Papa Loves Me

by solangewrites

Dark fic containing every sort of evil. Experiment Eleven has spent her whole life confined in the lab. She has never dreamed of anything else. Papa wouldn't allow it. But one day, someone new comes. A boy. Eleven must question everything she thought she knew, including the primary tenet of her life- Papa.

30. April 18th, 1985

April 18th, 1985.

14

I am impatient. Max looks like the perfect picture of composure and calm as she reels off Russian words fast as can be. Not only are her words in that other language, but she is asking me hard questions. Like which fork to use, what to say if someone asks my opinions on the oppressive Russian Regime, or whether or not to decline champagne or-

"Ty gotov k tabletu?" She asks, same look on nonchalance on her face. My spine prickles.

"Da spasibo." I nod. She stretches, arms extending out in front of her. Something small drops into my lap and I fold my hands over it, feeling its smooth, cold surface. Max cracks her neck and settles back into her seat.

I ponder my next words very carefully. "Chto konkretno delayet tabletka?"

"Ch'yu, ne glotay. Vy uvoleny." Max smiles tightly as I stand up.

"Thank you." I whisper. I really, really mean it.

A nurse escorts me back to my cell and I sit on the bed. I don't feel like coloring, but I pull my papers on to my lap, sliding the tablet underneath. I flick through the pages. I smile at one. I was drawing Max with my red crayon, paying special attention to her long, long eyelashes, and bright red lips. Mike had leaned over my shoulder and grinned.

"It's Max, isn't it?" I nodded yes and he frowned.

"The other one was prettier."

"Which one?" I asked shyly. He flipped through the pages, landing on one I'd done of myself.

"This one."

I blush even at the memory. There's no way Mike can feel the same way about me as I do him, but he is very, very nice to me. The door slams open and I flinch. Ah. Dinner.

I accept the soggy bread and thin soup and begin to eat. Halfway through I adjust my shorts, pulling out the tablet. I hide it in a morsel of bread and chew it thoroughly. It is bitter, but I manage to get it down. I quickly finish dinner.

I am ushered into the tiny metal square and hosed down, then change into a somewhat fresher pair of underwear and a thin white tank top. I would put on shorts as well, but I fear that would raise too much suspicion. My brain has taken up a pleasant hum.

I begin to drift away. By the time the gunshots are fired, I have flown away on the wings of sleep.