Supernova

Chapter Fifty Five - Who's Afraid of a Little Raid?

I woke up the morning of the raid feeling like I was going to be sick. I knew, realistically of course, that I was too well fed and full of black blood for that to be possible, but I had a notion that I was going to anyways. Woke up is not really an accurate way to put it either. I tossed and turned in a state somewhere between sleep and waking most of the night in my bed, alone, until my body finally jolted itself awake in its restlessness. The curtains were open. The sky was dark. There were hours to go until I had to meet Aizawa and Elias and the rest of the team and I was dreading the long day ahead of me.

Dreading. What an interesting word. What an interesting sentiment. I had seldom ever dreaded anything. Least of all a mission. In America, missions had been at their worst, jobs to complete and actions to carry out, and at their best, opportunities to show off, improve my personal statistics, gain prestige and loyalty. In Switzerland, missions had been family camping trips, shopping sprees, lovers getaways. In South Africa, well, they'd been killing time. This mission had too much at lose, my entire life on the line, everything at stake. This was perhaps the first real mission I would ever embark on. Who's the late bloomer now, huh Cass?

Or should I say, Nova?

I slid into my Nova costume, freshly wiped down, hung on a hanger on the closet door, mocking me the entire time I slept. Needles and the gloves my dear brother had been reduced to sat at my side, not yet being slid onto my silent hands, because if I kept them in just the right spot in my peripheral, the flame of my caramel scented candle reflecting off of the golden pin heads flared something encouraging. You can do this, they told me. I know, I signed back to them, as if they could see. I have to.

But the day had barely began and it was already going to shit. I'd borrowed a hand mirror from Momo's room. She hadn't asked why I needed it and I hadn't explained. I'd just asked if she had one, and she went into her drawer and handed it over.

I needed it to braid my hair.

I had a bunch of clips and ponytails and I needed to tame my long black hair until it sat as close to my head to be hidden by my hood and cloak from any angle or this whole mission was going to go to shit and everyone was going to die. But even so, I couldn't do it. I should have practiced, but I hadn't had time. Strands were falling out and my silent hands were steady but clumsy and I couldn't see the back of my head and tears started falling onto my bare knees until I couldn't see the rest of the room and I was choking on my own failure and filling to the brim with disgust at myself and my weakness.

There suddenly came the tapping of knuckles on glass. An involuntary gasp replaced my semi-concealed irregular breathing as I whipped my head up and found a soft set of red eyes watching me cry from the fire escape. I hadn't heard the footsteps over my head or the shifting of the metal. Either he was getting better at sneaking up on me or I was only getting more easily distracted. Neither were options I really wanted to entertain. I wiped my arms over my face before I stood to unlock the window.

"Are you scared?" He asked me after he'd closed the window behind himself.

I wanted to say yes, terrified, give me the warmth please, let's hide under the covers and ignore the knocking when it comes. But instead, what I said was, "I can't braid my hair."

"What?"

He watched my face for a few seconds that felt like a hundred excruciating years. That word fell out of a soft smile that threatened a laugh. I wanted to hit him. This wasn't trivial. This was the difference between life and death.

"Do you think any of the girls are awake?" I asked him. My voice was weak and desperate and honest. My face was threatening to explode into wetness again. His smile dissipated and he was glaring at me again. It was comforting.