Underground Hatred - My Hero Origins (MHO)

27: Worsening Ailment

Word Count: 1929

TW: Sickness, Vomit, Paranoia, Hallucinations

(Kat)

 Shudders coursed down Kat's spine every five seconds in increments. Her shivers corresponded with shaky breaths that created a harsh spasm within her chest. Her cheeks were tight from dissolved tears, throat scratchy and sore. Her knees were pulled to her chest, one arm tugging them close with weak muscles while the other's hand dug deep into her auburn hair with white, tense knuckles. Her injured arm ached, a different heartbeat at a different pace pounded against her skull's walls, all the bruises that covered her from head to toe held her in a tight clutch. It controlled her movements, her thoughts, her pain that came from every inch of her skin. She throbbed, died, drowned, and repeated the process all over again.

The rest of the house was dead silent besides her inhuman sobs that faded to a small animal's whimpers. Her mouth tasted sour and acidic, her hairline coated with a thick coat of cold sweat. Her nose burned from the smell coming from the toilet next to her quivering body, the sweet tang of ginger ale colliding on the other side of her. The bathroom light was brighter than ever, blinding her just as the sun would in broad daylight; though, night shone in from the window against her back, no giant ball of fire in sight. Just Kat, her worn pajamas, half sipped ginger ale, a sleeve of crackers barely touched, and the toilet she held near and dear to her heart for almost two hours.

Waves of nausea continued to plague her stomach. The hand in her hair fell to clasp over her mouth, as if to keep whatever was left in her stomach down. Tears welled up without a warning, pouring down her cheeks like no tomorrow. She refused to get to her wobbly legs and take a peek at herself in the mirror. A pathetic look would peer back at her, tired, exhausted, devastated, crushed. Bloodshot eyes would be shrouded in tears, sticky saliva circulating the outside of her lips. Winces, as if someone repeatedly smacked her in the face, would plague her features as a knife went through her brain time after time after time again.

Her brain drifted to the thought of companionship. Would it be different if someone was beside her, rubbing her back as a means to keep her calm? Would she feel her soul crushed between a fist, shattering the pieces across the floor? For so long, Kat had gone through sick days alone, fighting to leave her house just to grab Tylenol for her fevers, carbonated drinks for her stomach, a heating pad for an aching muscle. The lack of independence for the past couple of weeks lost all cognition to fend for herself. She could always peek over her shoulder, finding Davis to give one of his reassuring, tiny smiles that coaxed her to continue, to fight.

Davis.

He was the reason why Kat was feeling as sick as she was. Vivid, nightmare-like memories haunted the back of her head, leaving images burned into the back of her retinas. Every time Kat witnessed Davis's quirk, she grew intrigued. The lights, the power, it was hypnotizing, drawing her. Never once had she envisioned such a grotesque way for Davis to utilize his quirk. Sure, he most likely used it when he was facing danger, but Kat never managed to recognize it due to her own battles she took on—but finding Davis to use his quirk so quickly and so brutally had Kat jumping through hoop after hoop.

The life in the people's eyes drained swiftly, despite how much Kat's brain slowed down the process. The gun hitting the floor had no meaning to her. Rather, she fixated on how powerful and huge Davis grew in front of her, no longer appearing like his usual self. When he unlocked doors or moved something with his quirk, he was a vision of his normal, awkward figure. How tall he stood, how wide he grew, how encompassed his power overtook everything in that one, horrifying moment: this was not Davis. This was someone else.

Kat's stomach twisted. She lunged for the toilet bowl, keeping the lurch down enough to make it there on time. Tears raced down her cheeks as her stomach pulled itself to her throat, but bile was the only thing left, and even then there was barely any left to regurgitate as some had to stay down. Shivers overtook Kat, pushing her into submission. The latest sip of ginger ale came up for the first round, but after she continued to dry heave, hovering over the bowl. Her eyes were blurry due to the tears and also the lack of glasses or contacts. The tears that rolled down her cheeks lined her jawline and dripped into the toilet. Her heavy, labored breaths created a sickly rhythm with the tears.