I Am (Not) Your Hero

23

"Have you ever killed someone?"

Smite's eyes flitted up to hers quickly, his face even and still. "Why?" He asked lowly, silently going through his memory.

Star shifted, her legs outstretched but slightly at the knee to ease the pain, her fingers subconsciously stroking tally marks in the wood. "So yes. Who? Why?"

He frowned deeply and said nothing for a moment. He'd actually never killed anyone. Except...except that man. It had been his first kill. His conscience didn't feel particularly tickled. And in fact, all he took away from it was how easy it was.

But he didn't say that.

"I haven't. I just thought it was odd you asked."

She scoffed but didn't pry. "Why don't you?"

It was a good question. After all, he had to be so, so careful not to kill, even by accident. Never sneezing in public, or coughing. Never crying, never getting angry, or squinting his eyes at the sun. He couldn't hold people naturally, he had to hold them like fine china.

He couldn't move too fast. Couldn't speak too loud.

It was more work...Not killing.

"Because I'm a hero," he said simply.

She grunted with effort, pulling herself up. He let her, not intervening. She shot him a grateful look.

"Now tell me the truth," she smirked.

He blinked. She always knew. Could always see through him. It was why he could've never let her go. No one knew him like she did.

"I have. Once. Recently. For the first time."

She nodded. "And?"

He frowned and looked down, his stomach swirling. And yet, he felt compelled to tell her the truth.

"So much easier." He whispered. A small smile twitched at his lips seeming almost out of place, and uncomfortable. "It was so much easier."

The small smile spread slowly, until he was grinning.

"The craziest part is, I immediately knew...I could just solve all crimes this way. It'd be easier. Quicker. And I'd probably have the same result."

She stared at him blankly for a moment before smiling back. "You're right."

He chuckled. "I know."

She chuckled back. They both laughed for a while, in the silence the smell of blood filling the room as they cackled, though neither found anything particularly funny.

It was just the fact, that they had both come to such a sickening revelation, and the madness of it was inescapable. She felt herself slipping. Her mind was slipping from her grasp.

Fresh hot tears steamrolled down her face as her laughing fizzled to silence, interrupted by a few, sporadic chuckles, floating in the darkness.

"Fuck. Me next." She whispered.

He didn't say anything to that. Just looked at her for a minute.

He crossed the room, cupping her face. She looked up at him, trying to imagine what the rest of her life would look like? Like hell, if she kept fighting. In a matter of weeks he'd all but broken her down.

She was working with half of her mind and it was already waving a white flag.

"I'm sorry—"

She pressed her lips against his, closing her eyes, trying to imagine something different. Imagine herself someplace new. With her hero.

"Oh...Miseal." She chuckled softly.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked, his voice cracking. He touched his throat. His voice hadn't cracked since he was 5. Why had she called him by his name?

She kept giggling though, putting her hand over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Miseal I just—"

His eyes widened. "Why are you laughing?" He asked again, the voice emerging from him small and afraid. "Nothing's funny."

But she kept laughing. He didn't get the joke but that was okay. She was the joke. This was the joke. And fuck it was actually funny.

Hilarious even.

Her raucous laughter, now akin to a witches cackle, continued, grating his ears, and filling him with an emotion he'd only ever felt from her: fear.  

She was losing it. She patting his chin, looking into his lavender eyes. "Don't you just have the prettiest eyes...Miseal?"

He shivered. "What happened to Smite?"

She stared at him, the smile on her face stretched thin and out of place. "Who?" She shook her head. "You know I have just about had it with the guest room."

He looked around the makeshift prison. 'Guest room' didn't seem apt.

"Oh?" He asked.

She nodded and walked past him. "We're a couple. We should sleep in the same bedroom."

He stared after her. This was exactly he wanted. She was obedient. He'd broken her and now she was amendable to him. So why was it empty? Why was it hollow?

Because her heart wasn't in it? Because her mind was gone?

What had he thought would happen? He didn't know. He didn't know what he'd thought. Or why he'd thought it. But all once he knew he was wrong.

He followed after her anyway.

"Starlette?" He offered, trying to be calm.

She hummed, in a seemingly jovial mood such a switch from her normal behavior.

"Yes?" She opened the bedroom door. She stood in the doorway a long time. He stood behind her but did not urge her in.

"We could just clean up the guest room—"

She marched forward and sat on the bed. Her smile was tight. Her eyes were glazed over and sheening.

"No. No. This is...this is...fine."

Smite felt a feeling he'd never felt before. He didn't have a name for it.

But then he heard it. Her voice in his head. He looked up at her, but she wasn't looking at him. She hadn't said anything.

Remorse.

He closed his eyes. "Starlette. I was really wrong. You can just leave now it's okay. I won't take anyone else—"

She just stared at him.

He said nothing and then nodded. "Okay. I understand."

"You always do, Misael." She smiled. "Should we?"

She laid down, taking the left side of the bed her eyes out the window. He got in next to her, keeping his distance.

"What is this, Starlette?" He asked her, his eyes on her back.

"Acceptance," she said softly.

And that was that.