Ptolemaea | Henry Creel

Loss of Control

YALL. IM SO FUCKING SORRY.

I know its been a month and again i am so so so sorry, I've just had so much going on w finals and volleyball and everything else. I PROMISE UPDATES WILL BECOME MORE CONSISTENT. also next chapter will have a shit ton of henry so yay!!!!

I awoke in a rush the next morning.

My bedroom was a mess. Though, I guess 'mess' was a kind word for it. Come morning, my mind had returned to me and Henry had not, leaving me with a cold bed and no time to prepare for training. Beau knocked incessantly, as he had been for nearly five minutes now, pausing only to tell me to 'hurry the fuck up' with increasingly colorful language.

I combed my fingers through my hair hurriedly, watching myself in my now-shattered mirror. There was too much color in my face. Surely, Beau would know what happened as soon as I stepped out into the hallway. I glanced towards the underwear bundled up in the corner of my room-- the only physical evidence of last night's crime-- and winced. I could still feel him all over me, feel his fingers inside me. At this point, I couldn't even feel guilty anymore. I was just embarrassed. Did I truly have so little self-respect?

I made eye contact with myself through the mirror. "Whore," I whispered, half-joking, half-not.

"Jesus Christ, Sixteen! I will drag you out of here myself!" Beau's shouting pulled my attention away from my reflection. I cursed once more under my breath and finally made my way toward the door, tripping over my fragmented nightstand in the process.

I wrenched the door open wide enough only to slip through, and then slammed it closed. No one else had to see my temporary lapse of sanity from the night before. Once I was in the hall, Beau gave me a once-over. "You look like shit."

"Fuck you."

"I'll pass," He waved me off and began speed-walking down the hall. I groaned under my breath, far from eager to do any more physical labor, and followed him nonetheless.

"What happened?" Beau asked, glancing at me sidelong just before we turned down another hallway.

I frowned, "What do you mean?"

"Your wrist," He said, gesturing towards the scratches from last night. "You suicidal or something?"

I ran a hand down my face, "Jesus Christ, Beau."

"Is that a yes?"

"What is wrong with you? It's ten in the fucking morning."

"Yes, it is," He confirmed, "Too early to be suicidal."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," I told him. We turned down one last hallway, and I had to jog just to keep up with him. It wasn't long before I was out of breath. "Can you please slow down?"

"No, Sixteen," He said. Even though I stared at the back of his head, it was impossible to miss the smile in his voice. "Because you decided to spend ten fucking hours getting ready, and now we're gonna be late. I'm already on Brenner's shit list after yesterday-- so no, I can't slow down."

The smile on my face slowly dropped as I remembered what had happened before entering Brenner's office. Hearing the two of them whisper conspiratorially, and then questioning Beau once he had left. I recalled the distinctly guilty look on his face, the way his breath hitched when I asked him about it. Every liar had a tell, and his was almost impossible to miss once I knew what to look for.

"Who's uh--," I paused, "Who's in charge of training today?"

Beau sent me a glance, feet clanking against the metal grate beneath him, "Owens, I think. That's good, right?"