I Am (Not) Your Hero

11

Starlette switched between burning hatred and numbness. She could not decide which was more apt. He had stolen her off the streets and abused her. And there was nothing she could do about it.

That was what was most infuriating. They both knew it. She had no power. No friends or family to coming look for her to speak of. Not that anyone would ever suspect him of doing such a thing.

She bet he could film it. Hurting her and still get away with it.

It was that way for men anyway but this man? This man was less of man and more of god in anyone else's eyes.

So what was she do? It was better to give in, she in. He seemed to lose interest in a way, when she didn't react. How long could she keep this up?

Smite stood in front of her, and set a plate in front of her.

"I...I made pasta." He offered lamely.

Starlette nodded but said nothing. He shifted.

"Look, I don't like punishing you," he said awkwardly. As if this were a hard topic for him—the way he abused her. "I don't want to. I want us to be happy. I really think we can be if you would just...let me be nice to you. I do it so well, honestly—"

"What's your name?" She asked softly.

"Excuse me."

Starlette eyes were fixed on the pasta. Alfredo it seemed. The cheese was thick and freshly grated on top, slowly melting. God, she would've loved this.

"Your name. Just the first is fine, not trying to look you up or anything."

"Misael."

Starlette showed no reaction to the information, her eyes still in the food as if she could eat it with her eyes.

"Are you going to eat?"

It hurt. It would not be the first time she had been slapped of course. The first by someone of such strength. The heat in her cheek, the sharp imprints of her teeth on the inside of it. She could not eat. It would hurt. But she wouldn't admit that, why would she give him the satisfaction? Shame? He would not feel ashamed.

"Not hungry."

Misael sat across from her his lashes fluttering. Her cheek was so red. It must've been hard to show up so vividly even under her brown skin. Why couldn't she just let him be nice to her?

He looked away. "Um...do you wanna watch tv?"

The aloofness with which Starlette handled his discipline from the very beginning somewhat alarmed him. He could not decide if liked hurting her or not. Sometimes he did.

He liked it when she was hurt for a moment but then she bounced back. That was fun. But these long sullen silences , where she just stared were not. But they were still interesting in their own way.

He could see himself growing tired of it though, eventually, the silences.

Starlette did not respond, her eyes still glued to the plate of food.

More silence. It was unbearable.

"Say something or I'll punish you harder," he informed her evenly.

The young woman took a shuddered breath. "No. I don't want to watch tv."

Misael nodded. "What do you like?"

"Nothing," came her empty response.

"I hear your heart beat speed up when you lie. Don't lie again."

He was getting better at it. He was a pitiful abuser actually, it almost made Starlette laugh. But far be it from the number one hero to be a slow learner. He was picking it up with ease.

He was awkward with it, still, like a new tool he'd never used. But his voice did not waver, his authority clear and without equal.

Of course he would excel, even in this.

Especially in this.

She ran her tongue over the cut in her cheek. What had she thought to accomplish? It actually was a little foolhardy wasn't it? Provoking him? In person no less. She didn't think him a hero, but she didn't think he was a villain.

Just some guy.

That's what she wanted him realize. That he was just some guy, and he would ruin the world—burn it to ash,—pretending he could save everything.

He made himself such a shining symbol of peace. What happens when that symbol dies? What happens when there's no heroes? After he single-handedly took over the world what would happen in his wake?

All she wanted to do was reach him. Make him see that he did not deserve that power, he would not be able to handle it and even if he could—when he left the world would be in shambles.

No, she never liked Smite. He was presumptuous, and so clearly fake, that stupid smile.

Hm.

But she had not done and said what she had out of pure resentment for him, either. It was out of concern. He was already failing.

The more power he took, the less people he saved. His numbers had been dropping. That's what happens when one person tries to save the world.

Well, fuck her right? For caring? She did what she thought everyone else was too blind to do.

But that wasn't true was it? No, she did what everyone else was too smart to do. And now she was paying for it.

"I asked you a question," Misael said with a slight edge. "What do you like?"

She swallowed. "Freedom."

"I don't like that answer. You were a criminal. I saved you. I am...rehabilitating you."

She smiled softly at that. He was so good at deluding himself. "Saved me? You took me."

His hand raised. She stared it, readying herself. He cleared his throat and out it back down.

"You have an iron clad, spirit, Starlette, and I'm not stupid enough to think this little act means anything. But I meant what I said. I want you for a wife."

"Is that so?" She asked dully.

"Hm. Iron clad spirit," he mused almost wistfully. "You know I can break iron don't you?"

She nodded. "Yes I do, Smite."