Super?

Some Days I Can't Even Trust Myself

       I spend the rest of the weekend generally being lazy and avoiding giving Ollie an answer. In the back of my mind I'm always thinking about Dominic, but I can't think of anything I can do to help him and it's driving me crazy. If I could fly like Taylor, you can bet I'd be searching the globe for that little six year-old. But as luck would have it, the only thing I can do is hope that Tate will do something to try and help. Bloodhound's betrayal still stings, but I know that if it hadn't been for Reggie, he would've seen his task until the end. It seems like forever since I left my psychopathic boss behind, but it still feels like some part of him is still controlling me.
       It's Monday evening and I'm curled under the covers, skimming through a cheesy bargain-bin romance novel. Ollie and Dave went out and are having a drink in town, so I'm on my own. I'm definitely not complaining. I lazily flip through a few pages of the novel and stare up at the ceiling. Yup. I'm definitely going to go crazy.
       A rumble sounds from outside, and I hear Ollie's beloved Silverado pull into the driveway. I frown, sitting up and glancing at the alarm clock at my bedside. It's only 7:20. They've been gone for a whopping fifteen minutes. Something must be wrong. I quietly walk out of my room and over to the landing of the staircase, watching Dave and Ollie enter through the front door. Their faces are drawn and they converse in low, hushed voices. Dave looks up and sees me standing there with my frizzy hair and my baggy sweatpants. He shares a conflicted glance with Ollie.
       "Um. Hey. Who's dog died?" I slowly make my way down the stairs. They just continue to stare at me with an overdose of pity in their eyes. "Guys, you're scaring me. Seriously. What's up? Don't tell me Gia is screwing with Eris again," I sigh. They still don't answer me for the longest time.
       "Let's sit down, Maya," Dave tells me gently. He shrugs off his worn bomber jacket and hangs it up on their cast-iron vintage coatrack beside the front door. (Don't ask. It was Ollie's idea.)
       "Oh no. This requires sitting down. Are you guys kicking me out?" I hesitantly sit down at the kitchen table. They sit across from me, both looking like someone told them they both got fired from their jobs or something. "I swear, I can start my pulling my own weight. I'll get a job at the mall or something. I don't have to spend all day reading Her Lover's Peril." Dave doesn't even crack a smile at that. Oh wow. I am so screwed.
       "No. God, no. Maya... It's... It's your mom, Maya. She..." Dave casts a helpless glance at Ollie for support. He gives his boyfriend a troubled look in return.
       "I'll get us some coffee," the blonde says softly, and makes his way over to the coffeemaker. The pot is already full and probably lukewarm at best, but I don't complain as he sets a mug down in front of me. I'm afraid if I say anything wrong the both of them will have nervous breakdowns.
       "Spit it out," I tell him, glancing up from my coffee mug. He swallows so hard I can physically hear it.
       "We were at the bar... And... This guy was walking around, asking if any of us knew a Maya Richards. Kept on saying that this was the only place where he knew to look. He looked really distressed." Oh. Shit. Shit. This cannot be good. "He came over to us and we told him that we knew a Maya Waterman but not a Richards. He asked us to describe you. We said blonde, on the short side, blue eyes. And he told us that you were who he was looking for. That you must've changed your last name after you were emancipated from your parents." He raises his eyebrows and I nod, too shell-shocked to say anything else. If someone who knew me as Maya Richards was looking for me... Well...
       "He wanted us to pass along a message," Ollie intercepts, his voice no louder than a whisper. Dave nods, pressing his lips together.
       "Your mom. I'm afraid... I'm afraid she's passed away. She had a heart attack yesterday," he explains to me, visibly upset. There's a long moment of silence. My shoulders slump in relief. That's what they were so worried to tell me? I thought they were going to say that she was trying to contact me. That would not have ended well. I realize they're both looking at me with piteous, expectant expressions on their faces, waiting for me to say something.
       I decide that 'Thank God,' wouldn't exactly be the appropriate response here and would probably end up with me in a straitjacket. So I just settle for a, "That's too bad," and resume drinking my coffee.
       "That's too bad?" Ollie echoes, alarmed. Even Dave looks surprised.
       "Maybe she's in denial," I hear Dave murmur in Ollie's ear. I do what I do best and I raise a skeptical eyebrow.
       "I'm not in denial. I get it. My mom's dead. How tragic," I say, unable to muster any more grief than a simple Well, now everybody in my immediate family is actually dead. That sucks. When they still continue to stare at me like I've grown antlers from my head, I sigh in frustration. "Look, I got emancipated and changed my last name for a reason. I didn't leave my parents because they didn't give me a high enough allowance. They made my life a living hell. Any love I might've felt for them was lost a long time ago. So what I share 50% of her DNA? She's not my mother any more than you guys are my brothers. A mom takes care of her kids. She didn't. It's as simple as that. If anything, it's a relief that she's gone," I say, sipping my cold coffee.
       "But they're your parents," Ollie gapes, unable to grasp the concept of my hatred toward the people who raised me from birth. He looks at his boyfriend for help, but Dave just has a look of understanding on his face.
       "Look, I get that you hate them. When I told my Mom I was gay, she threw our fruit bowl at my face and told me to taste the rainbow somewhere else. I still have no idea what that means, but I got the basic gist. She kicked me out, and I had to get seven stitches from where the glass shattered on my forehead. But I still love my mom, even if she doesn't understand me. Maybe you can't forgive your parents for whatever they've done. And that's ok. But... I think you should go to her funeral at least. At least try and make peace with her before you regret it," he advises.
       "There's no way in hell I'm ever going to that she-devil's funeral," I argue, crossing my arms over my chest.
       "Okay," Dave says simply. "But if you change your mind... We'll be there beside you if you'd have us. For support." He pulls a pamphlet from his pocket and sets it before me. It's announcing Isabella Richard's funeral. It has a picture of her on it, presumably the most recent of her before she passed away. She looks old and tired, not like the strong, pious woman I remember. I study the image, but no matter how hard I try I can't find any similarities between myself and the woman who gave birth to me. How fitting.
       "I'm not going," I say again, finally making myself stop looking at that picture. "It's going to be full of a bunch of religious crap, anyway, knowing my entire family. I'm not going to suffer through a tirade about heaven and Jesus just to say adios to the woman who gave a super-villain her origin story." Dave leans forward and places his hand on top of mine, making sure to maintain eye contact.
       "No matter what you decide, we're here for you, ok?" He gives me a sad, all-too-understanding look. "It's all right to grieve, even if you don't entirely understand why you're grieving or if you think it's not right. She's your m-" he catches himself, "She raised you. It's ok to feel-"
       "Got it. Cool. Free therapy classes in the kitchen. Not that interested, but thanks for the offer," I interrupt him, forcing a smile. Dave obviously gets the message and doesn't push anymore. Instead, he (sort of) changes the subject.
       "So who was the guy looking for you anyway? He had long blonde hair, looked like a surfer? And why was the bar the 'only place' he could think of to find you?" Dave inquires.
       "He was probably my sister's husband, my brother-in-law," I say, studying my cuticles. "After I left the family, well, I cut off all contact. I told them not to try and look for me. I moved here, tried to stay off of the government's radar. Got a crappy apartment that would make my parents shudder. Mission accomplished. One day when I was at the bar, the same place you guys were in tonight, I saw Michael- that's the husband. He recognized me right away because my sister talked about me all the time, I guess. He was on a business trip so he couldn't stay long, but we talked for a bit. I guess when he had to track me down he remembered that." I draw in a long breath. It's been a long time since I let myself think about Chrissy.
       "Woah, woah- hold up. You have a sister?" Ollie asks in disbelief. "How have I never heard about this? Please tell me she isn't a 'she-devil' too." He looks relieved to be off the topic of my mother's death. I almost feel sorry for him.
       "Had a sister," I correct him. "And she was great. Her name was Christina. She was five years older than me, and was pretty much the only one in my family that I liked," I admit. A little pang strikes my heart when I say her name. There's a reason I never dwell on memories of my family. And there's probably another reason for why I don't want to go to my mom's funeral- because I don't want to be reminded of another funeral I once attended.
       "If you don't mind my asking... how did she die?" Dave doesn't strike me as a morbidly curious kind of guy, but more of a generally concerned one. I think that's the only reason I decide to answer him.
       "She got pregnant in high school when she was only sixteen and I was eleven. My parents basically forced her into having the baby- they're extreme devout Catholics. They wanted her to marry the guy she slept with, too, but she went against their wishes and decided not to, even though the guy was relatively cool it. She had a baby girl, who she named Miracle. When she was eighteen she moved out of the house and took Miracle with her. Chrissy loved Mira to a fault. And so did I. My niece was beautiful. She had a head full of golden curls and a bright smile. When my sister was twenty-two and Mira was six, they got into a car accident. Chrissy was killed on the spot, and Mira was in critical condition." I stop, taking a deep breath.
       "They both died?" Ollie asks, horrified. It'd be so much easier to lie. But I can't do that to them.
       "No. Mira was in a coma for a few months, but she pulled through and lived up to her name. She's lived with her dad ever since. She'll be turning twelve in a few months. I wonder if she still looks the same." I look down at my coffee, not wanting to look up and see the befuddlement on their faces.
       "You haven't seen her since the car crash? But she's your niece..." Ollie murmurs. I thought you said you loved her, is what he doesn't say. I glance at Dave. I can tell that he's trying to understand why I would run away from the only family I had left at that point. So I decide to tell them the truth.
       "I manifested my powers when I was fifteen, after... after stuff happened. I managed to gain control of them after a few years of practice, but when I was seventeen and Chrissy died, I was too depressed to try. I started to lose control and my parents thought I was the spawn of the devil because when they went to wake me up for school they saw my nightmares playing out over where I was sleeping. They did everything to try and make me normal again, and I mean everything. After three months of suffering from their turned-up-a-few-notches abuse, I decided to get emancipated.
"After all of that crap was over, I moved in with a guy who was offering cheap rent in his tiny apartment. I was in a bad place. I was trying to see Mira but I was so afraid I would lose control and hurt her. I started drinking the beer that the guy whose apartment I was living in left behind. I kept thinking that would help ease my pain. But nothing worked. I just fell deeper and deeper into a hole I never thought I would be able to climb out of.
"I wanted to gain control of my life and every aspect of it. First I tried rehab and therapy and that good stuff. Didn't work out so well. So I thought: what better way to inflict my will upon others than to become a villain? Easy, right? And, well, the rest is history." I bury my face in my hands. "I never meant to leave Mira behind. I just can't be her aunt. Not like this. When I'm shaping up, I'll try. I promise," I whisper, staring down at the floor, my hands still hiding my face from Ollie and Dave. I don't want to see their expressions, whether they're full of pity or disgust or anger. Nothing good can come from telling the truth- not in my case, at least. But it feels like a weight has been lifted off my chest. I'm not drowning too badly anymore.
       "Come here," Dave says. He stands up and walks over to me, and before I know it he's embracing me with strong, comforting arms. These two are very keen on hugging.     
"It's ok." I can feel tears threatening to creep up in my eyes, whether out of exhaustion or sadness or relief I'm not so sure. But before I know it I'm a sobbing mess in Dave's arms.
       "I've done... so much... so much bad crap. I can't stand it," I hiccup. Dave pats my back like I'm merely a child.
       "Yeah, but now you can do good crap too," Ollie pipes up, and I hear him come over too. Soon he's sandwiching me between them. So much hugging. Strangely comforting.
       "You just really want to help me pick out a color scheme for my superhero costume," I say, grinning through my tears into Dave's shoulder. I've left little damp marks on his paper-thin shirtsleeve, but he doesn't seem to mind.
       "Damn right I do," Ollie agrees vehemently. "Apologies for the fulfilling of the stereotypes, but I have entire scrapbook album prepared for your superhero career. All that's left is for you to say yes."
       "Ok. Yes," I tell him. He steps back and moves so that I can see his eyes.
       "Yes?" he breathes out, almost too afraid to think it to be true,
       "Yes."
       "Yesssss!!!!"