton way in which he touched me. I suppose I didn't really have a choice. It all came rushing at me until I was drowning in the memory.
"Vividly," His response was quiet, as though it were only meant for him. Something new filled his eyes. Something darker. He almost sounded like he was mocking me when he asked, "Is that what you want? For me to kiss you?"
"No, Peter," I spat in annoyance. "I want you to leave. How many times do I have to say that?"
"Maybe--," He took a few steps towards me. My gaze fell down to his shoes, watching as they came closer and closer. An awful, foreboding ache filled my stomach. "--If you asked really nicely, I would consider it."
"You're such an asshole," I crossed my arms, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. "I'm not going to beg you to leave my own fucking head. Maybe you should learn how to read social cues, hm?"
He took my jaw in his hands. His grip was as commanding as it was gentle. Just like last time, we were far too close. "No one said anything about begging, Sixteen," He tilted his head, "Light groveling would suffice, too."
My eyes were filled with defiance when I slapped his hand away. "I'm dangerously close to hitting you."
"Are you?" He laughed in gleeful surprise.
I nodded. One moment passed, then another. We stared at each other until I couldn't bare it any longer. Peter took joy in riling me up. And he was oh, so happy with himself. My blood boiled as we stood, trading glances as though we'd lost the ability to speak.
"I'm infatuated with you," His knuckles dragged over my cheek. The blood froze in my veins. I hated how real it sounded. How lovely it made me feel. Peter looked at me like he couldn't believe I was standing there, staring at him. My mind warred with itself as my gaze wandered to his lips. I could feel the urge to kiss him like its very own being. It screamed, clawed, begged, and reared its head, demanding I close the distance between the two of us.
And I was so, incredibly close to doing as it said.
"No, Peter, you're not," I whispered, grasping his wrist and pushing it away. His eyes were intoxicatingly blue. I almost couldn't look at him when I said the words, "This isn't real. And I know that, because the real Peter would never say what you just said." I took a step back, glaring accusatively at the surrounding hallways, "And I don't know why my brain insists on taunting me, but it would be really great it would stop."
"Oh, Sixteen," his head was tilted, watching me with delight, "It's all so confusing, isn't it?"
"Don't patronize me," I spat.
He only smiled.
HIIIIII!!!!
So dream Peter is in this chapter and he is very Henry-like so I hope you enjoyyyy.
THE NEXT CHAPTER IS GOING TO BE BONKERS. BETRAYAL. ARSON. THE WORKS. I can't wait to write it guys Im literally so excited.
Also, I officially have the book planned out. There will likely be around 35-37 chapters? I don't know, along the way I'll probably decide to change things or add extra chapters. I also have a chapter in Peter's POV and that will be coming up pretty soon.
I DONT THINK YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO LIKE THE END LMAO ITS SAD AS FUCK!
don't forget to comment :) <33
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