Sometimes Henry wondered if he should just kill Sixteen.
When they first met, he toyed with the idea as though it were his favorite game. It wouldn't be an easy task, of course. He'd have to finesse his way past the cameras and their piercing metal glares without Sixteen raising an eyebrow. She was smart, though, far smarter than he'd like to admit. She wouldn't make the task easy. Not to mention the actual act of killing her. Months ago, he found it quite stimulating to image how he'd do it. Not with any sort of gun, of course. He wanted it to be personal; for both of them to feel every moment of it. Perhaps he'd wrap his hands around her throat and watch her lips turn blue.
That was before, though.
Now, he knew he couldn't do that. If he ever wanted to leave the lab, he'd need her. The thought made him ill. It was an unsettling feeling to need someone-- foreign, especially to him.
His fingertips ghosted over the protrusion in his neck. One would think after so many years, he'd adjust to it. Henry wished it was that easy. He felt the chip like deadweight strapped to his person at all times. It pulled at each and every muscle in his body, ceaseless in its intensity. He remembered what it was like being a young boy, able to do as he pleased without the ever-present nuisance. That memory was what kept him sane.
One day, he swore, one day he'd feel that pulse again.
That day had yet to come, however, and so he had to wait with bated breath until it did. He used to count each one, but gave up somewhere in the eight hundred area. It was torture to count, to bide time, never knowing when it would be up. At one point, he was convinced that the day would never come.
And then Sixteen showed up. Screaming, fighting, clawing at every single guard until she had bits of skin and blood beneath her fingernails. The other orderlies dreaded the idea of being her guard. After all, she'd maimed so many in such a short amount of time. To this day, Henry wasn't sure whether it was schadenfreude or stupidity which made him volunteer to look after her. Either way, he had a new task to complete. For hours he would watch as she paced back and forth, muttering to herself as she agonized over whatever awful fate awaited. It was her power that caught his attention. She must not have known, but her undoubtedly overwhelming emotions made the lights flash from two hallways down.
Henry's abilities far outweighed anyone else's. Brenner's second-rate copies could move bricks and turn on lights all they wanted, but they would never come close. After all, he was the original. Superior in every possible way. And then there was Sixteen, untrained, a nonbeliever, pacing her room and practically hemorrhaging power.
Evidently it caught his eye.
Their first exchange only cemented that curiosity.
"Are you doing that on purpose?" He had asked her. Sixteen paused in the middle of the room, head snapping to the door until her gaze caught Henry's. She stared at him for a few moments, hands drawn into fists, a look he could only describe as abysmal glinting in her eyes.
Beautiful, he remembered thinking.
"If you say another word to me I'm going to carve out your fucking eyes," She responded, and immediately resumed her pacing. Henry furrowed his eyebrows, not knowing whether to feel threatened or intrigued. He opted for both.
That was months ago. Presently, he patrolled the hallways, bored as ever. He'd grown to hate the obscenely white tile, so much so it burned his eyes. To distract himself, he would imagine the outside world, though it became infected with growing vagueness as the years slipped through his fingers. He never particularly liked the people that inhabited it, but he could appreciate the natural beauty.
Henry often times had to make a point not to think about Sixteen. He didn't like how much she occupied his mind, and so he would force himself to think about other, more mundane things. But, really, what else was there? Certainly not his monotonous, repetitive little life. Nothing excited him, nothing challenged him. Nothing except her. And just like that, his thoughts would shift back to Sixteen like clockwork.
At first, Henry told himself that his obsession with her was simply his obsession with escape manifesting itself. After all, she would play the starring role in his getaway whether she knew it or not. It made sense for him to think about her so frequently. She certainly couldn't die on his watch, nor could she become compliant. It was his job to fixate.
It was his job to invade her dreams. It was his job to wonder about her every moment of every day. It was his job to kiss her.
The lines between manipulation and infatuation had blurred long ago. Henry couldn't quite discern which was more important to him. It was maddening.
He hated her. He really, really did, so much so he had to associate that hatred with all five of his senses.
Seeing her made him want to go blind. Sometimes, when she wasn't looking, he would hold his eyes closed and pray that when he opened them, she would be gone. That she'd somehow disintegrate into a pile of dust so he wouldn't have to gaze upon with her appallingly divine countenance.
Hearing her made him want to go deaf. Her voice was awful, running like a river of molten lava until it burned away Henry's skin. He despised hearing his name uttered from her lips. 'Peter' she would say. 'Peter' she would lie. Sometimes, he would fantasize about his real name tumbling from her mouth. How horrible it would sound. Horrible, but he would burn the entire world if it meant he could hear it.
Her scent was worse, if that was even possible. Never a day went by where she didn't omit the putrid smell of lilacs. The soap she used likely claimed to be 'odorless,' but it was a liar. A filthy, sickening liar because the smell haunted his very existence; a ghost he hoped would never be exorcised.
Tasting her should have been a crime. Tasting her was the worst curse; one he wouldn't wish upon any man. None except himself. It was depraved, revolting, and perhaps the cruelest punishment he would do anything to face.
Touching her... Henry didn't even have words for the feeling. He used to wonder what it would be like, and then she took that pill. That pill which was his one true ally, relaxing her mind to the point where he could call upon what meager fragments of his abilities remained. That first night he hadn't even planned on kissing Sixteen. He didn't want to. And then he saw her, wide-eyed, innocence and sin all at once. It was out of his control at that point. No person alive could defend themself against her.
He hated her.
He wanted her dead.
Henry was distracted from his particularly destructive thoughts by hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway. He came to a pause, attempting to straighten his back although there was no need. His posture was perfect. It always was.
Six turned the corner, bumping directly into him. She released a strangled cry and staggered back, staring up at Henry like a frightened, wounded animal. And that's exactly what she appeared to be. Blood dripped from an alarmingly deep wound on her arm. Her lip bled, too, staining her dark skin crimson.
"Six?" He asked worriedly, "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I--," She hunched over, placing her hands on her knees as she greedily inhaled. Henry almost expected her to steal the air from his lungs, too. "Peter. Oh, my god--," She couldn't get a coherent though out. Her entire body shivered.
"Six, look at me," He urged, trying his best to calm her down, "You're alright. You're fine. Do you want me to take you to the nurse?" He knew he wasn't exactly helping, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Peter," She gasped, "It's Sixteen."
His blood froze in his veins. Henry wasn't used to being worried about other people and failed to realize that was a blessing until it was gone. Panic wrapped like a noose around his throat, tightening with every passing moment. He scrambled to keep it from showing on his face. Things like panic always had a way of coming out, however, and so his voice shook when he breathed out the word, "Where?"
"Kitchen."
And not a moment later, he was barreling down the hallway, Six following in his footsteps. He didn't slow down for her, even after she paused and leaned against the wall. She must've had a broken rib, though Henry couldn't be bothered to aid her. If Six was the one to retrieve him despite being in such awful shape, he dreaded to think of what that meant for Sixteen.
She wasn't dead. Peter repeated the words over and over again in his head. He would have known if she was dead. He would've felt it in his bones. How could he not? Sometimes he swore he could feel her through the walls, feel her presence lingering when she was long gone. Certainly, he would know if she was dead.
Wouldn't he?
Henry was starved for air by the time he threw open the kitchen doors. The room was in the deepest possible depths of disarray. Pots and pans littered the floor. Most of the lights were broken, leaving glass scattered like crystal knives before him. Silverware littered every feasible surface, some stained with blood, some bent, all glinting like awful metal stars.
There was a body on the floor.
Sixteen's body.
He was kneeling beside her a moment later. Her blood stained his immaculately white pants as shattered glass cut into the skin of his knee. The pain didn't even register as he devoured each and every cut on her body with scalding eyes.
He was furious. Furious like he had never been in his entire life. There was no questioning who had orchestrated the attack. Sixteen warned him about Two and Four, warned him that they would not stop. It was foolish of him to disagree with her. She was always right. Always, always right. The rage was shakespearean, echoing through his bones, burning him from the inside out.
He would be the one to kill her.
Not Two, not Four.
Only he was worthy of taking her life. Only he was worthy of laying her to rest at his altar.
He would not insult her by allowing her to die by their filthy, inferior hands.
"A nurse is coming," Six breathed from the doorway. Henry almost didn't hear her. His fingers absently brushed the smooth skin of Sixteen's arm. The pool of blood grew ceaselessly. He felt as though she were decaying right in front of him, reverting to the skeleton, then ash. Her chest rose and fell in short, shallow motions.
"Get me that towel," Henry pointed to a rag hanging on the handle of the oven. His gaze never left Sixteen's face. Six obliged. "Who did this to you two?" He asked, though he already knew the answer. All he needed was confirmation.
From the corner of his vision, he saw Six tense. Her knuckles lost color as she clenched her fist around the rag. "I don't know," She whispered after a few moments, throwing the towel in Henry's direction.
He caught it. "What do you mean 'you don't know'?"
Six looked taken aback. She'd never heard him speak in such a manner. Angry, uncaring, perhaps even mean. Another apprehensive look passed over her face. "I don't know, Peter. I'm sorry."
'She's lying' he thought, eyes briefly flitting over her face before reverting to Sixteen's.
Peter took the rag, gingerly pulling up the sleeve of Sixteen's hospital gown. He could clearly see her wound now. It was deep, maybe an inch long, likely inflicted by a kitchen knife of some sort. He tried to steady his shaking hands, whispering, "I'm sorry," as he wrapped the cloth around her arm and pulled it as tightly as he could. To his surprise, Sixteen clung on to a modicum of lucidity. An audible gasp fell from her parted lips as he secured the cloth. She was strong. So, incredibly strong.
Guilt bloomed in his stomach. He could almost laugh. When had he ever felt a shred of remorse for hurting someone?
OH. MY. GOD. PETER'S POV!!! WOOOOOO!! PETER PETER PETER (also this is written in third person so don't get confused or I will hit you)
PLEASE PLEAS EPLEAS TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!!!!!!! I am literally begging you on my hands and knees I will PAY you.
comment pleasEe or I will cry so hard.
also I watched little women last night and I am WRECKED.
also I really wanna see Don't Worry Darling just cuz I heard Harry Styles ate out Florence Pugh and I want to live vicariously through her (which is technically illegal since I'm a minor LOL).