Villainous

Chapter 2 | Caspian

I close my eyes. Inhale, exhale, control. Control. Control is the greased rope I've been clawing at for a decade and a half. My control is fragmented glass: too many cracks to patch up, too many cracks and all the anger kept slipping through. Control. I am in control. I will keep my anger to a simmer, no sizzling fire, I will keep my cool. I am in control.

Inhale, exhale, repeat. Inhale, exhale, repeat. It's been years since I've lived more than a shadow of a life, it's been years since I really breathed. I turn my head to the side, look out the window. The world is picture perfect. Even the rain that started last night, with droplets like sparklers in the sky, glistens. My own droplets, my own emotions, are not so shiny.

I can not let myself rain onto the world. I am too dangerous to be allowed to touch something as precious as our earth. This is not an exaggeration, not a warning. These are words I have said before. I am in control. Four words, twelve letters, a phrase I've been saying since I learned to speak. Mother taught me how, how saying things predisposes them to happen.

I refocus my attention on the glass world. It is still so perfect, too perfect, perfect enough to shove inside a snow globe and sell at an amusement park for under five dollars. I hate it. Hate it. Hate it so damn much. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate, inhale, exhale, hate hate hate hate hate, I don't care if I'm ripping holes in control with every mental reiteration of the word.

I see the way my fists clenched into a seamless blend of red fingertips and white knuckles and I don't stop can't stop wouldn't stop even if I could. The brown hair I painstakingly straightened just that morning vibrates into its favorite setting of wavy with a chance of curls. I don't have nice hair. It's not dark enough to be likened to chocolate and not light enough to make you think of caramel frappes.

"You are in control." Hands grip my shoulders. Warm breath claws at my ear. Mother's fancy perfume slaps me in the face harder than a hand. "Caspian!" Her voice is sharp and commanding, and the tense palm winding around to the base of my neck gives me a flicker of sanity.

I grapple my way back into control in the space between two breaths. Mother's cold eyes meet my frantic ones. Hers are an impenetrable ice, and mine are deep brown. I like my eyes. Mother says their depth betrays my emotions.

I blink rapidly for a moment, then refocus on Mother's dyed, straightened hair. "I-I'm in c-control." Her hot pink fake nails clench my wrists, leaving behind white crescent moons. I feel their bite. Nothing unfamiliar. Pain anchors me. I flash back to five years ago, after I erupted at one of Mother's friends' dinner parties.

Mother hisses under her breath. Hundreds of curses that would have me sticking a dollar in the swear jar. Her hand, unscarred, freshly lotioned, manicured, cracks across my face. Pain has never been this white hot before. I've lived an easy life.

"Freak! Damn it all, Caspian, can't you keep yourself under fucking control?" Another hand, this one landing on my throat, this one harder. I choke for a moment, and there's a flash of fear in my gaze. Then Mother gasps and covers her own mouth. She's quick to shove concealer at me, and I'm shell-shocked enough to obey. "Cover it up, Caspian."

When I'm done, she's almost defeated. Her voice is tired and worn, but she keeps it steady. "Punch a wall, cut yourself, I don't care. Just keep yourself in check, okay, darling? I don't have the time to clean up all your messes." Mother runs a hand through her bleach blonde hair.