The Beauty of Being Numb

by fernn

"I can't feel," I hissed into her ear, "but I sure as hell can make you." Entry for the Superhero contest.

Story Name: The Beauty of Being Numb

Penname: Fernn

Rating: M

Word Count: 4,301

To see other entries in the Twilight/Superhero Contest, please visit the following C2: .net/community/Superhero_Contest/81828/

My pairing says Edward and Bella, but it doesn't have to be. You can imagine it's Jasper and Alice, Emmett and Rosalie, or even Mrs. Cope and Charlie... you know, if that's your thing.

I wanted to feel. I wanted to feel the wind blow through my hair. The soft touch of a woman. Feminine lips caressing my own. But I couldn't.

For some reason, I was born without the proper nerve endings to stimulate the reaction of physical touch.

Although, I could register my surroundings. I could register my feet hitting the floor or whether something was hot or cold. I just couldn't feel any of it. If I stuck my hand on a furnace, I would be able to register the temperature, nothing more. The same would apply if I played around in some dry ice.

Mainly, it was my nocireceptor that was missing.

I couldn't feel pain. Or anything else, for that matter.

Of course, I couldn't actually injure myself, either. Should my body be as weak and malleable as the average human, I would most likely be dead by now.

I was, in some sense, indestructible.

As a child, I flaunted my invincibility to my fellow classmates. I did daring stunts, completed risky dares, challenged fellow students to try and hurt me. Until my parents found out what I was doing and made me stop. They told me I was special, but no one could know.

By my adolescent years I could hardly take it. All I wanted was to feel. To feel pain. I held lighters to my skin, which lead to sticking my hands in the fire place. I used every sharp object I could get my numb hands on to try and cut myself. I took teenage angst to the next fucking level.

My every attempt was unsuccessful. Unsurprisingly, my petty attempts at suicide myself were failures, too.

Soon after that I learned that although I couldn't physically feel anything, I could still get drunk off my fucking ass.

I drank my weight in booze as often as I could.

Of course my father wasn't too pleased when he found his scotch gone. Along with his brandy, vodka, and half his wine in the cellar.

I had to find my source elsewhere.

So I did.

I got drunk, high and everything in between.

It started with cigarettes and a bit of weed. But I wanted something even better.

Obviously, I couldn't shoot up, but I smoked and snorted whatever the hell I could get.

My parents knew. I knew they knew. But they understood I was having a hard time.

So they let their son do God knows what while they stayed at home with their thumbs up their asses.

Because they understood.

Bull fucking shit.

I attempted sex a few times, but they were all failures. The one time I managed to get hard, I still couldn't feel anything. For half an hour I had to close my eyes and imagine things that would make a porn star blush. Until she finally finished and I let go and went limp. It was fucking horrible.

I secluded myself from the world. For a while I tried to use my invincibility for the good of humanity, but of course that blew up in my fucking face.

Instead of being praised as a hero, I was sought after by the law enforcement and portrayed as a ruthless murderer.

I stalked the night to find those with wrong intentions. At first, I was unsure of myself and could hardly find anybody. But soon I picked up on the signs and knew what to look out for. I killed the rapists and murderers. I crippled the thieves.

But I was looked at by society as a violent man who slayed the seemingly innocent.

I worked at night, so the descriptions were vague and the police sketches were off, but I knew they were looking for me.

And if society didn't want my help, I wouldn't give it to them. Let the molestations, burglaries, and homicides continue. I wouldn't give a fuck.

A hermit I became again.

I started educating myself to pass the time. I read every great work by every exceptional author. I learned many languages. I edified myself far better than any school could in almost every subject.

Naturally, I took up an interest in music as well. I mastered many instruments and composed works of my own. The piano held my interest the highest. If I played hard enough, fast enough, with enough passion, it seemed as if I could almost feel the keys below my fingertips.

And I paid the price for it by having to purchase many a piano. I played until the keys were cracked and the pitiful sounds coming from it could no longer be recognized. But it was worth it.

Although lately, I found it hard to play. Inspiration didn't come as easily. The notes died away at my fingertips. It was fucking maddening.

I realized my alcohol supply was low, as was my beef jerky.

There were only two things I really needed in life. Booze and my jerky. I could live off of that shit.

I slipped on a hooded sweatshirt and left for the grocery store. Hopefully it wouldn't be too crowded at one in the morning.

I sped down the dark road, forgoing my headlights as usual. Why disrupt the peaceful darkness? Besides, it's not like I could get hurt. It'd be a shame to lose my car, though. Although my reflexes were more than adequate, so that was never really a worry of mine.

I parked my car in the first spot I saw—a handicapped one.

I made my way to the golden isle. I didn't even have to think about it any more. My feet automatically took me to my jerky. I filled my arms up with the seasoned dried beef and made my way to the checkout.

The cashier gave me a quizzical look. She must have been new. Most of the other late night employees were used to the hooded stranger who came in to buy nothing but beef jerky. They all had tried to make conversation with me before, but they knew well enough now that I never spoke back. They just scanned and bagged my beef in silence and let me be.

"Have a good night, sir," the new one spoke up. "Enjoy your superfluity of jerky."

I turned my head and cracked a smile. That was the most I had ever given one of the cashiers. And probably the most I ever would.

I got in my car and made my way to my next destination: The liquor store.

I was craving Vodka. Straight up. Fuck mixing it with anything.

Parking my car next to the building, I made my way in to pick my poison.

I scoured the isles and picked up a few bottles of Absolut. My moves were robotic and reflexive. I found myself walking out of the store with a brown bag under my arm in a slight daze.

Only movements away from getting in my car, a small, weak sound pulled me out of my reverie.

A whimper.

The silence was deafening as I strained my ears to pick up on another sound. Nothing.

I dropped my precious bag and rushed to where the sound came from. Where I thought the sound came from, at least. I was taking a shot in the dark, but it was just that. A shot.

I wasn't a fucking hero. I kept to myself now. After I was shunned and chastised by society, I let it fend for itself.

But I knew what I heard. And I wasn't going to ignore it.

My head shot up and I picked up my pace. Another whimper.

I was at least headed in the right direction.

I was approaching a number of shady buildings, most abandoned, along a dark sidewalk.

A rapist's fucking playground.

I slowed down and kept my senses sharp. Muffled sobs filled the night air. So soft they were barely audible. But I heard them.

I rounded a corner. An alley.

Words. I could make out individual words of the sick bastard.

"...slit your throat," the man whispered in his victim's ear. Another whimper.

"...scream my name..." My anger was boiling over. I wanted to march over and bash the fucker's head in. But I couldn't I had to move silently. Slowly. And listen to his filthy words.

Little did he know, the more he spoke, the more painful is death would be.

"...last thing you'll ever see, ever feel..." So close. So fucking close.

"...So many more after you. You're not the first, you won't be the last..." I was inches away.

Before his disgusting lips could form another word, I grabbed the back of his neck and yanked the slimy bastard back.

He gurgled a strangled cry as my hands wrapped around his throat. He gasped and sputtered. I wanted him in pain. I wanted him scared. I wanted him to think about everything he's done.

But I also wanted him fucking dead.

My fingers gripped his neck tighter. In a quick flick of my wrist, I snapped his throat. He would never hurt another person again.

I looked up into the big, scared eyes before me.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said slowly, as gently as I could.

Her eyes were transfixed on my tall, broad form. I realized how shady I must have looked in her eyes.

It didn't help that she'd just watched me kill a man.

In my defense, it was the man who was about to kill her.

"Are you alright?" I asked in the same nonthreatening tone.

She merely nodded in response.

I quickly looked her over, checking for any serious injuries. Her face looked like it was going to be bruised, and her bottom lip looked swollen. I guessed he'd either hit her or bit her. Either one was just repulsive to think about. Other than that, she looked fine.

Actually, she looked very fine.

From what I could tell, she had a hot little body underneath her parka and jeans. She had big, curious eyes and pouty lips that drove me insane.

I couldn't figure out these feeling. I had this strange compulsion to be closed to her. It drove me insane.

Why would I want to be fucking close to her? It's not like I would be able to actually feel her. No matter how badly I wanted to.

I cleared my throat, having realized I was intensely staring at her. As if she wasn't weary of me already.

"Is your car near by?" I asked, my voice a tad rougher than before.

She shook her head. It frustrated me. I wanted to hear her voice.

"You're house?"

At this, she nodded.

"You were walking home?" I concluded, cocking an eyebrow at her.

And as expected, she nodded.

I sighed, sick of our little game of charades. Or twenty questions. Or whatever the hell it was.

I started walking away. "Come on," I said without turning around, "I'm driving you home."

I heard small, hurried footsteps behind me, I didn't have to look back to know she was directly at my six o'clock.

I sidestepped to the right and slowed down my pace. I wanted her in my line of sight for both my selfish reasoning and her own good. She smiled weakly at me, her gaze focused on my profile. I was watching her, too, only more discreetly. My eyes were trained forward, but my focus remained on her.

My head whipped around to look at her directly when I heard her clear her throat.

"You sure are parked far away," she noted. Her words rang in my ears like church bells. Her voice was magnificent.

"Yes," I replied, thinking of more to say. Possibly a question to ask that would require more than a nod or shake of her head. I wanted to hear her voice again. "What's your favorite color."

"Um," she hummed, slightly taken aback by my random question. I realized it was an odd thing to ask, but my mind drew a black as to what else I should ask her, and I didn't want her to revert back to her muteness. "Blue, I guess. It's a very non-offensive color."

I cracked a smile. Non-offensive?

"What's yours?" she asked, looking up at me, waiting for my answer.

"Gray," I stated.

"Gray," she repeated. "Interesting. Or, uninteresting if you really think about it. But interesting it's your favorite color..."

I watched her babble about colors with a smile threatening to make an appearance. Who was this girl, and why was she so damn cute?

We finally reached my car and I was saddened to see that two of my three bottles of Vodka were broken. I reached my hand in to retrieve the sole survivor and got in the car.

The girl carefully opened my door and climbed in to sit down very gently. She slowly closed the door, satisfied when the muffled click sounded. Just as slowly, she reached behind her to draw the seat belt out, fastening it with great care.

I scoffed when it dawned on me what she was doing.

"Darling, there's really no need to be so careful. This car really isn't that breakable."

She laughed a little, and visibly relaxed in the seat. Once I was sure she was all settled in, I peeled out of the parking lot and sped down the dark road.

"Your home is this way, am I correct?" I asked her.

"Yes," she answered. At least she didn't nod.

"Well, I'm going to need a little more insight than the general direction. I guess I could tr—"

"Are your headlights on?" she practically screamed, interrupting me.

"No, they're not," I stated, making to move to turn them on.

"Are you crazy? You're not even wearing a seat belt!"

I smirked. "Would you like me to turn them on?"

"Yeah, that would be nice," she said almost sharply.

A chuckle escaped my lips as I flicked the lights on.

"And could you put your seat belt on while you're at it?" she demanded. I found it endearing that she was concerned for my safety. Anyone else, and I would have told them to fuck off. But I decided to humor this enthralling girl in my passenger seat.

I reached up to grab the belt, but was suddenly halted.

"Wait!" she yelled. "That's dangerous. Just keep your hands on the wheel and your eyes on the illuminated road."

With that, she reached across to get a cold of the seat belt. My breathing hitched for reasons unbeknownst to me. She obscured my entire view of the road, not that I minded. She was giving me a much better one.

"I can see how this would be the safer method," I joked. My lips were centimeters away from her neck. I fought the urge to lean forward ever so slightly and press my lips to her soft, exposed skin.

She grasped the metal and pulled away, too soon for my liking. Her hand guided the belt across my chest and lap and clicked it into place.

I let out a breath I had no conscious recognition of holding. Why was this girl affecting me so? It didn't make sense to me and I wasn't going to try and make sense of it.

"Take a left here," she piped up. I swung the car into a hard left, causing her to grip the handle even tighter.

Soon, a scattered row of houses came into view. They all looked equally pathetic.

"Mine's that one over there," she said, pointing to a very nondescript home. It looked homier than the others.

I pulled into her driveway next to another parked car. Hers, I presumed.

"I never did thank you for saving me, did I?" she asked rhetorically.

"You don't need to thank me," I said, internally cringing at how cliched I sounded.

"Would you like to come in?" she blurted out, so fast I could barely make it out.

I decided to skip my lecture on the dangers of inviting strangers into her home on the off chance that she might take back the invitation. Instead, I indulged myself by getting out of the car and following her into her home.

The inside was even homier than the exterior. I took a quick look around, noting the various framed pictures. I sought her out in every one of them.

I looked up to find her in the kitchen, boiling water.

"Do you like tea?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Sure," I lied. I actually found tea to be glorified hot water, but I would choke it down for her sake.

The shrill screech of the kettle sounded, making it known the water was boiling. I watched as she poured the water into mugs, then placed the tea bags into the mugs.

"Would you like some honey in yours?" she asked.

"Yes!" I responded quickly. Honey would make it much more bearable.

She squirted a copious amount of honey into one of the mugs, mixing it in thoroughly.

She turned around and handed me the sweetened cup of tea, walking over to the couch with her own cup.

I followed obediently, sipping at the hot liquid.

"Tonight seems so... surreal," she said as we sat down.

I nodded. I couldn't have said it better. What was supposed to be an uneventful night of vodka and jerky somehow turned into this.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said, looking at me with big, seductive eyes. "What were you doing over there, anyway? You were parked so far away."

I'd hoped she wouldn't ask that. "I was taking a stroll."

"Okay. Weird, but okay. You saved my life, I'm not going to question it."

"Thank you," I said, sipping at my tea. It wasn't too bad, actually. And it posed as a wondrous distraction.

"So where are you from?"

The conversation flowed easily between us. It was light and easy. She inquired about my family, where I had grown up, who I was. I hated lying to her. I tried to be as truthful as I could, which resulted in many answers being vague. She didn't seem to mind though.

I found out much about her, as well. I was enthralled by the stories of her childhood. Her every word had my rapt attention. I couldn't understand my infatuation with this girl, but I couldn't seem to care that much, either. It was hard to brood when this angelic creature held my attention.

"I just can't seem to shut up," she said, cutting herself off.

"I don't mind," I told her in all honesty.

"I don't feel like talking anymore," she practically whispered.

I gulped. I wasn't dense, I knew what she was implying. I wanted to. I really did, but I didn't want the disappointment crashing down when I realized she was just like any other girl I tried to get physical with, and I couldn't feel a thing.

She leaned in and I panicked. I didn't want to hurt her feelings by denying her advances, but I also didn't want to go through this again. Not with her.

I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes and leaned in to meet her.

Her lips met mine, frantic and needy and I felt... nothing. I registered the pressure of her lips on mine. I knew they were there. But I didn't feel them.

I knew I wouldn't. That I couldn't, but I was still disappointed.

Nevertheless, she could feel me just fine, and I was going to make sure she did.

I moved my lips against hers, sucking lightly on her lower lip. I opened my mouth to her, letting her explore my mouth to her heart's content.

Much to her discontent, I pulled away, I stood up, offering her my hand. She took it and stood as well. She pulled me through the living room and hall until we were standing outside a plain white door. The door to her bedroom.

She pushed the door open and headed straight to the bed, shedding her shirt along the way. I looked down and noticed I was straining against my jeans. How I wished I could feel it.

I would gladly give up my abilities just to feel. It was something people took so for granted. The ability to feel.

To hell with it, I thought to myself. I decided to quit my pitiful inner monologue and focus on the beautiful creature in front of me.

I stalked over to her, taking my shirt off. She gasped. I smirked at her gaping mouth. I gently pushed her shoulders back, causing her to fall onto the soft bed underneath her. I ran my hands up her softly curvy sides and behind her. I unhooked her bra and threw it onto the floor.

Fucking beautiful.

The rest of out clothes came off on a hurry, my boxers being the only thing left.

She tugged them down, taking in my fully naked form. Without warning, she pounced. I was now on my back, her beautiful legs straddling my own.

I watched as her small, delicate hand grasped my member. I threw my head back, for a completely different reason than she thought. She began stroking and gliding and it almost fucking hurt. Not physically, but a horrible, sickening tugging feeling in my stomach.

"Stop," I whispered.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"Stop," I said more firmly.

"Why?"

"Because I can't fucking feel it," I spat.

"You what?" she asked in the same incredulous tone.

"I can't fucking feel it, so you might as well not waste your time or fucking energy."

"You really can't feel it?" she asked, no longer incredulous, just full of pity.

"No. I can't," I said, my voice low and venomous. I felt like a fucking wretched excuse for man.

"Can you feel anything?"

"No."

She moved to get off of me, but I grabbed her shoulders and flipped us over. I growled, angry and frustrated. But I wasn't walking away from this. Not a fucking chance.

"I can't feel," I hissed into her ear, "but I sure as hell can make you."

Her breathing hitched as I moved down her glorious body. I worshiped every inch of her soft skin until she was panting and mewing.

"Please," she begged. I was inches away from her glistening, wet folds. I could smell her potent arousal, igniting my own. A pleasant feeling was forming in the pit of my stomach, and I could practically feel myself throbbing. It was... pleasurable. An unknown feeling to me.

I focused my attention back to the delicious womanly form in front of me. Without thinking, I reached my tongue out and tasted her.

The pleasant churning and throbbing increased the more I tongued the delicious nectar in front of me. It was intoxicating.

She was moaning and writhing above me. My tongue was focused solely on her clit, while my fingers probed her entrance. I drove two long digits in, rewarded with a scream of ecstasy.

My name was a prayer on her lips. It drove me wild.

I pleasured the beautiful, sweating woman until she could take no more. I got my pleasure from hers and I was a selfish creature.

Satisfied that she was satisfied, I crawled beside her in bed, a smile gracing her lips.

"Thank you," she whispered before drifting off. I lied awake, replaying the events of the night. I had never thought I could possibly feel this way. But the beautiful woman beside me made me react in ways so foreign to me, it seemed unreal.

Surreal, I thought, remembering her words from earlier.

I quietly arose from her bed, gathering my clothes from her floor. I dressed quickly and took one last look at her before pulling my shirt on.

I walked over to her and kissed her sweet lips, willing myself to feel something.

Nothing.

Nothing physically, at least. Inside, though, I felt more than I ever had before.

As I walked out of her room, I passed a picture of her and couldn't resist. I pulled the picture out of its frame and cradled it in my hand.

I didn't want to leave her. But I had to. We would meet again if it were meant to be.

I quietly left her house, feeling more numb than ever.

I opened my bottle of vodka, taking a hearty swig. I knew I would need a lot more than one bottle to get though this shit.

And so I pulled up to the liquor store.

End scene! If you liked this, please vote for it! Voting starts July 1st. I didn't write this to win, but it would be pretty fantastic if I did!

I always kind of wondered why Clark Kent could walk through fire unscathed and swat away bullets like flies, but could still feel the touch of a girl... Anyway, thanks for reading!