Super?

Don't Think I Could Forgive You

       For a moment I don't think I'm strong enough to open my eyes. Then I remember Dominic and my eyelids flutter open. I wish I wouldn't have.
       "Hey, there, mädchen," I hear her voice. Oh God. What's her name? I can't remember her name.
       "Where am I?" When I speak it feels like someone's sticking knives all over various points in my body. I gasp in pain. I can't help it.
       "Where do you think?" A male voice. Sounds amused. Oh. It's Reggie. My stomach plummets. I'm back here. In the syndicate. And they know. They know. I'm so screwed.
       "Where's Dominic?" I rasp, looking around. I'm in their designated torture room, the same one where we filmed Dominic's ransom video. They didn't even bother tying me up. I can see why. There's so much pain that even my healing factor is struggling to kick in. This is what I get for trying to be a hero. My leg is the worst. When I brave a glance down bile fills my throat and I have to swallow hard so I won't throw up. I don't want to be sickly and vulnerable.
       If you watch as many horror and action movies as I do, you've probably seen someone with their broken bone sticking out of their skin. It's really gross to see on screen, but it doesn't even compare to when you see it in real life. On your own body.
       "That looks painful," the German woman smiles pleasantly. I can see why Reggie likes her. They're both complete psychopaths- perfect for each other.
       "It's probably not as painful as those high heels look," I shoot back. Seriously. They're like four inch tall steel death traps for the feet. And they're not even cute.
       The German woman (Gaia? Gina? Jay?) responds by kneeling down in front of me and picking up my lower leg, right below where the bone has snapped and is gorily sticking out through my jeans. I scream in pain, and sweat beads at my forehead immediately. Holy... That... Freaking... Hurts...
       "C'mon. These jeans are brand new, too. Don't tear them any more," I force myself to whine through the mind-numbing pain.
       "Always with your little commentary, even when you're bleeding to death and at the mercy of your former employers." Reggie laughs a little and Gia(?) gives him a flirtatious smile in turn.
       "Oh, now that's not fair. Not only do you completely wreck my only car, but you fire me too? I should get a lawyer." For a moment I fight to breathe. I think some ribs must be broken, because it feels like my lungs are slowly being crushed. It's hard to take a breath, and when I do my organs feel like they're being set on fire over and over again.
       "Your wit is admirable at a time like this, but I happen to know that you're most sarcastic when you're afraid. And you should be. Nobody's going to save you," Reggie leans down and whispers this in my ear, his own breath tickling the side of my face. He smells like mint mouthwash and the metallic stench of blood. What an odd combination.
       "That's never stopped me before," I give him a lazy half grin. "Alone is my specialty." I watch how his calculated smile fades from his face.
       "Is that so?" He turns around slowly toward the door with his dramatic flair. Reggie adores being a villain. He has a bumper sticker on his Lamborghini that says: Kiss Me, I'm Evil! It doesn't make any sense whatsoever (I think it's supposed to be a ripoff of something Irish) but he adores the heck out of that sticker and the car it's applied to. He thinks every villain should drive a sports car. I myself go for inconspicuousness rather than style.
       "Is this because I drive a Camry?" He gives me a puzzled, frustrated look.
       "You interrupted my moment," he tells me irritably, his thick eyebrows furrowed like twin caterpillars above his dark eyes.
       "Sorry," I smirk, "please continue." Another drop of sweat runs down onto the top of my lip. Red spots the periphery of my vision, but I clench my jaw and tell myself to stay conscious. Reggie clears his throat theatrically. Nothing happens.
       "Is that so?" His voice is booming, but he sounds annoyed. Obviously something or someone is supposed to burst out of the door and into the room.
       "I think they missed their cue," I tell him lightly. Gia's fingers press to her temples. I have to agree with her.
       "Damn it, Huey! I said, Is that so?" He shouts. Another moment of silence ensues, but then a flustered-looking lackey charges into the dark room, dragging with him a confused young guy.
       "Um. Is that Sebastian?" I ask skeptically. Sebastian shrugs off Huey's ham-fisted grip and smooths down his shirt.
       "Aren't you surprised? You're supposed to be surprised. You're supposed to start crying and shouting his name. Why do I even try?" Reggie groans and throws his hands up in the air. I raise an eyebrow, looking back and forth at Sebastian and then Reggie.
       "Like I would cry over him," and then I start laughing hysterically. But it immediately hurts so bad I have to stop laughing and instead wheeze quietly to myself, shaking my head in disbelief. Sebastian just looks annoyed.
       "I don't understand," Reggie bemoans. "I thought you two had a... a thing for each other. And that we could use him as leverage in torturing you for information."
       "Thanks, boss," Sebastian comments dryly. I start my wheezing fit all over again.
       "That... ow... Has to be the... ow... Most ridiculous thing I've ever... ow... Heard." Tears are actually leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I mean, it's not even that funny. But I'm mostly laughing just to tick Reggie off. Which is a death wish within itself.
       "She hates my guts," Sebastian explains in a tired voice to his psychopathic boss. "She'd probably enjoy watching me get tortured." His eyes drift down to me and widen with surprise and a syrupy concern behind his glasses when he sees the shape I'm in. Gag.
       Gia is watching Sebastian closely. Her carefully red-painted nails tap against the sides of her leather-covered thighs, and a calculating look overtakes her (fake) face.
       "But you care for her, no?" She waltzes over to him and runs a solitary finger down his arm. He recoils.
       "Me? Um. No. Of course not," he stammers. "I barely even know her. We just work- worked- together." I wonder briefly if the idiot even knows what I did to end up in this position in the first place. How long was I even out for? Probably not long. My healing factor must've kicked in and woke me up.
       "What am I here for?" I brusquely interrupt Gia's verbal torturing of the nervous wreck that is Sebastian, not for his sake but for mine. Gia's hand drops back down to her side and Sebastian's shoulders drop in relief.
       "You don't know?" A small frown carves into her delicate features, but just like before it's wiped away in the blink of an eye. She tosses her perfect waves of caramel-brown hair over her shoulder with a haughty scoff. "It's about Dominic... Obviously."
       "Um. All I know that you've probably killed Dominic by now or you're holding him somewhere. What gives?" I manage to conceal the swell of emotion that rises inside of me when I think about Dominic. If they've killed him...
       "Dominic is... missing," Reggie explains to me, like I'm a petulant child. I can't decide whether to feel relieved or full of dread. A six year-old can't make it far on their own, and Dominic's probably injured or lying dead somewhere right now. But as long as the syndicate doesn't get their hands on him, I still have a chance to get to him first-- and hopefully save him. (Listen to me... 'Save him.' Like I'm some kind of hero. Like I'm not the one who kidnapped him in the first place.)
       "What do you mean?" I play dumb, even though I know exactly what he's talking about. I saw the evidence of his disappearance in my half-conscious state right after the crash. It drives me crazy not knowing where the boy is. He could be anywhere... But hopefully he's smart enough to find his (idiot of a) mom. (Seriously? How could she favor the press over her son?)
       The room darkens considerably. Probably because Gia just whacked me upside the head. Not figuratively.
       "You lie," and when she leans in to whisper in my ear, she's so sickeningly close I'm almost afraid she's going to bite me or something. She's creepy like that. And who knows what German torture techniques are like? (Not me. I didn't read the International Handbook of Torture Techniques.)
       Oh man. I feel like I'm going to throw up. This is worse than my worse hangover ever. And that's saying something, considering I'm a "raging alcoholic."
       "Um. Sorry. But for once I'm actually telling you the truth. Sorry if that like, physically hurts you or something." I smirk at her, and her face remains as stony and impassively sadistic as it has stayed this. Whole. Freaking. Time. She's... dare I say it... almost better than me.
       Both Reggie and Gia fall silent for a few heartbeats, exchanging furtive glares. Sebastian just manages to look bored but also worried. I'm not surprised. Sebastian's like a Pollock painting when it comes to his emotions.
       "She can't possibly be telling the truth," Reggie hisses to the infamous jewel thief through gritted teeth. "It's-- how on earth would a six year-old boy escape out from under both of our noses?"
       "It's possible that Maya is just hiding him." I hate her for her use of my name. Like she thinks she can lord that precious piece of information over me just because I have more broken bones than she has fake identities. (Which is saying a lot.)
       "The only thing I'm hiding is my beautiful smile," I purr. Three unamused faces turn to me in synchronization.
       "You're right," Gia says to me. Then she turns to Reggie. "She's too stupid to be hiding anything. I don't even think she has a brain behind all that hair."
       "Oh, right. Like your choppy haircut is any better. And it's not even real. Please, honey. You can do so much better." Sebastian just rolls his eyes. I must really be losing my touch. Well, who can blame me? I'm a little... overwhelmed... at the moment.
       "If she doesn't know anything, can we please just kill her now?" Gia folds her arms across her (fake) chest, an impatient look flitting across her face. "She's completely useless and she obviously isn't willing to cooperate. Plus her sense of what she thinks is humor is giving me a migraine."
       "Dagger to the heart, O'Neil." I put my hand to my chest in emphasis, widening my eyes and pouting my lips. "You know how to hit where it hurts. Truly." We both just stare at each other for a moment, my real eyes staring into her glimmering sapphire-blue ones. Illusionist to illusionist. Criminal to criminal.
       "If we kill her, I want it to be painful." When she grins a catlike smile, she reveals those sharpened teeth. All of the desperate insults I can muster in my head are directed toward her as she prowls closer, head cocked to the side. "But no, let's not kill her just yet. I have a better idea, Reggie." Reggie raises an eyebrow. The German doesn't take her creepily intense gaze off of me, instead reaches a finger toward me and drags it down my bleeding face. I resist the temptation to bite her finger, but not for lack of hatred.
       "What? What could possibly be more painful than this?" Reggie sighs and with a disappointed look on his face, he pulls a black briefcase out from the shadows behind him. The case falls open to reveal a neat row of sharp, silver utensils all strapped inside. Classic torture kit.
       "Did you get that off of eBay?" He doesn't answer me, just buckles it closed with an expression on his face like someone just kicked his puppy. (But that wouldn't be right, because I'm pretty sure Reggie did the puppy-kicking when he was a kid instead.)
       "I have an idea. Let's go find ourselves a kid." And with that, Gia swoops out of the room with Reggie in tow. For the first time in a few hours, I begin to feel the weight of hopelessness sinking down on me. I'm used to feeling this way. I mean, I should. I am hopeless. I'm a complete basket case. But I've never felt so out of control.
       "Hey," Sebastian's rough voice pulls me from my thoughts. I startle, lifting my head. I had almost forgotten he was standing in the room with me. He kneels down so that we're eye-to-eye, his own dark eyes desperate and pleading. "I'm so sorry."
       "I take it that you're not going to play the knight in shining armor and rescue me? Funny. You seemed so eager to not but thirteen hours ago." He brushes a nervous lock of shaggy hair from his face.
       "I know. It's just that... What... You... You've done the very worst thing you could've possibly done. And I think... I think that maybe... I can't try and save you if you're determined to bring yourself down like that. I think that maybe you should learn. I'm giving you what you want, aren't I? If I leave you here. Do you... Do you want to die?"
I watch him carefully, through his painfully raw words. Jesus. Does he think that he's freaking James Bond or something?
       "Always with the theatrics, Sebastian. Nobody's filming us, you know." I crack a sly smile. "Now shut up before I punch you again."
       "You didn't answer my question."
       "I said shut up."
       "Answer it."
       "No." He glares at me for a moment longer and then stands up slowly so he's looking down on me. What a perfect metaphor for my life.
       "Why not? Are you afraid?" His words are taunting, but I watch his eyes instead. They're shining more than Reggie's Lamborghini. Good God. Please tell me he's not going to start crying.
       "You're really obsessed with me, aren't you? Why can't you just... Oh God... I sound like I'm freaking Jack from freaking Titanic... but you seriously need to..."
       "Let you go?" He actually smiles. I hate him so much. "I will if you answer the question."
       "Just go away."
       "Nope," he shakes his head. I roll my eyes and sigh melodramatically. He still stands there, with that sad sort of smile on his face.
       "Fine. I'm not completely and totally suicidal. Happy?" His smile widens and I run a hand through my hair. Even that simple motion makes me grit my teeth at the fresh wave of pain it brings.
       "So you're saying you want to live." I hate him. I hate him. What an obnoxious kid. Because that's all he is. Thinks he's my fricking therapist. When in truth he's probably about as cracked up as I am because he's also working for the quote-unquote Dark Lords.
       "Yup. Now can you leave me before you change your mind and try to do something stupid?"
       "Like save you? I thought you said you wanted to live. Now you want me to leave you to die? Are you sure you're not bipolar?"
       "In addition to being a former drug addict, a troubled alcoholic, a PTSD victim, a sociopath and a schizophrenic masochist? Quite possibly. You'll have to ask my therapist- Oh... Wait... He doesn't have a tongue anymore. I guess you could email him."
       "... You cut out your therapist's tongue?" He looks deeply disturbed. Why is he even surprised? Honestly.
       "Don't judge me. He was an asshole. Now go," I tell him, "before they catch you. As fun as this looks, it's not exactly something you'd want to experience for yourself." He watches me still with a conflicted look on his face.
       "I'll take your word for it," he says softly. "I'm... I'm so sorry." And before I know it, he's gone. I'm alone again, struggling for each breath in the din of the musty room. I don't trust my surroundings enough to fall asleep willingly, but soon enough I can't stave off the dregs of unconsciousness that threaten to pull me under. My last thought is of Dominic, and then I'm gone.