I Am (Not) Your Hero

17

The smell of bacon was synonymous remorse. Starlette now associated the scent of bacon with Smite's newfound feelings of remorse. She strayed from the bedroom with a wince.

He cooked with a studious air. Cooking was an art that required soul—something he didn't possess. But it was also a technical skill, and he had mastered the technique.

The muscles in his back were so defined she could see and name them, as he flexed them, concentrating on his task with Herculean focus.

"Tell me about your mother."

"She was nice." He set the bacon in front of her, already upset.

"Come on, be honest."

He froze. "She was a...cruel woman, like you. Cruelty served with facts. She told me I would amount to greatness because I was more but that it would never mean anything to me because I was less and I didn't know what it meant and now I do. Happy?"

She cocked her head. "Why would that make me happy?"

Smite scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I dunno. You like to see me suffer."

She bit into her bacon, licking her finger. "I think you've got us confused. You like to me suffer. I like to see you be honest. It's not my fault it's synonymous for you."

He scoffed. He just happened to run into her. He could've been anywhere—truly anywhere. The next galaxy over, in Japan or Serbia or Hawaii—but he happened to be in his city and he happened to meet her and nothing had been right since.

Smite had half a mind to drop her on a street corner and forget this whole thing. Just forget he ever encountered her. That she ever forced him to look inside himself.

He was full of darkness and nothingness and he would've never cared enough to look closer.

If not for her.

He found himself filled with despair, and yet he would not move. Everyone else in the world loved him, or at least knew better than to say they didn't. And yet he stayed. Stayed in this house with the one person who despised him, could not tear from himself from her side.

He knew if he could just...reach the door and walk out he could probably forget she ever existed.

But he didn't.

And so they both were trapped.

He heaved a sigh. "I should go. Hero work and all. The people worry when I'm not around."

She nodded softly. It wasn't a discussion. Just a statement. He stood, picking her up from her chair and lifted her up into his arm. Her hands shook a bit, but put her arms around his neck.

Her hands rested on his chest, his large pecs, ripping under her touch.

"What's on the docket?" She whispered, trying to diffuse the tension, tension she assumed he was creating.

"Oh, you know. I just...fly until I hear a cry for help."

She shook her head. "Sounds exhausting. I think I'll go steal something."

He frowned. "You can't be seen stealing, Starlette. You're my future wife. The future wife of Smite, the hero. Heroes don't steal things."

She smiled tightly. "That's why I'm a thief; not a hero."

He was still clinging to this whole wife thing. God, what a pain in this ass this man was.

He walked about the kitchen somewhat aimlessly, seemingly looking for answers in the kitchen appliances. They held none. Starlette however, rested her head atop his, idly and without much thought.

"You know, if I had my suit back I could go out and no one would recognize me. That was kinda the point of the full body suit, with the mask,"

He quirked his brow. "Isn't the point of the mask to avoid detection by the law—more specifically me."

She glared at him dully. "And look how that turned out."

Smite shrugged. "No one asked you to keep stealing things in my city. In fact, i told you multiple times to stop—"

"And then you kidnapped me, hurt me, and you're now...what? Making breakfast for me."

Smite nodded. "...essentially. Yeah?"

"Lovely," she droned sarcastically.

He chuckled, and set her down next to him as he washed the dishes.

"Why can't I go out?"

"Because it's not a good idea right now?"

"Why not? We've had our kumbaya—our come to Jesus moment—you're a sociopathic narcissist, I'm smarter than you think yada yada, now we move forward."

He chuckled but said nothing. His laughter was devoid of amusement, making her narrow her eyes.

"What?" She demanded quietly, with an edge.

"Nothing," he shrugged.

"Tell me!" She demanded again.

He set the plate down in the sink, and locked eyes with her. "I have destoryed the nuclear bombs. I have the confidence of every nation in the world, verbally so, anyway. I am this world—and every other world's hero..."

She narrowed her eyes. "...When are you gonna start telling me things I don't know?"

Smite pursed his lips, looking for the words to say. "Right now the whole world loves me. And I love that they love me, Star. But...in my interaction with you, I've learned something about myself."

A shiver rolled down her spine. "That you don't like fear?"

He chuckled again and shook his head. "I don't like your fear. But I'm perfectly fine with everyone else's. And in fact, in lieu of love and adoration...fear and terror suit me fine."

He wiped his hands, as if the words he were saying were normal, as if this were just any other sentence.

It's going to rain. It's going to rain and I don't mind making the world suffer.

As if they carried the same weight to him—those sentences.

And they did. That was perhaps what was so terrifying.

Starlette could not form a sentence in response. There was no response in the face of that smile in the face of that admittance.

She had been trying to get him to admit for so long...but now...the hollow words fell like stones on her shoulders. His voice so devoid from attachment, with an air of light amusement as if the thought were actually worth a chuckle—how could the world have been so stupid?

"I mean...not much would change," he shrugged. "I'd be all over the news, all in the tv shows, the front page of every magazine everyone would be talking about me in hushed voices and bated breath."

Her briefly shuddered.

"So really...to something like me, is there a difference between fear and love from people I don't care about?"