Here Be Dragons

Spark 1.1

My bones were hot. It wasn't something that I could explain in any other way—not that I intended to tell anyone about it. The air felt cool on my skin and even the flesh beneath felt cold against the heat that was radiating from the core of my body. If I let it go, as I had before, it would expand, spreading warmth—heat—through my muscles and out to my skin.

It was tempting to let it—very, very tempting. It was hard to restrain myself day after day and the pressure was mounting, building until I felt like I'd pop. And part of me wanted to—knew what it'd mean and desired it.

But I couldn't, I had to hold on. I could control this, I knew that. I'd managed to keep it in check for nearly half a year now.

But damn it if they weren't making it hard. It would have been easier if I was away from people—alone in my room. I'd have brought flames to my hands and it would have…not made it easier, not really. In fact, it would have come back worse. But for a while it'd have been soothing, simply knowing that I had the power at my fingertips and could bring it out.

But here in school? Here, so close to the source of it all?

I could feel my scales moving beneath my skin. Even more than usual, after so recently having been humiliated and having had my hard work taken from me. Even just when I exhaled, my breath felt warmer than it should have been. I inhaled deeply and held my breath, trying to force it and myself to cool down.

"I asked you after the glue incident. I'm asking you again. Would you be willing to go to the office with me, to talk with the principal and vice principal?" Mr. Gladly asked.

I was silent for a few moments, considering it—and preparing myself to speak. My powers had made me stronger, tougher, let me heal faster, and control flames somewhat even when I was normal—but they'd changed my voice as well. When I talked, I had to be careful to sound like my old self, rather than speaking in a rumbling growl. I usually dealt with this by not talking much at school, but when I had to I always needed a moment to make sure. It was one of the many troublesome things I just had to put up with and be careful about here at school.

"What would happen?" I asked, sounding almost right.

"We'd have a discussion about what's been going on. You would name the person or people you believe responsible, and each of them would be called in to talk to the principal, in turn."

"And they'd get expelled?" I asked, though I already knew the answer and the thought just made my scales brush harder against the underside of my skin.

He shook his head and the confirmation did nothing but make it harder.

"If there was enough proof, they would be suspended for several days, unless they've done something very serious. Further offenses could lead to longer suspensions or expulsion."

"Great. So at best, they'd miss a few days of school, and only if I can prove they were behind it all…and whether they get suspended or not, they come back feeling a hundred percent justified in whatever else they do to me in revenge." I chuckled bitterly, the back of my eyes starting to burn. It would have been bad enough if it was just tears, but I wasn't that lucky. The last thing I needed was for the bullying to get worse right now.

I was barely holding back as it was.

"If you want things to get better, Taylor, you have to start somewhere." Mr. Gladly said, his tone reasonable.

"This isn't a starting point. This is shooting myself in the foot," I said as I pulled on my book bag. When I saw that he didn't have a reply, I left the classroom.

Emma, Madison, Sophia and a half dozen other girls were waiting for me in the hall.

My shoulders fell before the insults even started, feeling like a weight was settling upon them. They were already talking—to each other, ostensibly. I tried to brush by them but they quietly shifted to block my path, not looking at me or stopping their conversation.

"I mean, nobody likes her. Nobody even wants her here," Julia said.

I know.

"I know. She's such a loser. Did you know she didn't even turn in the project for art, last Friday," Sophia responded.

Because you broke it.

"If she's not going to try, then why is she even coming to school?"

My hands clinched into fists as they voiced the question I'd asked myself. Why was I here? Why did I come? Because I had to?

I didn't have to do anything anymore.

The heat behind my eyes increased—as in, it literally got hotter. This was how it always went. For all that they seemed to be talking to each other, this was all about insulting me and I knew it. Careful to retain deniability by not talking to me, not even really facing me, and yet hurting me as much as they could. They'd literally cornered me, slowly, pushing me against the window and crowding around me such that I couldn't get past them without pushing them out of the way. And then they just rained down the insults, the next starting the moment one finished. It wasn't a matter of being accurate, creative, or even about meaning what they said; in fact, many of the insults were contradictory. It was a matter of intent and hammering it in again and again—that they hated me, that they enjoyed seeing me in pain, that they reveled in my suffering, that I was disgusting, tiny, weak, stupid, and generally unpleasant. It was about bringing up past humiliations and mocking me with them without directly admitting to any of it—in jokes, at my expense.

They talked about how they ruined my homework by calling me stupid for how it had affected my grades. They called me ugly, referencing the times they'd ruined my clothes and made me look horrible. Discussed how no one liked me without bringing up the fact that it was because they had driven away everyone who might be my friend.

The heat began to spread, despite how hard I tried to clamp down. I understood what it wanted—what I wanted—but I couldn't. It was something I dreamed of, something I desired more than anything else—but I forbid myself, kept myself in check. I had to. I could blame it on my power—say it was the cause of these feelings—but that'd have been a lie and I knew it. It was me. And if I knew anything, I knew myself.

So I knew that if I gave in, if I started, then I wouldn't stop. It all played back into a single thought and single memory and single wish I'd clung to in the locker and through all of this. A wish that, ironically, the only thing keeping me from was myself.

I would make them pay twice over for what they'd done to me.

It was the thought that kept me going.

It was the thought that held me back.

It was ironic, in a way. They wanted me to fight them, thought they had all the advantages. If I fought with words or fists, they didn't think it mattered. If I argued and lost, it'd only serve to satisfy them. If I argued and won, they'd come down twice as hard next time. If I threw a punch, they thought they'd be able to go running to a teacher and it'd be the story of ten against the story of one.

I thought that if I threw a punch, they'd probably end up in a hospital. If I didn't go too far, which I wasn't sure I wouldn't if I gave myself the chance.

So I stood by. I said nothing and stared blankly past them as the words rained down. It hurt—despite it all, the words still hurt—but I was used to it. Dealing with my scales rubbing the underside of my skin…that was more difficult and got harder every time as the amount of payback I owed them increased. It was especially difficult as I stared past them at Emma, who stood back with a slight smile on her lips, observing and waiting. My former best friend. I owed her more than most.

The opening of a door drew my attention and for a moment I was grateful for the distraction—and then I saw what it was. Mr. Gladly exiting his classroom. The girls around me didn't seem to notice, didn't stop even as he locked his door.

He turned, looking at me for a moment.

And then he walked away.

My scales nearly burst forth then and there. Not five minutes ago, he'd been trying to convince me to go to the principal, try and prove I was being bullied, and here he sees it and walks away? Had he been trying to get plausible deniability, doing the bare minimum to address a problem that he couldn't ignore any more? Had he just given up after failing to help in his utterly ineffectual way? Decided I wasn't worth the effort?

My bones got hotter. I held my breath for a moment before exhaling slowly, trying to keep any fire from coming up with it. It didn't keep the air from heating but none of the girl's around me seemed to notice that. Idiots—I'd held on, kept from hurting them for six months, but I was getting dangerously close to breaking. And if I snapped, well, it wouldn't be a school shooting. This place would look like Sodom and Gomorrah after I was done paying back what I was due—and Mr. Gladly hadn't helped my control by adding to it.

For a moment, I wished we were guys. That this had been physical, that I could fight back. Even without my enhanced strength, I was in good shape—if it had been normal humans against normal humans I'd have lost, sure, but I could have broken a few noses, given some black eyes before their numbers rode me down, and this would be over. I'd have hurt for days, worried my dad, but I'd know they would all have been hurting too. If it got too bad, the school would have to pay attention, maybe suspend us all but certainly look into why about ten people had beaten up one guy. And if we added my powers to the picture, well…

But when it came to this, to name calling and emotional abuse, it was like it wasn't real just because it didn't leave any bruises. I was powerless here, unless I wanted to make this war nuclear—which I could, oh so very easily. But I couldn't, so it was just the popular girls against the freak who didn't talk much and kept missing homework. Their word against mine. And if I used my powers, the PRT would get involved and things would just get even worse for me. Even if I limited myself, they'd make up a story and I'd come to school with the reputation of a psycho and they the victims and the bullying would get worse as others joined in.

Unless I was willing to take it to the extremes I could, there was nothing I could do except take it until they ran out of steam, which they thankfully seemed to be starting to do. But I had to ask myself the same question I did every time this happened—how long could I keep this up? How long could I keep my power in check when it grew harder every day? How long before something made me snap?

Emma finally stepped forward.

"What's the matter, Taylor? You look upset."

The sudden words put me off-guard and I knew she had something in reserve, had been preparing something, waiting patiently to deliver the coup de grace. I braced myself for it, reminded myself I'd taken the worst she had for months, that there was nothing she could do that could really hurt me anymore.

And then she spoke and the shattered remains of my defenses came crashing down around me.

"So upset you're going to cry yourself to sleep for a straight week?"

It took me a moment to grasp that, to truly understand the meaning of those words. Memories came first, of the year before high school, when we'd been friends. When I'd heard the news of my mom's death and had broken and cried and crumbled. When she had cried with me. When I'd hadn't eaten for days because my dad was too much of a wreck to cook and had hide at her home until her mom spoke to him and things began to get better.

I thought of a time months later, when I'd begun to pick up the pieces. When I'd put myself back together and realized I'd survive. When Emma had told me she admired me for my strength, how I'd held it together for a month—and I'd told her, knowing she was my best friend and would never use it against me, that I wasn't strong. That I'd cried myself to sleep every night for an entire week.

And here we were.

I looked at her wordlessly. My mouth hung open as I stared and I couldn't bring myself to close it. She knew what she was doing, knew what it would make me think off, and for all that I knew what she was trying to do it fucking worked.

But she didn't really understand what she had done—the answer she'd given me.

My eyes burned with the memory of tears.

Wow.

Then, they burned with actual tears, dredged up by the memories and the betrayal.

Apparently, only for ten more seconds.

And then they just burned.

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