Unto Shadows

iv. super friends & neanderthals

Super Friends & Neanderthals

THE FIRST THING I noticed upon entering my bedroom were the brand new, gray bedsheets folded up at the end of my bed. I assumed this nice little present came from Revenant—who's name I'm pretty sure the rest of the world still has yet to know—after I was forced to throw out my old ones because of the blood stains. The second thing I noticed was the small note folded neatly on top of the pile. It looked exactly like the one he'd left after shattering my window, so I wasn't surprised in the slightest when I opened it up and instantly recognized the hand writing.

Hey, Charity (now that just seems a little too informal),

I figured I owed you some new bed sheets and a thanks for patching me up the other night. Hope I didn't freak you out too much. I owe you one.

Sincerely, you're new Super friend.

My new Super friend? Never in my life would I consider a possible murderer and immediate pain-in-my-butt a friend.

"Holy shit."

I jumped and spun around to face Heath, automatically folding up the note to stuff in my pocket whenever he turned away. I'd forgotten he was with me. "What?"

His wide eyes stared at the shattered window and I mentally scolded myself for forgetting that important detail. At lest the putrid smell of smoke had finally dissipated, though not without days worth of air freshener. "What the hell happened to your window?"

The idea of keeping Revenant's visit a secret from Heath suddenly made a lot of sense. To say Heath was protective was an understatement, but I didn't have much time to come up with an excuse, nor the first clue what that excuse could be. "A Super kind of flew through my window last night," I admitted slowly,

His eyes went even wider, if possible. "What?"

I mentally said a few unkind words at my slow thinking. After all that talk earlier about not telling Heath about Revenant, I didn't seem to know how to stick to plan. I sighed. Great.

Heath rushed forward and placed his hands on my cheeks to turn my head each way and make sure I wasn't sporting a crater sized hole somewhere that I'd bleed out of indefinitely. If I hadn't been currently scolding myself for my lack of ability at keeping secrets, I might have laughed at his overreaction. "Are you okay?"

I waved him off. "I'm fine. He left almost immediately after," I lied.

"Almost?" Heath pressed. "Just how long was he here?" His hand covered his mouth in shock as he seemed to piece together what had happened. "That was the night that villain fought the three popular Supers, wasn't it? Was it him who came in your window?"

I didn't say anything, just picked absently at my fingernails. They were too short from all the other times I picked at them to procrastinate whatever I knew was to come, be it homework, deep conversations, or just making eye contact with people. Heath, of course, knew me better than that.

"Charity." He said. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Like I said, he left almost immediately after."

Heath nodded, clearly sensing I wasn't in the mood to talk about the events of the other night. I still couldn't fathom why exactly it was that I had a strong urge to keep my mouth shut. I had a possible murderer cleaning my room and leaving me humorous little stalker letters. All logic screamed at me to tell somebody and get help before things got out of hand, but my curiosity was like an itch you just can't help but scratch. Even when the wound opens and starts to bleed.

I winced. Nice analogy, Charity.

"Shall we get started on that project?" Heath suggested reluctantly. I knew he didn't want really want to work on the project, but he wasn't going to push me about the window incident. Not until I was ready, or taking too long to spill for his liking.

I nodded my head. "We shall."

•••••

After you've worked four nonstop hours on a history project, I can confidently tell you that you'll never want to pick up another pen or pencil in your life.

"I need a break," Heath mumbled as he stretched his arms above his head. "Maria's making spaghetti, right?"

"That, or lasagna." I set the book down beside me. "I can't remember."

"I think she said spaghetti," he determined after leaning his nose toward the door and sniffing. His eyes closed and he made a noise of satisfaction before grinning broadly. "I wonder if she'll still let me get an early taste if I help make it."

I laughed at his suggestion. "She did that when we were kids, H. I don't think she's still going to let you get a bite for helping stir the tail end of her cooking."

He glared. "You never know, she might just have a soft spot for good old Heath."

I grimaced. "Please, never talk about yourself in the third person again."

As if in slow motion, the corners of his mouth slowly raised into an even bigger grin as he said, "Heath go downstairs for food."

I snorted. "Never mind, keep going." I leaned back against the headboard with my arms crossed over my chest. "Watching you embrace your inner neanderthal is great entertainment."

Heath stood from my desk chair with his middle finger high, the tongue poking out of his mouth completely contradicting the weight of the vulgar action. "Ass."

"Can't help it." I shrugged innocently as he stepped out.

Before shutting the door behind him, though, he paused in the doorway. "Are you coming down?"

"In a bit," I answered. My gaze shifted reluctantly over the several papers scattered on my bed of work I needed to finish soon. "Come get me whenever it's done. I've got a lot of work to finish up."

"Will do," he said before pulling my bedroom door shut gently behind him.