Your Way Out

Mischief

It was 4 A.M. again. A bead of gold paint dripped down the black canvas, over the golden outline of a delicate feminine hand. I pulled my brush away and watched the thin stream travel down her arm. It stopped just above the crook of her elbow. I held the paint brush between my fingers like a long cigarette.  My eyes glanced over the painting with an overstimulated gaze. Persephone holding the pomegranate that sealed her to the Underworld. The juices seeping from the bite and her lips in shimmering golden trails. I had been looking at this painting for three nights now. Three long sleepless nights. My eyelids were heavy, they felt like weighted curtains begging to be drawn, but I couldn't close them. No matter how hard I tried. 

I dropped the paint brush into a muddled cup of water and rubbed my eyes for the hundredth time, groaning out a yawn. My eyelids were raw. My skin felt like sandpaper has I dragged my knuckle against them. I knew they were probably red and puffy. I probably looked crazy. My messy auburn curls were thrown into a loose bun. Black and gold paint speckled my pale face and hands. I was wearing the same oversized t-shirt the last three nights. It was stained with paint and coffee. 

Gods, I was tired. I glanced at the miserable analog clock hanging above my door with a turning hatred. Misdirected hatred, of course. I wasn't angry at the clock. But I hated how it continued to tick on and on. Minutes shifting into hours. Grains of sand slipping through my fingers. I just wanted sleep. 

My name is Elaina Bright and I'm an empath. Usually, when someone calls themselves am empath, its because they want you to think they're caring and understanding. They might be able to pick on your emotional state better than the next person, which definitely helps them fall into the "nice" category, if they know how to utilize their empathy. Unfortunately for me, my empathy was basically tangible. 

An empath is someone with the psychic ability to manifest the mental or emotional state of another individual. In other words, I can actually feel other people's emotions. It's almost like mind reading, except with feelings. It took me a many hours of therapy to discern what emotions were mine and what belonged to someone else. My entire life I've trained my mind and body to guard myself against uninvited emotions. I thought I perfected my technique. I built a figurative fortress around my mind. Brick by brick, I molded my castle to protect myself from situations just like this. Three days ago someone entered Avenger's Tower and knocked down my castle like it was made of sand. 

I lived and worked at the Avenger's Tower for a year and never experienced something of this magnitude. Hundreds of people come and go on a daily basis. Not once in that entire year did I feel something from someone that I didn't choose to feel. Then one night I woke up unable to breathe. 

It felt like someone hit me with a truck. Knocked the wind out of me and pinned me to the mattress. The memory foam felt like quicksand. My limbs melted into the bed as I sank deeper into a pit of despair. It was cold and dark. I couldn't move. I was paralyzed with an unfamiliar fear. Anxiety coursed through my veins like jolts of electricity, rattling my bones to the point where I thought they were going to jump out of my skin. It was a tidal wave of emotion. 

After twenty minutes of unfiltered panic, I was able to roll out of bed. I hadn't touched it since. Just looking at my bed sent a cold chill down my spine and my heart beat faster. At least it gave me time to work on my art. 

I spent the first two nights frightened, angry, and confused. My own emotions, not someone else's. Who was the new insomniac that was keeping me up? Morning of the third day I was given as answer. 

A file was delivered to my room by a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. It was concealed in a black envelope with "CONFIDENTIAL" stamped in bold red letters. The file was also stamped. It was as thick as my arm and contained all the pieces I needed to solve my puzzle. In fact, all I needed was a name.

Loki Laufeyson. 

I'm a behavioral therapist by occupation. My abilities have always given me an advantage when it came to diagnosing and treating patients. But that was when I worked at a normal health clinic as a counselor. S.H.I.E.L.D. discovered my meta abilities and hired me to help interrogate threats to national security. They brought me in as a human lie detector and manipulator. 

Loki Laufeyson. Skimming through his file, it all began to make sense. A being of immense power and that amount of emotional baggage could easily break through my mental defenses. He was my new assignment. I was meant to get into his head and find any possible threats. My goal was to treat him and get some rest. 

The morning sun pulled itself over the horizon like it was being dragged by a snail. It took forever, but it was finally time to meet the man who infected me with insomnia. I dressed myself in a black and white stripped dress, black tights, and comfortable flats. I used a big black cardigan like a blanket and draped it over my shoulders, wrapping myself in knitted warmth. I re-did my bun to make it look more professional. I hoped my glasses were enough to hid the deep purple bags that hung under my eyes. 

Loki's file felt like a tome as I held it in my arms. There were two guards besides me as we stood outside his cell door. Beyond the deep blue iron walls contained one of Earth's greatest enemies. 

"He'll be restrained the entire session. Dr. Strange and Dr. Banner provided us with state of the art handcuffs and collars that suppress his magical abilities, so you shouldn't be in any danger. There are cameras in the room. We'll be stationed outside the door, ready to intervene should a hostile situation occur. Just knock when you need us," one of the guards informed me.

"Did you get all that?" the other asked. 

I nodded, holding back a deep yawn.

The heavy iron door opened with a loud creek. Loki appeared at the opposite end of the cell, arms in front of him, restrained in glowing green handcuffs. His back pressed against the wall, he glared at me through the door way. His eyes were cold blue steel. His eyebrows sharp and furrowed. He clinched his jaw and his entire body was tense. I hesitantly stepped into the small room and the door immediately slammed behind me. A series of clicks sent a message that made my heart drop to my stomach. The door was locked. I was alone with Loki Laufeyson. The Prince of Deceit and the God of Mischief.