Super

32 - J.R.R. Tolkitten

"'It was a mistake,' you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you."

– David Levithan

Sighing, I switched off the T.V. and tiptoed back to my room, plopping down on my bed. It was well past one in the morning and yet I'd already gotten six hours of sleep. With the extra boost from the cup of coffee I had just chugged, I didn't think I'd be sleeping for a while. So I pulled out my phone and opened Wattpad, picking one of those stories where the villain gets the girl.

"Why not?" I sighed and started to read. 

After about an hour, the low battery message flashed obnoxiously on my screen. Strange, I thought and reached over to my nightstand to grab the charger. Except I was met by a pair of unblinking eyes.

"Hi."

"AHHHH!" 

"Would you shut up?" The super villain grumbled, but I whacked him in the face with a giant stuff chameleon. Apparently, all it did was make him angry. 

Narrowing his eyes into thin slits, the Invisible Hand snatched my chameleon and snarled, "allow me to return the favour." And then he smacked me back. With MY chameleon! Let me tell you, super strength + chameleon fights = not a fun time. Massaging my sore forehead, I began yelling at him, hoping he'd get the message.

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. ROOM!"

"If you insist," he smirked, sauntering into my bathroom.

I deadpanned. "That's not what I meant."

IH just shrugged. "Not my problem."

Realising I wouldn't be getting anything out of him anytime soon, I sighed and went back to my bed, sitting down and burying my face in the pillows. Please go away, please go away, please–

"If you're praying for me to leave, I won't, you know," an annoyingly cocky voice mused next to my ear, and the pillow was ripped from my hands leaving my head exposed. I sent him an annoyed glare, but really I was terrified. 

Was he here to finish what he started earlier? Was he here to kill me?

IH frowned, rubbing his stomach. So he felt my fear. Good. That meant the other supers would be on their way! 

I couldn't help but flash back to a few months earlier when we had been in a situation not-so-different from the one we were in now: when he had delivered the infamous super villain origin story. He had felt my fear but he had tried to calm me by telling me about his parents who died at Arson's hand (or so he was convinced). Poor Arson hadn't been able to save both the Invisible Hand and his parents from a fire last year so he had left the parents to burn and chose the teenager with so much life left to live instead. He had just finished the story when Mist showed up and he had slashed her leg with a knife before disappearing. 

"So Annie," IH began conversationally, all traces of discomfort vanished as he snapped me back into the present, "how have you been?" 

I blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears that threatened to spill over where they belonged: in my tear ducts. My lower lip was quivering slightly and I didn't dare speak in fear that my voice might give me away, that it might reveal I was about two seconds away from breaking down. Instead of speaking,  I settled for glaring at the super as he crossed my room and collapsed into the window seat opposite the foot of the bed. 

IH began fidgeting with his mask, running a finger underneath it to relieve his cheekbones. It shifted slightly to reveal a tiny scar at the top of his right cheek. I remembered that scar. It was from the day he helped the supers with the domestic violence case in Staten Island, back when he claimed to be evil but exhibited some signs of good. Back when I figured out who he really was...