Super?

Don't Look Back

    "You should try and get some rest," Melanie tells me. I'm lying on the old lumpy couch in the living area of their two-bedroom apartment. My wounds are all bandaged up and there's enough painkillers running through me that I don't feel like vomiting every time I move. It almost makes up for the fact that they basically kidnapped me, even if their intentions were good.
"Where are you going?" I ask her as she stands up, grabbing a thin jacket from the adjacent armchair and winding it around her. I'm not interested in where she's going- I couldn't care less- but I'm merely wondering when I'll have a chance to escape. I'm hoping Greg's handiwork will last me long enough so that I can get back to my own apartment from here. It's only a few blocks away, from what I can gather.
       "There's a 24 hour Walgreens down the street. I'm going to get myself some chocolate. Greg has exhausted our supply," she snorts as she gives me her signature eye-roll. "Is there anything you want? And you probably shouldn't say beer."
       "You know me too well. And I'm fine," I say. It's killing me to play so nice. But right now I'm at the complete mercy of these two kids, and with my (Oh God this sounds so cheesy) powers drained and my physical strength still recovering, I don't want to pull the villain card just yet. Plus they kind of saved my life. (As much as I hate to admit it.) So yeah. I kind of owe it to them not to punch-and-run.
       "You don't have any family you need to get into contact with?" She pulls her ponytail tighter, all the while glancing at me casually. She's trying to fish for information without being totally obvious.
       "As totally depressing as it sounds, the only one who would remotely care about my disappearance would be my pet snake. So that's gonna have to be a no," I reply with a dry grin. She doesn't smile back.
       "You don't have any family or friends? None at all?" She seems so bewildered. Doesn't she know that like, half this city is made up of castaways and orphans? How else do all these superheroes and super-villains get their origin stories?
       "Go get your M&M's and stop bugging me," I say, admittedly a bit irritated at her brazenness. She purses her lips together before she finally turns and walks out the door. It slams shut behind her with a dramatic flair.
I take a long sigh of relief at the peaceful silence that follows, and burrow deeper into the fuzzy throw blanket that had been tossed over me. (As much as one can burrow with a snapped leg and three broken ribs.) Unfortunately this quietness doesn't last long, because Thing 1 is replaced by Thing 2.
"Did Mel leave?" Greg stands in the entry, arms folded across his chest and an incalculable look written across his face. Oh no. I glance back at him nonchalantly, trying not to appear suspicious in any way.
"Yeah. She was cursing you because of your overactive chocolate consumption," I say, absentmindedly plucking at my nails underneath the blanket. Greg breathes out loudly through his nose and then proceeds to run a hand through his thick sandy hair. "Um. What's up? I can sense your very obvious distress from here and obviously you're waiting for me to call you out on it. So spill." I was never one for pleasantries.
"I have to ask... Is your name really Faith?" He steps forward so he's in my line of sight. As he starts to pace, my eyes travel to the floor. Obviously he's a very nervous guy, because I can see where the cream carpet has worn thin from previous pacing sessions.
"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?" I smile like Oh, silly. Meanwhile I'm having a little mini panic attack inside, and I immediately begin to curse my stupid self. I can't believe I ever let myself get this weak. I'll never let these dumb kids be the end of me. Screw what I said before. If I have to punch my way out of this, then so be it. Greg stops pacing and fixes me with a grave look.
"Because you're not dead and it was more than a car that hit you to get you this messed up. Plus you were presumably left in an alleyway at night in the bad part of town. And you're a little bit mental, no offense, and you wanted us to leave you there and you're afraid of the government for some reason and-" he pauses to take a breath and I raise a hand to stop him from continuing.
"Trust me. You're better off just wondering." I don't look at him. How could I? The kid is more ruthless than a bloodhound. I don't want to bait him any more.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who are you? How old are you anyway? Because you don't seem any older than Mel and I. You're practically just a kid like us, and you're getting beat up and left in alleyways and you're an alcoholic or possibly a masochist and I don't even know what else." He's in full-on panic mode now. Maybe he thought he was rescuing a good guy or a damsel in distress when he saw me dying on the pavement just a few hours ago. Nevertheless he saved me. And for some reason he even obliged to my distrust of hospitals and ambulances and took me in to his home. Why would he do that? He had to have known something. I don't know what, but he's definitely figured it out now. Because he is losing it.
"Maybe you just have an overreactive imagination in addition to your chocolate addiction and your tendency to rescue random people and take them into your apartment," I say flatly, "because you're jumping to some seriously cracked-up conclusions right now."
"Am I?" Greg's nostrils flare out like he's a freaking bull or something, and his jaw clenches in nervous frustration. "Because I'm starting to think that I've made a huge mistake and maybe you're not who you say you are. Maybe instead of saving you I should've called the cops." His hand drifts to his jeans pocket, where a rectangular lump is visible. I swear I can feel my blood pressure spike.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I swallow hard. "For God's sake, look at me," I swipe the blanket away and pull up my shirt unabashedly, so the cottony layers of bandages are visible; so he can see the bruises and the welts discoloring my once-perfect skin. "I couldn't hurt you if I tried." Once he finally looks at the covered wounds, his jaw begins to work again.
"Yeah, but I don't know who you are or what you've done in the past. I know you have powers of some sort. I don't know if you're a hero or a villain but I'm guessing you're the latter. So I think you need to tell me who you are right now or I'm calling the cops," he says, and I can see him fighting back frightened tears. Oh dear God. This cannot be happening right now.
"If you though I was a villain all this time, why would you help me?" I ask him softly, tugging my shirt back down and resting my hand on my ribs protectively. He pulls out the phone and brandishes it toward me like it's a weapon. And right now, it sort of is.
"Because I couldn't just let you die. And I had to be sure before I started accusing you. I thought at first maybe you were a superhero who didn't want their secret identity discovered. But... You're not, are you?" His eyes beg me to give him the honest answer he's been searching for since he found me.
"Semantics," I tell him. "Hero or villain... Everyone's a little bit of both," I add, thinking of Crimson's desperate hatred on the day we fought. He just shakes his head, looking both on the verge of panic and incredulously disbelieving.
"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't," he rasps, his fingers trembling on the keypad of his phone. I fall silent, feeling like I'm drowning underwater, like everything's in slow motion and I'm slowly suffocating to death. Karma's an ass. I guess I knew that before... but I always thought I could escape.
"Because I-" I start to say, but I'm violently interrupted by a loud screeching noise that makes my eardrums feel like they're going to burst. Greg shouts in surprise and cups his hands over his ears. Just as soon as the noise began, it stops suddenly. That's when the TV before us flickers on.
"What the hell?" Greg's face is pale. "Are you doing this?" He points his finger at me wildly, not realizing that I'm just as surprised as he is. Because on the TV is me. Well, Eris. She's standing in front of the screen, smirking beneath her dark mask.
"Shut up," I tell him, mouth dry, and fumble to turn up the volume with the battered remote control resting on the coffee table beside me. We both watch in tense silence as Eris shifts to the side to reveal a battered boy in a dirty raglan tee brutally roped up to the classic wooden chair, his face streaked with tears and grime. He has desperate hazel and caramel-colored skin, and a mop of curly dark hair. My heart stops.
"No," I croak at the TV in a voice that barely sounds like me. Greg looks at me with narrowed eyes.
"What's going on?" He wields the phone toward me again, but when he sees my stricken expression, his hand lowers. "I don't understand."
I don't answer, I just watch as Eris walks over to Dominic and strokes his tangled hair with her gloved hand. He cries even harder. Who the hell is pretending to be me? How did they get Dominic? Is this why they let me go?
"Pity. He's such a beautiful boy," Not-Eris purrs to the camera, her eyes half-lidded and gleaming in the semidarkness. If I look hard enough, I can see my old dried bloodstains on the cement ground beneath them. They're in the dungeon room in the syndicate, then. In other words, I'm completely screwed.
"But I have to follow through on my threats, and my friends, Dominic's mother here wouldn't oblige. She had an affair with a super-villain you may know- his name is Ivory- and created this beautiful boy. But then she chose to keep her secrets over saving her son's life. Do you know who I'm talking about? Because you will, all of you. The whole world will know. And we'll see what they think of her then," she laughs lightly, in a laugh not unlike my own.
My heart hammers so loudly in my chest, I feel like all of my organs might just jump out of my throat and onto the worn cream carpet below. Dominic's tears run faster down his cheeks as Eris chuckles softly to herself. That's when I see the gun clutched her gloved hand.
"Oh my God," Greg gasps, "she's going to kill the boy." I'm too numb to reply, watching with helplessness as Eris proceeds to press the muzzle of the pistol against Dominic's tiny head.
"I have to go," I say when I've regained the ability to speak. "I can't just sit here and watch him die," I murmur, and much to my horror my voice cracks with the threat of tears. But just as I muster all of my strength and get off of the couch, the gun goes off and blood paints the TV screen. Just like that my world comes crashing down.
"No!" I'm sobbing now. I'm torn between hating myself for crying and screaming to the sky. A single leather-covered hand wipes enough of the blood away so that Eris' masked face is visible. She moves aside once more, revealing Dominic's crumpled, blood-soaked, and lifeless body slumped over on the cement floor. Greg is frozen, his denim-blue eyes wide with horror.
"This is Eris, reporting to you live. I hope you've learned your lesson, Ms. Garcia," she whispers in an almost sultry way to the camera. And with that the TV winks to black.
"Oh my God," Greg says again. He's staring out the window. I numbly follow his gaze and that's when I see that the sky has turned a bloody, rich red. No, not red. Crimson.
What have I done?