The Mistletoe

Chapter III

In the following days, we found out that Jonathan was out of danger, but it was a close call. I learned that a couple of his ribs were broken, and one of them almost touched his heart.

As a consequence, I was suspended for a week, and my dad was not at all happy. He restricted my internet access and set time limits on my computer usage. I had to hide my tablet to play games during the remaining nights after waking up.

My dad and I had a talk about violence and its consequences.

"I understand you wanted to delete that photo, and I'm not punishing you for breaking his phone. But hitting him in the ribs like that was unnecessary," he said.

"I had to defend myself! He was hitting me! What did you want me to do? That guy had been bothering me for months!" I responded, clearly frustrated.

"And if you had killed him? Would that have made you happy? You know you're not like the other boys; we're just starting to understand the limits of your... abilities. If you get sent to a juvenile detention center, I won't be able to do anything for you, and they might discover your secret," he said seriously, visibly frustrated.

My dad had given me some books, but I still had the tablet hidden, so I used it when my computer time ran out, carefully hiding it among the sheets.

One night, I was chatting with one of my online friends, with whom I played MOBAs, and as I was sending a message, I looked out the window, and suddenly, there it was again, that strange bird. But this time, I could see it more clearly; it seemed like my eyes had improved too.

The creature had bird wings, but its body was snake-like, just like its face. The creature turned around and stared at me, making some strange whistling sounds. Its sudden appearance scared me so much that I ended up breaking the tablet in two.

After it quickly disappeared, I said to myself, "I'm going crazy. God! The tablet!"

There were three things that worried me during the night. First, the creature I now knew about. What was that? I had never seen anything like it. Second, my tablet was broken, and I had nothing left to do but sleep or check my dad's books. And lastly, I hadn't noticed that my body was more defined, considering the little exercise I did. I mean, I didn't have Superman's body, but I looked like a runner or gymnast, and I wanted to know how much strength I had.

I slowly went downstairs, and in the basement, I saw the weights we had to test it. Previously, my record for deadlifting was around 70-something kilos, not bad for a teenager. Until a few months ago, I had reached around 90-something, with a lot of effort, but I wanted to try again.

I loaded up to 100 kilos and started:

"one... two... three!" Not bad.

I tried adding about twenty more kilos:

"one... two... three!"

I began to laugh convulsively, not knowing if out of happiness or nervousness, and I could hear my father coming down the stairs as I thought, "Oh no."

"What are you doing, Miguel... It's three in the morning!"

"Dad!" I said, laughing. "I can lift 120 kilos! And I think I can do more!"

"Stop, stop, stop... Use the belt I bought, please, don't rush, remember, if you dislocate or break a..."

"I know!" I interrupted. "I'm not straining, I'm serious!" I laughed enthusiastically.

"Wait, let me get a coffee."

While my father brought a cup of coffee, I loaded the weight; now, I put about 185 kilos.