Ptolemaea | Henry Creel

Playing Pretend

HI!!!!

Quick tw// depictions of PTSD and panic attacks (sixteen is insanely mentally ill)

~

I didn't wait for Beau to escort me to Brenner's office the next morning. The silence of my bedroom was all too stifling, and I was certain I'd die in there if I stayed a moment longer. Nervous energy coursed through my body. My hands fidgeted endlessly by my side as my legs led me in what I hoped was the right direction.

I couldn't shake the feeling that I was doing something very wrong. Each guard I passed smiled at me, and when they did, sweat came to my hands and my heart thundered in my chest. I would smile back, wondering if perhaps they could read my mind and see the treacherous, abysmal glint in Henry's eyes just as I had. They wouldn't be smiling at me if they knew what I had done.

There was something wrong with me. I was either too stupid or too stubborn to accept that Henry had never been Peter. I mourned what never was and never would be. And the worst part of it was that he still ignited a fire in my veins. Before, it had warmed me, but now it burned. And I, always the fool, relished in the flame. Fuck, I hated him.

I was a mess of crisscrossing thoughts and aggravated nerves, held together by sheer spite and nothing more. At some point, my grief had turned to embarrassment, and I wondered if everyone else could see how truly pathetic I'd become. I blamed Henry. Fucking asshole.

When I found Brenner's office door, relief ran over me. Of course, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to him, but at least Owens would be there and my thoughts would pause for a few minutes. Without giving myself time to change my mind, I knocked.

The metal made a low, resounding boom when my fist came in contact with it. The sound echoed down a few hallways, and just when it stopped, the words 'come in' took its place.

I pushed open the door and entered the soulless husk that was Papa's office. My eyes followed the exposed wiring on the wall as I scanned the room. Much to my dismay, Owens was nowhere to be found. "I thought Dr. Owens was gonna be here," I said, taking my place on the opposite end of the desk. The plain metal chair groaned beneath my weight.

A moment passed. I shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes, well, he had a more pressing matter to attend to," Brenner replied. If he was at all unsettled by our last interaction, he didn't show it. "Let's get started, hm? I'd like to discuss your experience in the tank."

I nodded, "Okay."

He glanced at me expectantly, and my mouth stayed closed. A few more seconds passed. "That means you have to tell me about it, Sixteen."

"Oh, right," I muttered, sitting up straight in my chair. Was this his plan? To ignore the events of our last meeting altogether? I wanted to handle this entire situation with grace, but I didn't know how much longer I could pretend to tolerate any of this.

"So, at first I tried to do what you told me. I didn't think of, uh, you know who, and tried to picture a beach. I focused on that for a little while but then nothing happened," I explained, "So after a few more minutes of trying, I gave up and turned my attention to you know who. At first, nothing happened, but then I felt myself falling, and when I opened my eyes I was in that black void thing. And... Yeah. That's it."

Brenner's eyes flitted between mine and the notepad on the desk. He wrote down everything I told him verbatim, going so far as to detail my intermittent pauses and stuttering. His handwriting was just as I expected-- neat, without any idiosyncrasies to be found. I wouldn't be surprised to find a font named after him.