I was used to treachery.
So, incredibly used to it that I'd grown paranoid of my own shadow. Who knew? What if it turned around and swallowed me whole? It was exhausting, being suspicious of the very walls that enclosed me in my own colorless hell. Could I be blamed, though? To survive, I had to adapt. Naivety would only put me in danger, and I refused to be lead to the slaughter like some mindless little lamb. I'd kick and punch until my muscles were rendered obsolete, and after that, I'd bite. Laying over and dying was never an option I had the privilege of choosing. I'd been through too much, been hurt too many times. Call it pride or the highest form of delusion, I didn't care.
I learned to adjust to my environment and see through Papa's parental ruse. His smiles, his endearment, his promises of safety. They all rang hallow through my head, disappearing as quickly as a puff of air in icy cold weather. He never had me fooled.
Peter, however... Peter had me fooled.
I once believed we shared a sense of otherness. That we both recognized the demented innerworkings of the tiled halls caging us in. I thought he trusted me. We'd spent hours together, exchanging smiles, secrets and comfort that we both desperately needed. I could have sworn it wasn't one sided. That he cared for me, at the very least. And I could live with the fact that he wouldn't ever treasure me as I treasured him. Settling was easy when his eyes met mine, when he smiled, when he laughed. Perhaps it was foolish of me to consider him my friend. Some days, though, it felt so, incredibly real. But of course not.
Of course not.
I should've known. How many times had I repeated that saying in my head when he tricked me into the program? Hundreds, maybe thousands. Even still, I managed to forget the phrase as soon as he sent his awful grin my way. Like a spineless fool, I groveled at his feet, knowing he could kick me in the face if he pleased and yet fully convinced he would not. So that's exactly what he did. He lulled me into a false sense of security with his beauty, his warmth, only to smash my teeth in with the polished black tip of his shoe.
I should've been more angry. I should've been more surprised.
But things had always been this way, and they probably always would be.
So I stared at Peter in complete silence, the tape grasped between my sweating palms. The hurt of his betrayal, the sting of salt in a wound, it showed in my gaze. No one moved. The world had stopped and forced me to sit in the pain, hoping-- no, praying-- that it would kill me. The walls laughed, the door wheezed, the very air I breathed mocked me. How could you be so foolish? So blind?
I had no answer.
"So, what now?" My voice broke the silence, bitter and unsteady, lashing like a whip through the air around us. "Is it fulfilling, being Papa's little bitches?" I jerked my hand towards them playfully. Two of the guards winced away, as though closing their eyes would protect them. They were lucky, I suppose, that I hadn't actually tried anything. A smile played at my lips, "Why so jumpy? Don't tell me you're scared."
"Mind your manners, Sixteen," Peter's voice almost mirrored mine, the key difference being that I was far, far angrier. His deep, authoritative voice typically stuck an unsettling-- perhaps even fearful-- cord in me. Not today. Instead, it acted like coal to my already raging fire.
"Mind my manners?" I raised two incredulous eyebrows. "Oh, oh. That's my fault, I didn't realize I was talking to the fucking bastion of politeness. Please, enlighten me. What's the most polite course of action to take in a situation like this?"
His eyes were frozen, practically stone. The warmth I once adored was a ghost, his expression so devoid that I was forced to wonder if it'd ever been there in the first place. "Stop with the theatrics," He spat, as though I didn't have a right to be angry. As though I was a ridiculous, mindless child throwing a tantrum.
The light above us flickered with increasing violence as my emotions reached new, more frightening depths. The crackling of electricity that resided in my veins waited eagerly at my fingertips, straining against my skin, begging to be made tangible. It took all of the little composure I had left not to let it.
I watched the guard to Peter's left pull a taser from his belt. The others followed suit, until all but Peter watched me with hungry, malevolent eyes. Perhaps it was the sheer abundance of adrenaline coursing through my body, but I couldn't be scared even if I tried. Staring at those insignificant little trinkets, I very nearly laughed.
"Should we take her?" One of them asked.
Peter merely turned his head, regarding the guard through narrowed, judging eyes. He waved off the suggestion, "No, that won't be necessary." He faced me once again. Our stares warred with one another, daring the other to make a move. For once, I was his equal. Maybe even his superior. No matter how powerful Peter seemed, he couldn't do what I could. He couldn't manipulate his surroundings and he certainly couldn't win whatever fight that was on the brink of occurring. "Against the wall, Sixteen. Let's get all the unpleasantness over with, hm?"
My fingers clenched around the plastic of the tape. Truthfully, I didn't know what I planned to do. I was certain I could take the guards. Peter, too, though there'd be a little more reluctance. Still, I knew I wasn't powerful enough on my own to escape, and there was no other way out of the situation.
But anger had long since drowned out common sense. My withering stare never ceased. "No," I breathed, "No, I don't think so."
The only indication that Peter wasn't proud of what he was about to do was a soft frown. Barely there, the smallest tilt of his bottom lip. "Then you leave me with no other choice," He raised his hand from his side, gesturing towards me with two figures. "Do what you must," He addressed the guards, "No tasers."
And like ravenous, predatory animals desperate for blood, they began closing in.
Everything slowed down.
Time itself must have stopped. I wasn't sure whether I intended to hurt anyone. I could have sworn it was an accident when the barely-constrained electricity braced against my skin came flooding forward. All at once, it overwhelmed me.
All feeling disappeared from my limbs. There were no thoughts as power wrapped around my bones, encasing my flesh in a million little bolts of lightning. I couldn't see, couldn't hear. All I knew was white hot rage, burning like the sun, turning anything and everything to ash. I could taste the fear of the guards, feel their bones crumbling beneath my mind. I neared a precipice and stared into the abyss below, desperately trying to keep myself from falling into it and yet completely unable to control myself.
So I fell over the edge, plummeting into nothingness until even my rage went away. Until there was nothing at all but pure, untapped power, pounding away at my limbs, eating through muscle, organ, and bone. I felt the first guard die. Felt his bones give way and his heart stop beating. The other three followed in rapid succession.
And then I felt Peter.
My eyes snapped open. I must have blacked out. The power was gone, drained away into nothing. Peter didn't stand anymore. He stared at me from the ground, wide eyed, bleeding from his nose. He looked almost demonic, lips twisted into a smile as he sat amongst the mutilated bodies of the guards who had stood behind him only moments before.
My knees buckled beneath me. The bitter taste of copper filled my mouth.
This time, the blackness was not so welcoming.
I awoke with a start. My entire body ached. The air conditioning must've been turned up to its highest setting because-- holy fuck-- it was freezing.
"Hello?" My voice was like nails on a chalkboard, hoarse from hours of sleep. When I was offered no reply, I finally forced my eyes open. Harsh, white lights invaded my pupils all at once, coaxing a sharp inhale from my sore throat. I didn't quite know where I was. And immediately, I recognized that as a bad sign. This'd better not be a dream.
I was surrounded by white, convex walls which almost looked like oversized cushions. Aside from that, there was a vent in the left corner of the room, and nothing else. The vent blew in ridiculously cold air that pebbled my skin with goosebumps. My hospital gown didn't do much to help either.
I'd already been in that room long enough for my nose to go numb and my every inhale to sting.
However bad the situation had been up to that point, it only got worse when I tried to stand up. My legs wouldn't move, nor would my hands. My stomach dropped, and suddenly the cold was impossible to bare. I truly did not want to glance down at whatever was holding me back. For a few moments, my eyes stared ahead, unfocused while I prayed this was a dream and I'd be waking up at any moment.
When I didn't, my gaze lowered. A strangled cry escaped my lips. My wrists were bound to the metal arms of the chair I sat upon. Sturdy leather cuffs dug into the skin on my wrists and ankles, forcing me to keep still and groaning as I tried to defy them.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Of course, I remembered what had happened. Every second remained burnt into my memory in agonizing detail. Finding the tape, Peter's betrayal, the guards... The anger, the blood, the massacre, the influx of power that singed my insides. Papa once threatened to kill me. I thought if I simply behaved, if I played along, I'd be safe from that particular punishment. But sitting there in the insufferable cold, I couldn't help but wonder if this would be my final mistake. Would I die a nameless girl in a nameless prison at the hands of a nameless doctor?
Certainly not.
Certainly not?
All at once, my emotions sunk. They disappeared, retreating to the darkest corners of my mind.
I should've been more angry, or sad, or confused, or afraid. Truthfully, I felt nothing. There was a dull throbbing sensation in the back of my mind, but that was it. Maybe I was in shock. I mean, shouldn't I be fighting for my life right now? Shouldn't I be clawing at my bindings until my skin was rubbed raw? Instead, I sat perfectly still, inhaling deep, steady breaths.
I thought about my hospital gown, of all things. Someone had changed it. Fabric draped over my front and back, clumsily tied together with string on my left side. The edges of my stomach, hip, and waist were exposed. Just barely, though. I made a feeble attempt to cover myself up, only to hike it up further.
A sigh left my lips.
Suddenly, a door opened behind me. Or, I think it did. I couldn't rotate my body enough to see whatever made the noise. A short silence ensued, but I knew there was someone waiting on the other side of it. I could feel their eyes piercing into the back of my head like daggers. Shoes clicked against the ground, growing closer until I could make out Papa's face.
He was more solemn than usual, refusing to meet my eyes until he stood directly in front of me. Grasped in his wrinkled hands was a grey briefcase, which he placed on the ground in front of him. His eyes met mine, cold and impersonal. The room was a sauna compared to his icy glare.
"Number Sixteen," He greeted, though it felt more like a mockery. I was merely a number, while he was blessed with a name of his own, tailored just for him. This should've angered me. I should've been shouting and screaming and cursing at him as though my words alone could bury him beneath the ground. Instead, I stared a hallow woman's stare.
"Nine," He spat out the word like it was burning his tongue. I knew the significance of the number before he even continued. How could I possibly forget? "As of today, you have been responsible for the deaths of nine men, Daughter. Nine men with families to feed and lives of their own. What do you make of that?"
I stared at him, unblinking.
"I don't know. What do you want me to make of it?" I did know what I made of it, though. At that moment, when there were no emotions to impede of logic, I felt no guilt. Each man had been my capturer in one sense or the other. They all enforced Papa's oppressive rules, suffocating me until I had no other choice but to fight for air. And so that's what I did. I fought until they could not fight themselves, until they had been rendered obsolete. I'd do it all a thousand times more. Through bloody hands and bleary eyes, I would fight, ferociously defending my status of victor with each breath I breathed.
"That's not for me to decide," He answered. His gaze wavered for a moment, going far away and then refocusing right back on me. "You are not the first patient to lose your way. There was another one before you, a boy. Powerful beyond reason, but also disturbed. Deeply, deeply disturbed. And do you know where he is now?"
"Where?" I asked.
"Gone. Reduced to nothing more than an afterthought of what he once was... Weak." Papa's masked slipped further and further as he spoke. Gone was the loving, parental facade he typically paraded around with. This man was angry, bitter, lashing out as though he wasn't the author of all that displeased him. Utterly delusional. "I could make you disappear too, Daughter."
"You don't think I know that?" I muttered, "I've lived with that fact every moment of every day. Do you really think it scares me anymore? If you want to kill me, be my guest."
"I don't think you're quite understanding, Sixteen," He frowned. It was a patronizing, condemnatory little thing. "You're my creation. Your siblings, too. I could never kill you." Something hostile passed in his gaze. "Instead, I'll make you watch. I'll stick you in a uniform and strip you of whatever power you possess. You'll be made to sit in this facility for the rest of your life as the world spins around you. What about that, daughter? Does that scare you?"
The only thing I felt that might have lightly resembled an emotion was self-preservation. Things were awful now, almost unimaginably so. But they could get worse. Everything could always get worse. 'Rock bottom' didn't exist, because I could've sworn I hit it three months ago. And yet here I sat, hideously alive, free falling without any sort of 'bottom' in sight.
"Yes," The word scraped up my throat. I almost expected blood to begin filling my mouth. "Yes, that scares me. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
"I don't say that to taunt you. I say it to warn you," He shook his head, "This lab functions under a very strict set of rules. From today forward, you will not disobey, you will not fight, and you will not harm anyone unless you wish to be harmed yourself. For years, this is how we have all survived. You're powerful, Sixteen, and you're new. But under no circumstances does that make you the exception. Now, I aim to remind you of that. To make it absolutely clear in no uncertain terms that your disobedience will not be tolerated, and your actions have consequences," He opened up his brief case, fingers ghosting over its contents. "Today, I only mean to show you the error of your ways."
With that, he produced a long, metal rod-- a taser. With that, a dreadful, foreboding ache grew in my gut, wrapping around my bones like ivy, holding me steadfast in place. "No," I squirmed in my restraints with renewed vigor, "No, no, no."
My breaths escaped my lips in panicked huffs, growing louder and more frequent as the moments ticked by. Papa regarded me with his impersonal, belittling stare. "I tried to keep you from this particular fate as long as I could. You did this to yourself. It seems you only respond to shows of force. And so that's what I will show you, even if it pains me."
The sound of clicking echoed off of the walls. The taser screamed it's awful, shrill scream, cutting through my brain and slicing up whatever rational thought I once possessed. Any composure-- any dignity-- abandoned me all at once.
"You're a sick fuck, you know that?" I shouted, probably only worsening my situation, "You imprison a bunch of children and strip them of everything that isn't a bare necessity. And then you claim to love them? Are you fucking kidding me?" I leaned forward, teeth bared, spitting out words as though they were acid, "However bad you think I am, I will always-- and I mean always-- be better than you."
Any further remarks were ripped from my throat as his taser connected with the skin of my neck. Each and every nerve in my body was suddenly set on fire. I couldn't move, I couldn't think. All I knew was the debilitating, never-ending electric surge. My muscles seized up, contracting over and over until I was convinced it would kill me. Flashing white knives of heat stabbed into my legs, my arms, my torso. Everything ahead of me suddenly became spotted and dim. I threw my head back, desperately trying to escape the pain that had begun splitting my brain apart.
And then it stopped.
I doubled over, eyes clamped shut. No words could describe it. I'd never felt such pain in my life, and he had only just started. How much more of this would I have to endure? The hurt was so, incredibly deep, reverberating around my entire body at all times.
When I raised my eyes ahead, Papa was gone. At first, I figured it must have been my mind playing tricks on me. A cruel joke meant to instill false hope, only for another electric surge to rip into my skin and tear me apart. It made sense, after all, Papa wouldn't just stop. I was so dazed I almost couldn't keep my head up straight.
"It was my jaw first," Another voice called from the corner of the room. This wasn't Papa. The voice was far too deep. My eyes snapped up. The only evidence that he'd ever been here in the first place was the taser, resting on the floor. When I saw the man in the corner, I almost would've preferred Papa's company. The stranger stared at me through white, unblinking eyes. His limbs were jutted out at all the wrong angles, bones poking through his flesh while blood trailed like crimson tears down his face.
"Oh, my god," My lips were agape when I realized who he was. One of the guards. The one who had suggested tasing me. He was almost indiscernible, mutilated beyond comprehension. Fear exploded through my chest.
"And then it was my wrist," He stepped closer. Immediately, the pungent smell of death filled the air around me. Bile rose up my throat. I couldn't breathe. "You killed me and you don't even feel bad about it. What kind of monster does that make you?"
"Am I dreaming?" I cried, pulling at my restraints in panicked confusion. I couldn't look at him. This had to be a dream. This man should've been dead. He looked dead. He smelled dead. And yet he spoke as though I had only scuffed his shoe.
My vision swarmed in and out of focus when another guard appeared. The two of them stared at me with empty, unfeeling eyes. Dead eyes. I tugged at my restraints, panting in fear. The smell was unbearable. It seeped into my every pore, gnawing at my insides like a parasite.
"I was the next to go," Said the newer guard. His words were difficult to comprehend, as his jaw was twisted up and his tongue swelled out of his mouth. "You felt me leave. You felt me leave and you didn't stop."
"I'm sorry," I gasped. Tears had begun spilling from my eyes. My very skeleton squirmed inside my body, desperate to escape the the very flesh that enclosed it, "What's happening to me?"
"You think the taser hurt?" Another voice. A third body, the third guard. He walked until he stood directly in front of me. This once was different. His eyes weren't white. In fact, he didn't have eyes at all. Empty black holes left a void where they should've been, leaking a fluid I couldn't place. "You snapped my bones. One by one you twisted me... into this."
The fourth guard appeared right behind me. I didn't know he was there until a hand was wrapping around my throat, forcing my head back. His breath was rotten as it fanned down my face. Decayed flesh flapped against his skull. I could feel the bones of his fingers digging into my skin.
"Please," I sobbed, fighting in my restraints and making absolutely no progress, "Please, I'm so sorry!" They all closed in around me. Everywhere I looked there were deformed bodies. The smell was so terrible, burning my nose . Never in my life had I felt so helpless, so vulnerable.
And they all started screaming. As though they were in pain, they hollered at the top of their lungs, flailing their bodies around, convulsing before my eyes. One of them ripped at their own flesh, peeling off layers of decayed skin. The all joined together into one awful, never-ending cacophony, shouting into my ears, into my face, into my skin. I could only sit there as an ocean fell from my eyes. It was inescapable. I couldn't disappear into my own head this time, even after I closed my eyes. No, I was forced to confront the reality of what I had done. I felt every broken bones as though it were my own, every scar, every cut. And I couldn't even cry out, because who was there to save me?
The screaming stopped all at once. The smell of death disappeared. Still, my eyes stayed shut. I was too afraid to open them. The salty taste of tears filled my mouth while I let out shuddered breaths. My shoulders bobbed up and down while I waited, resigned to whatever cruel fate my mind decided to conjure up for me.
And then a hand was on my chin, tilting my head up.
My eyes snapped open, "No!" I screamed. I reeled my body away from whoever it was, throwing all of my remaining strength into the fight against my bindings. They never let up. Not even while I bucked and cried and prayed for any sort of relief.
"What's the matter, Sixteen?" I didn't have to look up to recognize Peter's voice. The mocking edge it held made my flinch. Anyone but him. Please-- dear god- - anyone but him. His perfect white suit burned my tearful eyes, the sting of his betrayal only made everything so much worse. "Look at me," His voice was almost a whisper.
"Leave--," My voice broke. Tears cascaded down my cheeks evermore. "Please, Peter, go away. I can't--," My gaze dropped to my lap. "Please. It hurts." I should've been ashamed of the raw emotion barreling through each syllable of each word I spoke. And yet, I was too tired to care and too weak to do anything to fix it.
"Come on now, use your words," Two of his fingers sought refuge beneath my chin. He directed my head up, making my eyes meet his. His head was tilted as he observed me like an inquisitive puppy looking at his favorite toy. "You look beautiful. Almost like an angel."
"Not now," I whispered, "I just want to sleep. Please, go away."
"You're already sleeping, Silly. How could you be dreaming otherwise?" He smiled. A cruel, perfect smile that made me loose feeling in my limbs. "I love when you say 'please.' I think I said that already, but I really do love it."
"Let me go, then," I nodded towards the leather cuffs binding me to the arms and legs of the chair. "If it's my dream then you have to do what I tell you. Let me go and then leave."
"Hm," His hand wandered towards the cuff on my left wrist, eyes staying on mine. His expression softened, finally making room for a hint of the warmth I so loved about Peter. However, it wasn't so comforting this time. Instead, it was just a reminder of what he had done.
His fingers undid the metal buckle on the cuff as he promptly began loosening it. The action became a momentary balm, soothing my racing mind long enough to allow some relief to pool in. Suddenly, though, a grin filled up his face. "No, I don't think so." With that, he tightened the cuff once again, making it cut into my skin harder than it had before.
I didn't even think before I spat in his face. He winced away from me, his grin immediately falling into a frown. "Go fuck yourself," I seethed, practically shaking with rage. How dare he? After all he had done, how could he poke fun at me? As though we were friends still, as though he had any right to speak to me like an inferior. I had to remind myself it was dream before I truly lost my mind.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, staring at me through slitted eyes the entire time. I stared right back, figuring my glare was the only defense I had left. "You're no different than Papa," I whispered, "You might be worse, actually. Papa never tricked me. Papa never pretended to be my friend. Get the fuck out of my head, Peter, I feel sick just looking at you."
"You always manage to surprise me, Sixteen," He breathed, "That was tactless. Tactless, but surprising nonetheless." He tilted his head, "Please, proceed with your insults. Get them out of your system. We both know none of them are true."
"You have to listen to me," I hissed, "Because you're not real. The real Peter might be a traitorous piece of shit, but he can't invade dreams. So kindly get the fuck out before I make you."
He laughed. It was a sharp, biting thing that very nearly burst my eardrums. "Do you really think you have any authority here?" His gaze devoured, "Look at you, Sweetheart. You can't even move unless I allow you to. In fact..."
He beckoned me towards him. I didn't want to move closer. It was almost as though my limbs had mutinied against my mind as an invisible force pulled me forward, closer to him. Disgust curled through me. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"You shouldn't use such ugly words," He frowned, "I suppose they're more bearable when you're the one saying them, but it's still so vulgar, don't you think?"
"Fuck off."
"What if I made you kiss me?" He wondered aloud. He placed his hands on either arm of the chair and leaned forward. I mirrored his movements until my back was flush against the back and I couldn't move any longer. His evil, lovely blue eyes felt as though they were stabbing me. His breath fanned down my face. Our noses very nearly touched. I tried to get away, I tried to move, but suddenly my limbs were glued in their place. My gaze fell to his lips. "Oh, but I wouldn't have to do that, would I? You don't need any persuasion. You'd do it all on your own," he hummed.
I couldn't think straight. Every single bone in my body was exhausted, and I couldn't help but wonder how much longer this would all last. Peter's eyes were so real, so detailed, I almost didn't believe I was dreaming. It hurt to look into them. More than I'd like to admit, it hurt. I wished he hadn't gone and made a mess of it all.
"I hate you," The words tumbled from my lips, "And I hate that you made me hate you. I thought you were better than this." Another wave of tears filled my eyes. I hated that, too. I hated being so pathetic, so distraught.
He frowned, soft fingers brushing against my cheek, wiping away the droplets beneath my eyes. As though it made things better. As though he could fix the cause of my tears with his touch alone. I laughed a bitter laugh. "I'm on your side, Sixteen," He tilted his head. Something I almost mistook as honesty filled his gaze. "Always. This is a minor setback, nothing more. I don't want you to know too much so early on. It doesn't change anything. We can move past this."
"How can you expect me to trust any word that leaves your mouth ever again?" I asked, a frown of my own creasing my features.
He leaned forward until his mouth was against mine. It was a gentle, longing gesture. His lips were softer than I imagined, even though I didn't kiss him back. And he likely expected that. As his lips pulled away from mine, I could feel his hair brushing against my forehead. For a fleeting moment, all went quiet.
"You're too smart to be manipulated," He whispered, his stare strikingly raw. "It's as infuriating as it is impressive. I like that about you."
I hated how much I loved the words falling for his mouth. I hated how my impulse was to let him back in, to trust him, to touch my lips to his until I couldn't breathe anymore. I was better than that, though. Smarter. I had to be.
"I wish it didn't have to be this way," I muttered, "I don't want you to touch me anymore. Get out of my head, Peter."
He nodded as though he expected it. Another soft smile, "I knew you were going to say that. Just as I know you'll change your mind."
And, for once, he listened to me.
He left.
GUYS. OH.MY. GOD. I LOVED THIS ONE WOOOO (LOTS OF ANGST LMAOOO)
I know you guys are gonna eat this up this is for my fellow whores <33
ALSO! THIS IS REALLY LONG LIKE 5000 WORDS!! WOOOOOOOOO
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