AHHHH GUYS. I FUCKING ADORE THIS CHAPTER.
Im not gonna spoil but I think you guys will like it too
Just to clear up some confusion before you read, In this chapter I talk about how henry's head is like misshapen in his memories ( this'll make sense once you read) and that is because we are viewing these moments from HIS point of view, and so he doesn't see his face while he's living through these moments. (For example, you can't see your own face when you're having a conversation)
if this seems confusing, the chapter will make it make more sense.
it also has some symbolic significance but you can interpret it however you'd like.
I mutely paced my bedroom, careful to keep my steps light and my breathing even. Peter didn't stir once. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour, then two. Guilt fell like snow in my body, piling up higher and higher as the moments passed. Now I stood ankle deep in it. My body had long since been numbed by the icy cold wind that blew over me whenever I looked at him.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I already fucking drugged him, I couldn't go back now.
I knew I had to go into his mind, invading his privacy and possibly obliterating any fondness that he held for me in the process. It took me a long while to gather up the courage to look at him, let alone begin sifting through his memories in search of answers. He looked so fucking idyllic laying there, it was as though my bed were made just for him. Just for this moment. His hair was a lovely mess around his head, coral lips drawing in soft, feigning breaths. He held a pillow against his chest, one which had taken my place in his arms after I managed to wriggle away.
I felt sick. Somehow, he managed to touch every single inch of my bedroom in just a few hours. I couldn't think clearly when I caught sight of my underwear on the floor, where Peter had callously thrown it aside. He was fucking inescapable.
I couldn't allow myself to be spineless. Not when I had him exactly where I wanted him. Beauty alone couldn't clear Peter's name, and I refused to disrespect Henry by allowing his possible killer to slip through my fingers.
I remembered that little boy once more, strapped down to a chair while Papa cut into his skin. How afraid he had looked, how helpless. If Peter had really killed him, he was no better than Papa. For the millionth time, I tried to tell myself he wasn't capable of such an atrocity, but then logic broke through my rose colored glasses and slapped me in the face-- reminding me that Peter was, indeed, capable of such a thing.
He wielded beauty and cruelty like golden knives perpetually strapped to his side.
I knew he could be calculated. I knew he could be unfeeling. I knew I needed answers as desperately I needed the air in my lungs, but I also needed him. I walked a fine line, teetering side to side, narrowly avoiding a fall into the abyss below. How much longer could I keep this up?
I cast my adoration for Peter aside as I collapsed on my knees beside him. Still, he didn't stir, unperturbed and lovely as always. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "Focus," I scolded under my breath. My fingers wound themselves up in Peter's hair as I desperately tried not to think about how silky it was, or how perfect he looked, or--
An irritated sigh fell from my throat. What the fuck was wrong with me?
Before I could talk myself out of it, I closed my eyes and turned my attention to my abilities. They uncoiled themselves from a pit deep in my stomach, gradually seeping into my veins. My cheeks rosed with the sudden warmth which overcame me. I could feel my fingertips heating up where they met Peter's head, the epicenter of my focus. The blue floodlights flickered on and off, a clear indicator that whatever I was doing, it was working.
A feeling akin to falling made my skin prickle uncomfortably. I could feel my stomach dropping to my feet as I plummeted through intangible depths. Electricity coursed through me until I feared lightning would strike in my veins, burning me from the inside out. Just when it became too much to bare, my feet landed on solid ground and the feeling disappeared.
I felt weightless and leaden at the same time, a dizzying contrast that was difficult to adjust to as I opened my eyes and padded a few steps forward. Like I was just learning to walk, I stumbled to my left, then my right. My surroundings had changed but I was too focused on not falling over to pay them any mind.
A few more moments passed before I was able to stand properly. Even then, I swayed, veering this way and that.
The first thing I noticed was the scent of freshly mowed grass. It encircled me, pleasantly sweet, flowery and not. The sun casted my surroundings in a dewy, golden haze. I stood in a river of green which brushed lightly against my skin, stopping just below my ankles. A house sat proudly a few dozen yards away, painted deep blue with white accents.
A boy ran by me, though I didn't really get time to see him before he ducked behind a bush. I followed after him, struggling to remain upright as I staggered closer.
On the other side of the bush, a bunny and it's earth-toned fur caught my attention. It struggled against a transparent string wrapped around its leg-- maybe fishing line-- which held the bunny steadfast to a stick lodged into the grass. Its struggles grew in intensity when the boy kneeled beside it.
The boy's face was completely blurred out. I recalled the last time I searched for Henry and how the faces of his parents had been in a similar condition. This time, it was different. The boy's face was nothing more than an anamorphous blob, taking form and splitting apart over and over. Nothing above his shoulders was solid, making it difficult to differentiate his neck from his shoulders. His chest down was the complete opposite, crisp and definitive in form.
It looked bizarre. Unease strummed its disquieting chords, echoing around my head with furious vehemence.
It only got worse when the boy extended a hand, ever-changing eyes fixated on the bunny. Something peculiar filled the air, a voltaic sensation making my every movement feel charged up. The bunny fell to its side, a single squeal falling from its mouth. As the boy focused, the force of his abilities became more and more noticeable. I almost expected it to start electrocuting me.
Was this Henry? I assumed it was, because who else had abilities such as his? Although, the deformed entity kneeling in front of me made it difficult to be sure.
The boy pushed with growing effort, outstretched hand beginning to tremble as the bunny's body did the same. The frown on my face grew deeper and deeper as the animal's cries crescendoed. It shrieked, kicking fruitlessly at the air around it as crimson tears began falling from its eyes. I staggered back, too horrified to look away.
The boy's shapeless head tilted to the side, a pained cry falling from his lips as he pressed even harder. Power practically oozed from his pores, settling over me like a shockwave. I hadn't ever felt anything so forceful.
The bunny jerked to the side as one of its bones broke. The cries grew more agonized, more panicked as the kicking of its leg grew faster. Limb by limb, the boy shattered the creature until its eyes were emptied-out husks and its screaming had ceased. Bones jutted out at unnatural angles, mangled beyond repair.
I turned away. A gag made tears come to my eyes.
I very nearly threw up before a woman pulled my attention away from the bunny. She marched from the royal blue house, making a beeline for the boy. For a moment I thought she was looking at me, storming closer and closer until I had to sidestep just to get out of her way. Instead of stopping, she stormed behind the bush.
Unlike the boy, the woman's face was entirely in focus. She had bright blue eyes and honey blonde hair, reaching about shoulder level before curling upwards. She'd be pretty if it weren't for the intimidating twist on her face, a mixture of disgust and anger as she caught sight of the bunny.
I felt like I was eavesdropping on a conversation I had no place in as I peeked curiously over her shoulder.
The formless boy hurriedly stood from his place beside the bunny, peering up at the woman. "I found it like this," He said, staggering a few steps back, "I was looking for Alice, and I just happened upon it. Do you want me to clean it up?"
The woman stared at the boy for a few moments, soundless. It seemed she didn't believe the bunny-murderer's poor attempt at covering up his crime. Did she know about his abilities? Surely she had to, otherwise his excuse would be a perfectly adequate explanation for the state of the poor creature.
The distinctive sound of slap filled my ears as the woman leered down at her son, "Foolish boy," She spat, "Do you think I'm stupid, Henry? Your father might not see it, but I can tell something is wrong with you. I don't know exactly what, but mark my words, I'll figure it out."
The structureless boy had an angry red mark growing across his flesh. I could feel his panic, feel his anger as though it were my own. The two emotions mixed together to create something quite ugly, but Henry masked it pretty well. "I didn't do anything," Fear made his tone waver, "I swear. I really didn't."
"How can you expect me to believe that?" She demanded, "It's always you. Finding the rabbits before anyone else, being around when the lights flicker on and off, standing outside our bedroom when your father has his nightmares. How many passes do you expect me to give you?"
"How come it's only me you get mad at like this?" Henry demanded, taking a slow step forward, "You never hit Alice. Never. Do you really think I'm coming out here, finding animals and twisting them up? You saw me ten minutes ago. Is that enough time to do something like this?"
The woman's anger gave way to hopelessness. Her face visibly fell as a hand came up and brushed over her temple. "I don't know what to think, Henry," Her eyes fell shut. She sighed, "Clean up this mess. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
And then the woman was making her way back inside the house, leaving Henry and I alone.
Suddenly, the memory began glitching out. The grass became static and the sun overhead began to dim. As the wind picked up, leaves scattered away from their oaken homes, falling like green and yellow snow all around. The earth trembled, omitting an almighty roar as I was thrown off my feet. I closed my eyes, bracing to hit the ground, but the impact never came.
I fell and fell and fell, unable to open my eyes until my feet met something solid.
When they did, a jolt went through my entire body. Harsh, white lights spilled through my closed eyelids, and though I hadn't opened them, I knew I was somewhere new. Another moment passed before I was able to pull myself together enough to assess my surroundings. Dizziness warped the room, making it ebb and flow to either side as I tried to will it into focus. Was I going to be sick?
My thoughts came to a halt as a yell echoed around the room.
My vision sharpened, gaze cutting through the room and landing on a group of four people. Immediately, I knew where I was. Although the awful florescent lighting was enough of an indicator by itself, the distinctive clicking of tasers made it painfully clear. I was back in the lab, watching Papa, two orderlies, and a teenage boy. The orderlies stood beside the boy, armed with tasers, back-breaking posture, and cold, calculated indifference.
At Papa's command, they tased the boy. His tattoo reading '001' trembled in pace with the rest of his body, the numbers blurring together as he struggled to keep himself still. Henry's face was still shapeless, but it somehow looked less bizarre beneath the white-hot glare of the lab's lights. He sat in a heap on the floor, backing himself up against a wall as he desperately tried to escape the relentless, electrifying pulse of the tasers.
"Please," His voice was a like a flightless bird, desperately trying to soar into the air before crashing right back to the ground. It broke off in a whimper, but his desperation wouldn't allow him to stop. "Please, I'm sorry. I won't try again, I'm sorry. Please!"
Papa regarded Henry's pleas with an empty, impersonal stare. There was no anger, no sadness, nothing. Brenner was shallowed out, a husk of a human being. Scraped clean of empathy, he towered over Henry as though he were some kind of God. I felt as though I could be sick as he gestured at the orderlies with two fingers.
Henry's momentary calm disappeared as he kicked fruitlessly at the floor, pushing himself against the wall as though that would save him. "No, no, no," The word was a litany washing over the room, growing louder as the orderlies drew near, "Please. Papa, please! Don't let them do this. Please--." His begging was cut off by a taser clicking through the room. Henry's entire body seized up, anamorphous head being thrown backwards as a deep, guttural cry fell from his lips.
After the Orderlies pulled away, Henry slouched over. He tried to stay silent as though making himself insignificant would prevent another attack. His hand clasped over his mouth, trying to suppress whimpers and chocked-back sobs. His ever-paling flesh was damp with tears.
"Let this be a lesson to you, One," Papa took a few steps closer to the boy. Henry flinched away from Brenner's hand as it gripped his chin. There was a feigning effort to free himself from his grasp, but Henry conceded rather quickly.
It was all about power. Grabbing One's chin, reminding him that there was no getting away from him. Henry didn't even have sovereignty over his own trembling body, a fact Papa would make abundantly clear time and time again-- if only to remind him that he was no more than an animal here, locked in a cage of tile, white lights, and glaring cameras. No longer 'Henry.' No longer a person. Just three numbers, '001.'
My gaze flitted to my own tattoo. It was nothing more than unassuming black ink, glancing back at me with onyx eyes. Right then, it felt like it was burning me, boiling my flesh and seeping into my bloodstream. The '016' wasn't just a number on my skin, it was a blotch on my soul. A tear that would no doubt hang inside of me for the rest of my life.
What had become of me?
"What number escape attempt is this, One?" Papa's grip on Henry's skin looked almost bruising as the sides of his fingers turned white. Henry's shapeless eyes dipped low, brimming with a mixture of shame and humiliation. The lights in the room flickered on and off. "I asked you a question. What number?"
The boy stayed silent, clinging on to whatever bits of his dignity remained. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, gauging Papa's face for a reaction. Brenner's eyes narrowed at his defiance. Once again, he raised Two fingers, prepared to hurt Henry all over again before he cried out, "Wait! Wait, I'm sorry. Please don't."
"Then answer my question."
"Five," He bit out, "Attempt number five."
"See? You can listen. Sometimes we just need a little persuasion, hm?" Papa relaxed his grip on Henry's chin, "I gave you a warning last time, One. Didn't I? Do you remember what I warned you about?"
Henry hesitantly shook his head, terrified to make even the slightest misstep.
"Come now. Surely you remember," Brenner tilted his head.
"I don't. I'm sorry."
"Hm. Well, do try to pay more attention in the future," He mused, "After your last escape attempt, I told you there would be repercussions. Not just a punishment, as it's clear tasers aren't as efficient at keeping you in line as I would hope--."
"--You can't mean..." Henry interrupted him, panic leaking into his voice.
"--Oh, so you do remember," Papa said, reaching into his pocket, "And, please, don't interrupt. As I was saying, you're not going to get off so easily this time. You're out of control, Son, you have been for a long time now. I've given you chance after chance to conform and make this easier on yourself, but you insist on being impertinent... I just can't allow it any longer."
With that, Brenner produced a syringe. Henry shot up from his seat, crossing to the other side of the room in three long strides. His breaths were sharp and shallow. "I won't let you," He seethed, "You brought me here because of my abilities. You can't just take them away."
"Oh, but I can," Brenner took careful steps towards him. The lights shuddered on and off, growing faster as the distance between the two of them got smaller. Papa faced the orderlies, "Grab him, please."
In a moment, they were upon Henry. I could see him pausing, trying to gather his abilities, but after hours of being punished he was far too drained to do any more than flicker the lights. It wasn't long until he gave in to brute strength. He turned to the closest orderly and made a fist, hitting him square in the jaw with as much force as he could manage. The man stumbled back, wide eyed, but the other one continued towards Henry.
Henry fought them off for a considerably long while. By the time they managed to hold him still, their faces were bloodied and beaten. Henry still wouldn't resign himself to Brenner's will, bucking and kicking at the air with growing desperation.
Unfortunately, Henry was only a boy now. Though he was older and taller than he had been in the last memory, there was no way he'd be able to defend himself against two full grown men. I could see the hope in his eyes slowly give way to helplessness. It wasn't long before he resorted to begging.
"Don't do this," He pleaded, "I'll be better. Please, please. Let me do better."
Brenner shook his head. The sound of a syringe being uncapped made a twinge of terror shoot through me. The point of the needle glinted lullingly, coming in and out of view as the lights flickered. "I'm doing what's best for you, Henry," Papa tilted his head, "You might not see it now, but one day you will. You'll thank for this, I know it."
"No, no, no," Henry's terror reached new depths. His voice was so raw, so loud, it was like a bomb going off in my head, obliterating my brain matter. "I need my abilities. I need them. Please don't take them away. They're all I have left, Papa, please!"
Brenner shushed the boy, briefly pulling away his focus before the point of the needle was driven into One's neck. Henry shouted, shapeless face beginning to sputter in and out of focus. His struggles gave way until, slowly but surely, he fell limp in the orderly's arms. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fought to whisper the words, "please, please... Please no."
The lights ceased their flashing.
"It's alright. Hush now," Papa almost lovingly touched Henry's face, "It'll be easier this way."
Once again, the memory began falling apart. Everything went blurry as the ground shook beneath me. I tried to cast one final glance at Henry, but he was gone. They all were. Alone in that trembling room, I watched as the tile cracked and blistered and clattered to the floor. I closed my eyes, bracing for that sinking feeling I knew awaited me.
It wasn't so jarring this time. I welcomed a plummeting respite from the horror I had just experienced. My heart thumped dully in my chest. I wanted to leave. So desperately, I wanted to leave, but I didn't know how. My physical body felt worlds away as I tumbled through intangible depths, accompanied only by the fogginess of memories and my own racing thoughts.
When my feet met solid ground, it didn't take me long to adapt to the change. I snapped my eyes open, taking in every bleached-white inch of the room which now surrounded me. The ever-so-grating sound of the air conditioner billowed above, a surprisingly welcome reminder that this wasn't my reality.
I stood in some kind of bathroom. There was a single mirror on the wall, overlooking a porcelain sink. The counter surrounding it was white, too, housing a grey toothbrush and a few other hygiene products. Henry was there, indiscernible face taking shape and splitting apart over and over. He turned on the sink, jutting his hands beneath the water and splashing it over his face. Once he dried it off, he took a moment to glance at his reflection-- a reflection I couldn't see form the angle I stood at.
His clothing caught my attention first. An eerily familiar pair of freshly-pressed white pants encompassed his legs, stopping just in time to meet a pair of inky black work shoes. My vision sharpened as a thought came to life in the back of my head. No, no. No.
No. There was no way.
I almost laughed at my own idiocy. White pants weren't rare. So many people wore white pants. Black shoes, too. Who didn't own a pair of black shoes? There was a perfectly rational explanation for all of this. Even that memory about Henry and his mom that Peter somehow knew about.
Maybe he was acquainted with Henry prior to arriving at the lab. That made sense. That was possible.
It made lots of sense.
Or maybe I was misinterpreting this whole thing. After all, I saw Henry just by touching a tape. That didn't mean he was the tape, it just meant he was connected to it. It must've been the same for Peter. The two of them must have been linked together somehow.
Henry stepped away from the mirror and rolled back his shoulders. That fucking posture... I knew that posture.
No. Plenty of people had good posture. This meant nothing.
I followed Henry out of the bathroom and into the hallway. Maybe we were still in the past. Perhaps Papa had allowed One to wear orderly clothing as he got older. After all, hospital gowns and sleeping attire were hardly suitable for an adult. It made sense.
Henry paused right outside the Rainbow Room. One beat passed, then another. He took a moment to run a hand over the back of his misshapen neck, breath hitching when his fingers collided with a certain spot. Anything above his shoulders was far too deformed for me to make out, but I knew whatever he'd made contact with had to be pretty bad. A low, rumbling sigh fell from his lips.
There was a defeated lowering of his head, and then he rolled back his shoulders and pushed open the door.
I followed him into the Rainbow Room. A few of the patients regarded him as he stepped into the room before their heads ducked down and their attention returned to whatever they had been doing. My siblings went about their typical morning routine, though some looked younger than before. Four and Two moved a marble through a wooden maze, Eleven sat in front of a Plinko board and Ten hunched in front of poorly-made origami. He looked different, shorter by two or three inches compared to the last time I saw him.
I almost screamed in relief. The memory was from before I arrived at the lab, meaning my suspicions were void and there was simply no way Peter and Henry were connected. Or-- as I feared-- the same person.
Henry made a beeline for the side entrance of the Rainbow Room. Once there, he stood exactly one foot away from the wall and watched the scene unfolding around him. It was odd how closely his mannerisms resembled Peter's... but, no. No. Henry was much older than the other patients, it made sense that Papa would have him oversee free time. Or maybe he simply outgrew all the attractions the Rainbow Room had to offer. After all, over a decade of playing with the same old games must have gotten quite tiresome.
It made sense. All of this had a perfectly rational explanation.
And then the set of double doors opened once again. In walked Papa and a girl half-shielded by his body. All of the patients went quiet. The clattering of toys ceased as the patients faced the man who had just entered.
Deja vu shot up my spine. I remembered this moment. How loud the silence was, how everyone's attention turned to the center of the room. I could almost feel the dozens of eyes boring into my skin, picking me apart piece by piece like they had on my first day here. My steps were featherlight as I passed Papa, trying to get a better look at the girl standing behind him. Everything down from the positioning of my siblings to the ambient noise surrounding us was teeth-achingly familiar.
A gasp tore from my throat when I saw her.
Her hair fell past her shoulders, wonderfully uncut, having not yet been buzzed down to her scalp. She had more color in her face, the facility hadn't managed to steal that either. Though, that wasn't to say she looked healthy. Her skin clung tightly to her body like she had been starving for a long, long time.
I almost forgot what I looked like when I first came here. The hope in my eyes, the naive confidence that used to make me believe the facility was only a temporary problem, one I would be able to solve rather quickly. I knew it was only a memory, and yet I still reached my hand towards her, desperate to feel the hair which had been stolen from me. My fingers went right through it.
My disappointment was short lived as my eyes fell to her left wrist. The skin was empty. So, blissfully empty, unmarred by the black ink labelling her '016.' The sight made me stumble back, overcome by an inexplicable current of emotions. The girl I was looking at was me, prior to being processed and broken down time after time.
And then I remembered where I was.
Peter's head.
'Henry' stood directly where Peter had on that first day, in the exact same clothes with the exact same posture. The only difference was the indistinguishable way in which Henry's head spilled down his neck. But... that made sense, too. If Peter and Henry were the same person, then they wouldn't know what their face looked like during these exchanges. There were no mirrors to look at, at least not from where they stood. Of course Henry's head would be messed up, the memories showed only what he was able to see while they took place-- his face wasn't on that list.
My head pounded with the realization. That would mean...
"It's not quite time for lessons yet, children," Papa's voice pulled me from my thoughts. I could hardly process the words. My mind buzzed with rampant confusion and, most of all, anger. "I wanted to introduce you to your newest siblings, Sixteen."
He motioned to me. Well, younger me. She said nothing and waved, careful not to show how anxious she truly was. But she couldn't hide it, at least not from me. I had been her, I had stood in her exact spot and felt her panic surrounded by children with powers she hadn't ever seen.
"Now, I expect you to treat her with all the respect and kindness that you would show someone who has been here their whole life," Papa chattered on, but younger me wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were hawk-like, canvasing the room, sizing up each patient. She took inventory of every little idiosyncrasy she could, desperate for any weapons she could get, even if they weren't palpable. I suppose that hadn't changed. "That is all. You may continue your free time before lessons begin."
With that, the children turned away. Younger me and Papa faced one another. Her fingers dug into the palm of her hand as they spoke in a low voices. I couldn't hear what Papa was saying, but I did remember it. 'That wasn't too bad, was it?' I could practically see the thoughts crossing her mind as he spoke the words into existence. How foolish he was for asking a question like that when she knew he didn't care.
My gaze cut to Henry once more, standing idly, sparing a single glance in our direction... Or was he Peter?
To think, younger me hadn't even met him yet. If only she knew.
And, fuck, I should've known. All those times Peter somehow knew where I was or how I was feeling. How he was so tuned into my abilities, able to pinpoint exactly where I was lacking and exactly how to fix it. And those dreams... How many times had he uttered words from my sleep verbatim, only for me to write it off as a coincidence? I told myself I was being crazy all while Peter knew the truth, knew that it wasn't me deluding myself. I should've known. The answer was right fucking in front of me.
Still, I clung onto the ever-fading hope that this was a mistake. Maybe I was just misinterpreting the memory. Maybe I still had plenty more to go, and this would all clear itself up. Maybe everything didn't have to change.
When Papa and younger me began making their way towards Peter, my heart sank. Each step they took felt like a nail in my already considerably sealed-off coffin, splitting through wood and metal until I had no hopes of getting out. This day, this moment, was when Papa first introduced Peter and I. Meaning our next exchange would either confirm my suspicions or make me feel like a complete fool.
And, judging by the events taking place right in front of me, it was the former.
I wrung my hands, wide-eyed, watching Papa and young me stop right in front of Henry. Or Peter. Or whoever the fuck he was. I eyed the three of them with such intensity, half expecting them to split in two beneath my cutting gaze.
"There's someone I want you to meet," Papa said once he had reached Henry. Young me kept her eyes downcast, not daring to look up at the man clad in white, standing just a few feet away. I held my breath, bit my tongue, prayed to anything with ears that this was all some grand mistake. That Peter was just an orderly working a particularly fucked up job, and he knew nothing at all. Hell, him being One's murderer as I originally thought would be far, far better than this.
The words slipped from Papa's mouth unceremoniously. Like they were nothing. Like they weren't everything. "This is Peter. He's an orderly."
It was like a physical force had knocked into me, sending me stumbling back. I don't know why tears blurred my vision or why it felt like this whole ordeal was rotting on the vine. Every memory of Peter and I suddenly became moth-eaten, like a dusty pair of curtains left to wither in the tarnished remains of an abandoned home. Maggots ate away at my idea of him, at everything I thought I knew. The feeling was unlike anything else. A macabre amalgamation of anger, confusion, dread, and ever-decaying denial twisted in my gut, debilitating enough to cast the air from my lungs.
How blind I had been, how stupid. It all made sense now. The way him and Papa spoke of each other. That murderous glint in Peter's eyes whenever he had to speak with him. That day of my escape, when Peter had caught me in the hallway and let me go. How destroyed he had looked bathed in blood red lights. Of course he fucking understood, he had been me before. A child brought to a place that treated him with such cruelty, desperate to leave, and blissfully unaware that it was impossible. Inconceivable.
I should've known.
I almost screamed when I felt a tap on my shoulder. My thoughts came to a halt as my entire body whirled around to face Henry. His shapeless face was rather horrifying up close. Confusion lurched through me, how could he touch me? This was a memory. He shouldn't even be able to look in my direction.
That was unless Peter-- real Peter-- was waking up.
"Oh, fuck," I whispered.
"What are you doing here, Sixteen?" Henry asked. His steps were careful, ghostly, I partially expected to look down and see him gliding across the floor. I didn't know what to other than put as much distance between the two of us as possible. Desperately, I tried to wake myself up, to free my body from Peter's mind before he caught me.
My back collided with someone else. I turned around to see Ten. I should've just fell through him. For fucks sake, this was a memory. He shouldn't have been able to look at me, rise from his seat and say, "You're not supposed to be here."
"How can you see me?" I demanded. Ten stepped closer, an origami dragon clasped in his little fist. I mirrored his foot falls. As he walked forward, I walked back, somehow horrified of a boy who was half my size.
My back hit someone else. Papa. I almost screamed when he grabbed either of my shoulders, holding me still, "How did you get in my head, Sixteen?" My mouth opened and closed as I soundlessly searched for an answer. Was this even real? Did he actually expect me to reply?
"I know words are a little difficult for you," Henry's formless mouth whispered in my ear, "but surely you know what privacy is, hm? I think you're invading mine." His breath was impossibly cold, melting like snow on my flesh before it ran down my neck.
"Make him let me go," I demanded, trying and failing to pull myself from Papa's grasp. If anything he held on tighter, most definitely painting my shoulders black and blue. "What's happening? How are you doing this?"
By now, everyone in the room had circled me. No matter where I looked, there was another face. Their voices joined together like some discordant choir, demanding to know why I was there, telling me I had to leave, circling around with predatory glares. It was a dizzying cycle, one that promised to make me throw up if it went on much longer. Henry watched me through the madness, gauging every gasp that fell from my throat, every horrified widening of my eyes.
"You're in my head," A voice said on my left, belonging to Number Two.
"I can do just about anything I'd like," This time it was Four talking.
"How long have you been planning this?" Another person asked. I whipped my head around to face them.
"Sneaking into my head... It's quite ingenious, Sixteen. In one way I'm proud." Just when I nailed them down, a new sentence came from the other side of the room.
"How--," My voice was weaker than intended, "--How are you doing this?"
They all laughed. Every single child or guard or orderly threw their head back, somehow finding amusement in the panic I displayed. Laughing at me. Their wails were enough to destroy my eardrums.
"Oh, my. You look so confused," Six spoke this time.
"How precious," another person hummed, humor evident in their tone.
"They're all me, if that clears anything up," the words came from Seven. I helplessly shook my head, having no idea what to say in a situation such as this.
"What? Still confused?" Papa asked me, "That's okay. I can dumb things down for you."
Even though the chaos, I narrowed my eyes and spat, "I'm not dumb."
Someone laughed. "You're right. That was mean of me, I'm sorry." The other orderly chimed in, "It's not incredibly complicated, though. I'm controlling them."
"They're like puppets to me," Six was speaking.
"Dancing on my strings," The voice belonged to Henry again. Papa finally released my shoulders, but it wasn't long before Henry took his place. His fingers sought refuge beneath my chin, "And with the way you're looking around, searching for every new voice, it seems like you're a puppet, too."
Then the lights began flashing. Every single child, every single voice, disappeared all at once. Until all the remained was Henry glaring down at me. His tone was warm, horrifically inviting when he whispered the words, "My very own puppet."
Then he was gone, too. The memory fell apart as his words echoed all around the room 'my very own puppet.' The same phrase, overlapping, ricochetting off the walls. It surrounded me, latched onto my wrists and ankles until I almost expected to find myself suspended by strings in the air. A puppet if there ever was one.
I was falling again. Faster and faster, wind biting at every single exposed piece of flesh. The words didn't stop. If anything, they grew louder. My eyes squeezed shut as I plummeted with no end in sight. I couldn't endure this madness a moment longer. Surely, my mind had ruptured, brain matter spilling from my ears, mouth, and nose until my body was a hallowed out shell.
When I met the ground, I met it hard.
I was back in my bedroom again. Back in my physical body, panicked breaths echoing off every flat surface. My heart hammered, my stomach lurched, my vocal cords felt like they'd been rubbed raw. A disorienting rush flooded every inch of my body, replacing blood with adrenaline as the lights flashed overhead.
I met Peter's eyes with a start. He was sitting up in my bed now, watching me. The entire world came to a pause as our eyes bored into the other's. His were so blue. So lovely. So angry. I could practically see his waves crashing against the surface, turning into a whirlpool, devouring everything in sight. The sky over the ocean had turned an unrelenting, brushed shade of black that demolished any light that remained. It was apocalyptic. He was apocalyptic.
And it scared me. Holy fuck, it scared me.
In a flash, I rose from beside the bed, off of my knees. They ached. Everything fucking ached. I stood there for a moment longer. Peter's head tilted in morbid curiosity, egging me on. His eyes felt like they were mocking me 'where do you think you're going?'
I didn't know.
And still, I rushed for the door, desperate to escape the stifling diminutiveness of my room. My feet slammed into the tile with such force, I expected it to crack beneath me. The metallic handle of the door was cool beneath my palm, beautifully sobering and hideously not. I wrenched it open. And for one perfect moment, I saw the hallway. It welcomed me, growing bigger as the door yawned wider.
Then a hand slammed beside my head and the opaque grayness of the bedroom door stole away my view of the hall. My only hope of escape disappeared with it.
Peter's breath was heavy against my neck. I felt horribly exposed with his chest to my back, caging me against the door. We'd been in this position before, hadn't we? That moment felt worlds away as a terror I hadn't ever known Peter capable of eliciting ran through me. I opened my mouth to yell at him or scream for help-- I wasn't quite sure which one to choose. Hell, I wasn't even sure why I was so scared.
Either way it didn't matter as his hand came up and covered my mouth. I turned to face him, shouting curse after curse but it was far too muffled to have any effect. He was always so gentle with me, I managed to forget that he could be the polar opposite if he pleased. Staring up at him then, unable to free myself, that fact had never been so agonizingly clear.
"I can't let you leave," His eyes were so soft. Almost enough to make me doubt that they'd held so much anger in the first place, "You have to talk to me, first."
AHHHHHHHHH OMGO OGMO MGOMG
THE REVEAL IS HERE AHAHSHAHHDAH i had so much fun writing this. Honestly i am rlly proud of this chapter. it took me like 3 days to write and there r prboably some spelling mistakes but who cares. (me, I will fix them later I promise)
GUYS. ONLY 3 MORE CHAPTERS. im actually going to have a midlife crisis after this. And im only 15. damn that's crazy.
okay so the next 3 chapters are going to be much more intense than the last two. JUST WAIT.
ALSO I am going to be posting this story on my main account soon, meaning there will be 2 'Nonconformity' books floating around. IT IS NOT STOLEN, DONT WORRY, I am just super proud of this book and I want to post it on my main.
thank you for reading. Feed back is always appreciated <<3