Mimic

Bedside Manners

I had actually planned to wake up at 3am, but I ended up never going to sleep in the first place. Instead, I stared at the ceiling and pondered my situation. There was absolutely no way out of this. If I didn't comply, if I didn't bend to the will of my father, I would die a painful death.

Following Father's orders entails me murdering my friends, something that I know will tear me apart from my very core. All my life I've tried to live without emotion, but in these past months I have failed that in every imaginable way. To not kill them would be weakness.

This thought, this mantra, pushed me out of bed.

I had already done all of my planning. I have my various powers and kryptonite. Physically, I am ready.

I levitate over to Dick's room, density shifting through the door. At his bedside, I float and stare at him, taking in the last moment I'll see him alive and peaceful.

His beauty does not escape me; it never has. Every time I look at him I'm reminded of his flawed perfection. Trusting and optimistic — to a fault. The things that make him wonderful are the same things that will make him dead.

I resist the urge to brush a hair out of his face. Instead, I wipe away the tears that are suddenly streaming down my face.

A painless death, I tell myself. Once it happens, I have to act quickly to kill the next nine.

I prepare to kill him, but my hands are shaky.

I cant.

I have to.

The two thoughts repeat over and over in my head. They are both said with utter conviction, but they are contradictory. They cannot both exist.

I take one last long look at Dick. The boy who had shown me what love is; what it means to have someone care for you selflessly and want what's best for you.

I took a deep breath in and —

And I let out a sob.

A terrible, loud, desperate sob.

It woke Dick up instantly.

Idiot! I screamed at myself in my head. You worthless piece of shit! How could you mess up this badly?

"Julia?" Dick said softly. He was confused, but more worried than anything else. My heart broke. Here I was, about to murder my best friend, and he was worrying about me.

I couldn't bring myself to continue levitating, so I fell onto the ground with a quiet thump. Dick whipped the covers off of him and joined me on the floor.

My crying got louder and I buried my head in my hands. I could hear Dick saying something, but my own thoughts easily drowned him out.

I was angry. Furious at myself for being too weak to kill him. I waited too long and then let my pitiful crying get in the way.

A small part of me, however, was glad.

I didn't know whether I should be ashamed of my weakness or my thankfulness for it.

I felt Dick enveloping me within his arms and having me sit on his bed. I eventually quieted down, although my thoughts were still racing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" He said gently after a few moments of the only sound being my shaky breath.

"In the morning," I said, close to breaking out in tears again, "But right now can we just stay like this?"

"Of course," Dick said. I tried to avoid looking him in the eye, but I eventually did and found his blue eyes filled with sorrow. Sorrow at me, for me.

What have I done?