I can't handle being the good guy anymore.
Please, don't get me wrong. I don't want to give up being a superhero. I love helping people, I love being able to protect the city, I love everything about it. I don't even want to give up being a Ward, not really. The Wards are my friends. The heroes are my support system. Maybe I end up being a bit of a crutch for some of them more than is reciprocated, but that's not anyone's fault. Not everyone's got the same trauma, the same coping mechanisms.
And god knows I can't share my shit with anyone. Ever.
Carlos tells me that he'd have my back against a goddamn Endbringer. I believe him. Dennis promises that he'll keep clowning me no matter what happens between us. I believe him too. But that's between us. And this isn't an Endbringer.
It's just...I can't help but obsess over her. Her hair is always fluttering in the corner of my eye, silky blonde and beautiful, like she doesn't care who sees because she's so unrestrained and free. When I look at her, face to face, I can't help but be overcome by how...vibrant she is. Like she's literally just exuding happiness.
Her eyes are sharp. She's smart. Of course she is. Of course I couldn't help but be drawn to that like a fucking magnet. And when her lips curl in the faintest hint of a smile and her bright, beautiful eyes zero in on me…
That's when I practically shit my pants in fear. Every time. Because I'm so, so fucking scared that she knows. That she looks at me drooling over her like some perverted pedophile instead of the good guy that I'm supposed to be.
Fuck me. She's only twelve. She's barely out of elementary school, and I'm halfway through Arcadia. I'm so fucked up.
I shouldn't be obsessing over a preteen like this. I already have a girlfriend. She's gorgeous, funny, cute, loving, everything a red-blooded teenage guy like me could ask for. Could dream of. Trust me, I know, I've seen the seedier Glory Girl fan-forums.
And if I happened to slip into the designated forums for Vista while I was at it, well...trust me, I don't need reminders of how fucked up I am for liking her. I remind myself of it every day.
Of course Victoria doesn't know about my stupid...crush on Missy. She'd blow her fucking top, for one thing, and then she'd kick my ass and haul me to jail. Nah, whenever Missy - Vista, really, because secret identities - comes up in conversation, Victoria has nothing but good things to say about her.
"She's so cute!" Don't I know it.
"It's surprising how mature she can be for her age." No need to remind me about that part.
"You too looked so happy in that cover photo together." Yeah, that's because my Tinkertech codpiece was hiding just how 'happy' I was.
It's all true, though. Missy has been on the team longer than any of us. She's the anchor for our team, young as she is. She's been through more shit than some of the adults that we work with and she deals with it. She's not just a random child that I have the hots for.
Really.
The day that I joined the Wards was the first day that I met her. Even back then, still new to my powers, clumsy and confused, angry at my father...I saw something different about her. I shook everyone's hand, of course, and we were all properly introduced. She smiled at me as Triumph introduced her, just the hint of joy was enough to brighten my sixth sense like a fucking spotlight.
I didn't get it then. I just thought that it was her age, her emotional state, her knack for brightening everyone's day just by being there.
But that tiny little smile had me hooked. I was a fucking junkie, I admit it. Everyone thought it was adorable how the new, likable Ward took her under his wing, treated her like she wanted to be treated. If only they fucking knew. That I was treating her like a peer to fool myself. That I was getting close to her because the only thing that kept me from losing my mind was the promise to myself that I'd at least have this relationship.
Friendship. I meant to say friendship.
If Missy knew how much I've dreamed about being with her, she would go ballistic. She'd absolutely murder me. After all she's confided in me, the one Ward she can trust, who won't judge her for whatever she's feeling? Hell, I'd deserve it.
And if she knew what else I've dreamed about with her...yeesh. I'm glad she's Manton-limited. If I'm honest with myself, I'd deserve that too. The kind of thoughts that I have, they're the kind of thoughts that get guys locked up in prison for life. Or get the shit kicked out of them with the guards watching. Or get raped and killed in the showers.
She's looking at me, grinning that infuriating, adorable little half-grin that she always gets when I'm lost in my thoughts. She thinks that it's because I'm so empathetic. That I can feel the emotions of everyone around me and I can't help but get caught up in them. That I'm just such a good guy.
That's because I told her that; because I lied. The only person I get caught up about is her.
"Sorry, what's up?" I ask with a nervous laugh. I place my arms on the desk, leaning my cheek into my propped up arm. Playing it cool, like I always do around her.
"Wow, can't spare a single second to think about your bestie?" she replies, grin turning into a wider smirk. I can't help but imagine leaning in and kissing her, wiping that smug look off her face. My lips are suddenly dry as a desert; I lick them, feeling uncomfortable. If only she knew. Her smug expression breaks after a couple moments. "I need your help with this stupid math homework. Chris said he was busy and god knows I'm not going to ask Clockblocker…"
She rolls her eyes. I nod and take a look at the homework. Goddammit. She's still learning about negative numbers. Seriously, in seventh grade? What the hell is wrong with this country's education system? I choke on a muttered curse. Yeah. It's her schooling that's the fucked up factor in this situation.
"Yeah, of course I can help you, Miss Missy," I say. My smile matches hers, but it's forced. With both our heads leaned over her math textbook, I can literally smell her. Her shampoo smells like vanilla; I know because I've used it to clean blood out of my hair. And her hair, once. We've been through so much together.
Missy scoffs at the dumb nickname. I probably made it up a week after we met each other. I still use it sometimes, partly for nostalgia and partly to remind myself. To remember that she's still a kid. That she can't handle one of her only role models turning out to be a pedo creep. That she, despite her battle scars and war stories, is innocent.
The tension breaks - if it was even there in the first place - and she starts going on about how much her math teacher sucks, how her classmates are so far ahead of her and one friend is going to rub it in her face. Middle school stuff.
I nod at all the right points. I lean back in my chair and laugh when she describes just how she told off a bully during lunch period. I walk her through the stupid, remedial math homework. But as she hunches over her paper to scribble out the answers, I can't help but notice how the hair that strays from her loose ponytail looks like strands of gold in the lamplight. How it makes her look beautiful.
I think that makes me the bad guy.