Arrogance: Volume One of Ebb & Flow

Chapter 3 - A Little Bit of Research

"Do you want me to join you in the shower?"

If I say yes, Maria's coy smile promises another round or two. "I'm starting to think you're only using me for my body," I joked.

"Not just your body; your face is pretty good too."

"Funny. You can shower after I'm done."

I step into the shower and turn on the jets. My father designed our house to have all the amenities one could need, with each bedroom having a bath attached. Forty-eight pressurized holes, capable of nearly any temperature, shoot out, soothing my sore body. The hot water stings as it hits my back and shoulders. Maria must have really done a number on my back with her nails. Shower gel comes from a dispenser built into the wall, and I loofa all the sweat, fluids, and grime off my body. It smells of cinnamon and oak, with some dumb name like Annihilation Mountain Cleanser. Washing the conditioner out of my hair, I activate the drying function. Several grates open at my feet, and the jets blow warm air at me.

Maria enters the bathroom, still naked from earlier. I notice a couple of hickeys on my neck. I'm going to have to wear something to cover that up. Not that I'm capable of feeling shame, but people might use it as an excuse to talk to me. Mirrors are strange to me. They further exacerbate the sense of detachment I usually experience. I recognize the six-foot-three, sandy-haired, green-eyed teenager as myself. I look over the athletic musculature reminiscent of a swimmer marred by a faint thin scar on the left side of my ribs. The only reminder of the accident. I scrub my face, devoid of facial hair, and start to style my hair. Long at the top and short on the sides, I put product in and use my fingers to comb it back.

I leave Maria to shower and begin to get dressed. I check my phone and see that it's six. The party isn't until eight, but it'll take thirty minutes to get to Jake's house. The groupchat shows several texts from the others. It looks like they'll be arriving by seven-thirty—plenty of time to prepare myself for the upcoming party. I throw on a grey undershirt with matching briefs, followed by a pair of black socks and dark jeans. I walk past my bed to the closet, picking a nice white turtleneck. My style is simple but confident, fashionable but not flashy. My room is the exact same way—a clinical facade masquerading as an average teenager's room. Posters of bands from decades ago dot the walls with a queen size bed with exactly two pillows in the middle of the room. A projection television mounted to face my bed, complete with the latest immersive speakers in the room's corners. White oak furniture throughout the room: a bureau, a nightstand, and my desk against the left wall. My computer and monitor sit atop that desk with little knickknacks decorating it to give it more personality. Every detail is meticulously planned to show that my serious outward persona hides a fun-loving soul.

Of course, it's complete and utter bullshit. Nothing about Eryk Blakely is real besides the obsession with finding something to excite me. I sit at my desk while waiting for Maria to finish getting ready. Turning on my pc, I remembered what Aubrey had said earlier. Typing "titania" into my search bar reveals the same video reposted across hundreds of different sites. I pick a random site and begin to watch the video.

The footage is shaky but high quality, as expected of all new-age cell phones. In it, a woman made of metal is facing off against three others. The first is some anthropomorphic wolfman as tall as a streetlamp. The next is a woman head to toe in gladiatorial armor, sporting a gladius and shield. The final member of the trio is a man wearing an orange and red suit shooting flames at Titania. Titania levitates above the street and somehow throws cars at the other three without touching them. The wolfman catches one car, but another hits him from above immediately. I watch in amazement as the gladiator cuts a thrown bus in half before leaping into the air and kicking Titania. The street explodes from the impact of her metal body hitting it. Whoever is filming could do a better job. They always seem to be just seconds behind the action.