Blindsided

AN: Rated M for motherfuckin' language.

This was created while binge watching Daredevil, so a lot of inspiration was taken from it. My chapters are short and I'm working on being more chapter appropriate. The intro may also be a little slow-coming. Don't worry, Barry goodness is coming.

Not Beta'd. Typos are my own.

Chapter 1

The Red Sable brush gently dipped in the mocha paint. I hummed as I attempted to create the perfect shadow pigment. Brown, chocolate, more black. Shit that was too much. More brown. Less brown? Ughhh. Fucking stupid shadows. It's like they live to irritate me.

My life is complexity of color. Variants of the same shade but each uniquely their own. Each wanting to be found and displayed and given life.

My mother told me I was born a creative. Someone who sees life in all its fullness and is able to create the impossible and unimaginable from the inspiration of the possible.

My mother was a hippie.

But she wasn't wrong.

My life is defined by my imagination and the opportunity to bring the colors of my inner world to life.

And also complete and utter self-loathing as any good artist lives in.

I wiped the sweat off my brow and moved my face inches from the canvas inspecting the strokes and shading. Coffee. She needed coffee.

I quickly tucked stray strands of disobedient hair behind my ear and stowed my paintbrush into the pocket of my floral apron. I was sure coffee would clarify my shadow inequities. God damn shadows.

I slung my messenger back across my shoulder and breezed through the studio's glass doors.

It was a beautiful day in Central City. And a particularly busy day as well. STAR Labs was going to activate the particle accelerator tonight. Of which Emilie's current collection was based upon. Since the particle accelerator was going to expand the entire scientific world, it may as well expand the creative world as well.

But right now, nothing will be done without coffee.

I walked the couple of blocks from the studio to Jitters, grateful, once again, for prime real estate. Westminister wasn't the most glamorous of locales, but it was close to everything Emilie needed in life.

People watching was a very very satisfying past time of hers. i loved making up fanciful stories of the people I came across. Currently I was narrating an exciting unrequited love story between a tall man and a barista. Modern day Prince Charming.

"Look at me my love, everything I have done is for you." He shook his head and pleaded with his puppy dog eyes.

"Oh sir, you know I am bethroed. What will my fiancée say?"

"He needn't find out. Please, come away with me and my awkward smile and crazy hair."

The sound of crashing coffee cups brought me out of my day dream. A totally logical day dream. I smiled. She definitely needed a time away from those stupid chocolate-too-brown shadows.

I rested my forehead on the warm coffee cup letting its heat calm my nerves.

My gallery opening was just 2 days away. The thought made me melancholy. While it was the second time my work had been featured, my parents were unable to see either exhibition.

Not that her parents measured success by any conventional means. Her father was a painter and mother was a social-activism photographer, neither did any notable work for the creative community, but Emilie's world revolved around them and the great mode of expression she inherited.

They named her after a French painter and her father joked that had she been a photographer it would have blasphemed her name. Her mother said that was a patriarchal joke which oppressed her feministic expression. Emilie adored them. Their banter. Their love. How they valued her work from the stick figures of childhood to the more complex color theory from a very expensive fine art education. They, her parents, were how Emilie measured her success by.

Which made their death all the more devastating.

I sipped my coffee gingerly looking back on the star crossed lovers. Now I could at least find solace in the imagination that was cultivated by her parents. By creating the impossible, I was reconnected to them. I could pretend they weren't really gone. Just on another trip.

I finished her coffee and set it on the busing tray. Now time to destroy those fucking shadows.

I awoke to the sound a loud bang. Was it a bang? Or was it an earthquake? I ran to the window and looked out into the darkness. It was as if someone flipped the switch on Central City. There were no lights and a storm was raging that hadn't been there just a few hours before. The bustle of the day was gone and the few figures that were left were running and screaming for cover. I ran and unlocked the large studio doors to let a gathering of bystanders in.

"HERE! Come in here!" I yelled though the wind drowned out my words. I gestured frantically to get their attention. One of the women finally noticed Emilie and pulled the others towards the dark studio.

After they were safely inside I pushed the doors closed. The lock had jammed and I couldn't get the deadbolt to fasten.

Panic struck me. If this was an earth quake I needed to be in a doorway right? Or under a table? Regardless she needed to get away from the windows as fast as possible.

I screamed out my frustration and slammed my hands against the door. This was not happening right now! I had to get this door secure. A flash of lightning struck a nearby telephone pole and Emilie watched in terror as it fell into the glass of her studio windows. My scream of frustration turned into pain as heat enveloped me. I grabbed at my face and was met with shards of glass my hands turned into ribbons. I bent over trying to shield my body as everyone heard another loud crash and something heavy hit me in the stomach, throwing me against the wall.

Everything went black.