Leighton Mia - Hero

“Because what?”

I sigh and shake my head. “Never mind.”

After a few moments of walking in silence, she asks, “What were they like, your parents?”

“I told you. Extremely smart and kind-hearted.”

“But what else?”

“They never gave up on anything. Or anyone.”

She bites her bottom lip. “Do you think they maybe asked too much of a sixteen-year-old boy?”

“No,” I say. “They gave me a gift.”

“What happens if you stop?”

“Stop what?”

“The injections.”

“I don’t know. Why would I?”

She stops walking and turns to me. “You said it’s the K-36 that makes you this way. This—I don’t know. Aggressive. Cruel.”

“They amplify my human urges. Anything bad, any darkness in me becomes worse. But it also makes me strong and capable.”

“Could you stop if you wanted to?”

“Yes, but I have no reason to.”

I release her hand, and she glances down. “Was I wrong about Hero?” she asks.

“What did you think?”

“That he was good. He’s a hero because he can’t be anything else.”

She’s still my little bird, a delicate flower in my hands. I’ve closed my fist around her and crushed her so many times. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Am I wrong about you, Calvin?”

“No.”

“How can that be? How can you be two opposite people in the same body?” She gets right under my chin. “It makes you this way.”

“What?”

“K-36. It’s a drug.”

I blink slowly at her and raise my eyebrows. “Drug?”

“That’s what your injections are. Drugs. You get high just like any other junkie.”

“They make me better,” I snap. “Without the ‘drugs,’ I’m nothing. I’m a criminal, just like them. That ‘drug’ is what saved you today. They’re what make it possible for me to protect what needs protecting.”

“Fine,” she says. “I don’t even know why I care.”

She turns, but I grasp her arm and pull her back. “We’re not finished. Don’t walk away from me.”

“There’s the Calvin I know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “I don’t know that other guy, the version of you who holds my hand and tells the truth. The one who saves the world. But this man,” she says, looking at my hand on her, “this one I know.”

“You think because I put on a mask you don’t know me? That’s bullshit.” My grip loosens, and I take a deep breath. “Look, Cataline, the truth isn’t pretty. It’s fucked up. But that doesn’t change what we’ve been through. The other night you said,” I pause on the verge of unknown territory, “you said you loved me. Did you mean it?”

“Yes,” she says immediately. Whatever’s coursing through my veins, I don’t recognize it. I think I smile, but I’m not even sure because it’s been so long since anything has made me happy. That’s when she says, “But I don’t anymore.”

My muscles ache, my head pounds through a haze. The room is dark when I open my eyes, but I know where I am. I recognize it by what I can’t see. By what I smell. By the sounds. But I don’t think it would matter if I were deaf, dumb, and blind, because I recognize it mostly by the way it feels. I’m back in the mansion in my bed. The thought sinks into my brain as I doze, dragging my heart down with it.

The next time I wake, the room is awash with sunlight. It makes me irrationally angry that nobody closed the blinds, and I’m now assaulted by the reality of my situation. I don’t bother to dress or fix my hair; I just slog downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to find food.

I’m not surprised to be greeted by mouth-watering smells, but I am surprised to see Calvin sitting at the head of the table reading a newspaper.

“What day is it?” I ask, surveying his grey t-shirt and charcoal, plaid pajama pants.

He glances up. “Friday. How are you feeling?”

I grab a strip of bacon and fall into my usual seat at the opposite end of the table. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I ask as I chew.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get up.”

“Why?” I mutter. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

“I’m taking some time off.”

I scoop scrambled eggs onto my plate, trying to avoid his eyes, even though all of his green is fixed intently on me. “Can you, like, do that? Or will you still be out there doing . . . Hero things?”

He folds the paper and sticks it under his arm. “Don’t worry about me. Just focus on getting better.”

“I’m not worried. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Duly noted. Will you answer my question?”

“Which one?”

“How are you feeling? You slept through most of yesterday and half this morning.”

I shrug. “I’m a little stiff.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says, clearing his throat. “We haven’t really discussed it. I’m sorry that you saw everything you did.”

“You removed a man’s heart from his body.”

“Does that scare you?”

I scrape my fork against the plate. A sarcastic answer sits at the tip of my tongue. The fact that I’d rather tell him the truth, though, makes me want to stab the fork into my thigh. Why can’t I hate him like I’m supposed to? Why didn’t I shoot him when I had the chance, for everything he’s put me through? “It scared me more that they might hurt you,” I say finally. “There were a lot of men there. Are you okay?”

We watch each other across the long table until he says, “Come here.”

I shake my head.

“Defiant as ever.”

“Demanding as ever.”

“Come here, Cataline.”

Curiosity urges me up and that inexplicable draw to him moves me forward. He pushes his chair back. I perch on his knees so we’re eye-level, and he brushes his thumb over my split lip with unexpected gentleness. “You’re hurt.”

My eyes close. His smell is intruding on me, an unwanted reminder of what it can be like to have him this close. His thigh muscle is so strong under me, his hands so tender.

“Did they touch you?”

Guy Fowler’s sinister grin is clear in my mind. “No.”

His fingers grasp my chin, and I open my eyes to meet his intense gaze. I almost don’t recognize his inhumanly deep voice when he says, “I killed them for you.”

I shake my head. “Not for me.”

He blinks slowly. “For you. I held Riviera’s heart in my hands. You want truth? Here’s the truth: I enjoyed every minute of it. Because that’s the monster I am. Now are you scared?”

To have anything other than fear and hate for him makes no sense. Maybe I could have loved him, maybe I did, but how can I now? My brain tries to reconcile the gap between the man I thought he was, the man he is, and the man I want him to be.

I’m so confused that I press my lips against his. We sit that way, inhaling and exhaling each other until I part my mouth. He opens with me, returning my kiss with a hungry tongue.

Without disconnecting, I shift to straddle his lap. “Wait,” he says, pulling away and rubbing his eyes with tense fingers.

I ignore him with a softer kiss. I move my hips, seeking out his hardness. His hands race over my back and under my nightgown, scrunching the fabric up to my shoulder blades.

His skin on mine makes me needy. He rips away again, his breathing labored. “Does it hurt?” he asks, staring at my lip.

“I like the way it hurts,” I say, bringing him back to my mouth by his t-shirt.

“I don’t think this is a good—”

“Stop,” I say, shoving against him as I get to my feet. “You want to hurt me, but you’re bothered by a split lip?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, anger just below the surface of his words. “I never did. I want you bad, Cataline, but I think we should slow down. Start over.”

“Oh my God,” I say with a hollow laugh. I gesture between us. “We can never start over.”

“What I mean is that sex won’t help anything right now.”

“Jesus,” I say, covering my face. “Just stop. You’re making everything worse.”

“Talk to me. Tell me what’s worse.”

I look up from my hands and before I can stop myself, I’m climbing back onto his lap, pushing the elastic of his pants over his erection.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he says. “You need to talk.”

“I need you,” I say, kissing his cheek. I tug aside my panties and glide myself along his shaft. “Come on, Calvin,” I taunt against his skin as my hands find their way into his hair. “I know you want to.”

He swallows loudly, and I remain there, my breath on his cheek, my fingers fisting his hair, my thighs trembling as I hover over him. His chest deepens with each inhale, but neither of us moves.

“Look at me,” he says.

I want to, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing all the ways I’m hurting. In this moment, ripped open by desire, I know my face is raw with confusion, pain, and unfiltered need.

“I’m a monster,” he whispers, sending a direct line of shivers down my spine. “You’re in control here. I don’t want to take from you anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” I respond. “That’s all you know. Take it, Calvin.”

He shakes his head.

I muster all the grit I can from my throat and lean in so he’ll feel the heat of my breath on his ear. “Fuck me like the little slut I am. Do it hard. I know that’s what you want, to teach me a lesson. Show me that you own me, all the ways I belong to you—”

He vaults the chair out from under us so we both fall to the floor. I’m on my side when he seizes my hips and drags me backward. My hands scramble to catch up and just as I’m getting to my knees, his fingers are opening me up, spreading me for him. He works his crown inside, opening me wider and wider, teasing me so my fingernails dig into the wood.