Damsel[ed]: No Rescue Required

Chapter 12: Meeting Angelos 2.0

I awake in bed. My cotton uniform clings to my skin, and I untangle from the thick white sheets. Memories flood back, mostly in flashes, but some in dialogue. Mainly, I hear Galaxy. 

Oh, spit. I'm a dead man and I'm not even old enough to drink a shaken not stirred martini!

I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to convince myself I dreamed the last few days, but I know. Galaxy gassed me and brought me here. How she knows where I live is a mystery, but everything about her is a Whodunit, so I don't over think it.

Instead, I peel away the layers of sweaty clothing and drag myself to a scalding shower. I need to figure this out. One week, that can't be too hard. Lock the doors, keep a low profile, the usual. Heck, it could be easy.

I think about stuff until the water's cool, and by cool, I mean freezing. Normally, Jupes shuts off the apartment's water if I spend more than four minutes showering, and as much as I miss her and Storm, I'll savor the treat until they come back.

Oh, God. They're home Tuesday. I'm sure they're worried, with my sloth-slow phone I haven't answered any texts or calls. They probably spoke to Gats instead. But...

What should I say? How am I supposed to explain this?

'Hey, people who cared for me since infancy! A bunch of villains are hunting me because I have weird powers! Also, I attract danger, so I made a deal that if I can't protect myself I'll stay with Galaxy. Oh yeah, I love you. Peace out!'

No. I...need to hide this. Mind whirring, I dress and breathe in the smell of washed cloth and detergent. It's so comforting to be back where it's clean. I turn towards the mirror for a quick comb when...Holy, holy, spit!

I stare for a few minutes, waiting for my 'reflection' to fade and reveal the true me. When that never happens, I just stand there, blinking like one of those creepy American Girl dolls. I look different, like puberty finally decided to do something nice instead of smacking me over the head with voice cracks and other sucky puberty things.

I try to smile at Angelos 2.0. It's so weird looking at an image of myself that seems so adult. And sinister, if I'm honest. 

My weight has finally caught up with my height, like I've grown into my body.  My arms ripple with tight, muscly flesh, thick enough to fill suit sleeves. I run my fingers down my thighs, which are equally defined and toned.

I have black eyes. Not slate or brown, but eyes the color of creamless coffee. Same with my hair. I didn't know it could get any darker, but now it's so black it shines blue.

My jaw line's pretty defined too, and my face, is, well, older. Any ounce of chubbable cheek evaporated. I'm streamlined!

The thread of my shirt pulls taut against my jutting shoulder-blades. I shiver, thoughts of my father clouding my mind.

I look just like him. Everything but the wings.

Must've been that second visit with Cat. If I looked like a supervillain before, it's nothing compared to how I look now. If I'm an experiment, then something went right. As I stare at Coverboy Angelos, I decide my situation isn't that shabby.

Come to think of it, this power-thing brought bucket loads of awesome stuff. I didn't die when I fell from 'Death Tower,' Jaylin wants to go to the dance with me, and I even saw the inside of Galaxy's lair. Bonus: I look like I'm nineteen! Now how cool is that?

I stumble out of my room in a haze; there's so much to think about. For now, the only course of action I'll take is to apologize to my friend. "Yo, Gats?"

No response. The apartment's quiet, "too quiet," Han Solo would say. The hum of the fridge only adds a heartbeat to the silence, and I'm half tempted to sing the Spiderman theme song to ease the creepy atmosphere.