Chapter 2
"It was a sweet fantasy . . . a world where everyone is free. But now it's morning and I have to go kiss her aerobicized ass."
They know they know they all know . . .
It wasn't going to be easy. She knew that it wasn't going to be easy. Knowing didn't make it any easier.
Her eyes shifted uncontrollably as she made her way to her homeroom, giving everyone and everything a nervous glance. It seemed like there were too many faces pointed her way, too many people noticing her as she weaved her way through the forest of bodies and backpacks. Was she imagining it? She was probably imagining it. It didn't matter - the dread bubbled in her gut all the same.
She caught a guy giving her an odd look and immediately broke eye contact. Eye contact was dangerous. Her power was much stronger in-person than over a livestream, and she didn't have perfect control over its effects, especially not in a mental state like this. Prolonged eye contact would almost certainly cause the target to notice something strange, and she couldn't risk that, not yet. With a few nimble steps, she disappeared once again into the crowd.
It took a few moments for what had just happened to sink in.
A guy had been staring at her.
That never would have happened before. Before, for the most part, she had been ignored, too insignificant to merit any notice. Some of the girls in her grade might have given her some grief, but for the most part, she had stayed out of the way, not leaving the background.
Now, she had been recognized, and it wasn't difficult to figure out why.
She quickened her pace, her face flushing with embarrassment. Why had she ever thought that it would just turn out fine? Why had she done it? Why had she . . . oh God, last night, why had she said those things?
Taylor cursed her foolishness, her naiveté, her total abandonment of the instincts which had kept her alive thus far. A few days off and she thought she could get away with something that bold? It had been stupid, stupid, and she would pay the price for it in time.
And yet, as she navigated the treacherous hallway, she paid no price. A couple of stares sure, more leering and intent than she would have liked, but nothing aggressive. At least she hadn't abandoned all caution - it seems that her power's instructions had kept her moonlighting discreet. That didn't assuage her fears, but it ruled out some worst-case scenarios.
The bell rang, Mrs. Knott started to take roll, and Taylor quickly switched back into survival mode. If Emma and her posse didn't learn about her camming, she could escape unscathed. She could probably even keep doing it, if she was careful . . .
Or she could stop taking such big risks with what was, unfortunately, her life. Either way, she had to be hyperalert for the next several hours. Some of the girls might have been a bit nervous about sending a girl to the hospital, but those that remained would have a week's worth of unsated bloodlust to take out on her, so she couldn't expect life to be any easier than before.
It didn't take Taylor long to settle back into her old routine. Somewhere in her mind was a shelf full of questions and fears and uncertainty about the future, but that would all have to wait.
For now, she had a lot of homework to catch up on.
The bell rang at the correct time, signalling the end of class. Taylor was surprised to find that she had almost caught up on her computer programming homework - of course, the semester had just started, so the class wasn't doing anything too difficult, but it really didn't feel like a week's worth of material. Perhaps it just wasn't a difficult class, or perhaps, just maybe, she was actually good at the one class where she would be left unmolested.
She almost snorted at that. As if she would be so lucky.
Her next class would certainly be worse, though not necessarily harder. World Issues, taught by the "bodacious" Mr. Gladly. His description, not hers.
He wasn't that bad, not really. Just too worried about his own reputation among the students to really assert himself, which, ironically, got him labeled as a pushover and an easy A. For most students, that was just fine. For Taylor in particular, it was worse, especially considering that Madison Clements, one of Emma's inner circle, was in the class as well, along with a few other girls who were all too happy to join in on the fun and get some points with Madison. To make matters worse, she sat right next to Greg Veder, who was exactly the kind of guy to perv out on camsites . . .
Yeah, this was going to suck.
Walking briskly, arms pressed to her sides so as to take up as little space as possible, Taylor noted that she had built up an indifference to the occasional leering glance. She almost chuckled - this was what it must feel like to be a hot person. She wondered how Emma handled this sort of thing, knowing that guys were mentally undressing her everywhere she went, knowing the things they would do to her if they got the chance. Taylor found herself aroused by that particular thought, and cursed her newfound bisexuality. Emma was a mythic bitch, but she was also really fucking hot, and if circumstances weren't different, Taylor wouldn't mind a little time alone with her . . .
No, no, dangerous thoughts. Hatefucking, from what she understood, didn't tend to go well for either party. Besides, she didn't really know how her powers worked. Even if, against all ethical standards, she were able to seduce Emma into sexsomething of that nature, she didn't know if the effects of her power were permanent. They might wear off at any time, leaving behind a jilted lover.
And wasn't that a terrifying thought. Her power might wear off. Of course that was possible, there was no reason for her to believe that she could have a permanent effect on the human brain, and she had already put herself in a situation where her powers were the only thing keeping her from ruin.
Well, at least that was one tough decision made. She wouldn't stop camming. She couldn't, not until she tested this further. If the effect of her power were to wear off, her identity would be suddenly revealed, which, to say the least, would not end well for her. For what must have been the hundredth time that day, Taylor cursed her prior stupidity - a week of living without regard for consequences may well have set her course for several years. She had spent so long staying afloat, putting off all ambition, hoping only to escape this place relatively unscathed, and a single lapse might have given all of that up.
But there was no use worrying about that now. One step off of the path of perfection might have doomed her, but she had no way of changing the past. Roll with the punches, she thought to herself, noticing her clenched teeth and forcing her jaw to relax.
Lost in thought as she was, Taylor was surprised when she reached Mr. Gladly's classroom - she had been paying no attention whatsoever to her movement, slipping through the hallway on autopilot as she tried to put her worries out of her head. She walked through the doorway, surveying the classroom warily. Madison had already arrived; she seemed to be waiting for somebody, probably Julia. Madison's eyebrows rose in shock when she noticed Taylor, and her hand went immediately to her pocket, retrieving her cell phone. Taylor supposed that that made sense - the other girls hadn't yet been informed of Taylor's return, an event they had probably been waiting for all week.
Her body tightening, Taylor shuffled stiffly to her seat. Backpack off, grab a notebook, pencil, check. Write the date. Taylor was completely methodical, doing everything exactly as she had before. She almost hoped that Madison would walk by her desk and throw pencil shavings in her hair or something. That would represent a return to normalcy, it would mean that life at school would be essentially as bad as it had been and no worse. Of course, it had already been bad enough to cause her to manifest powers, but at that point, Taylor was having trouble taking her mind off of worst-case scenarios.
Instead, Madison finished her text, tucked her phone away, and gave Taylor a curious glance.
A glance could mean any number of things. It could mean that Madison was surprised that Taylor had returned at all, that they had thought she would give up for good after being hospitalized. It could mean that they had some twisted welcome-back prank planned. It could mean that Madison knew about the streams, maybe that she had watched them herself and . . .
No, no. Dangerous thoughts.
It had only been a second or two, but it was enough. Scrupulously avoiding eye contact, Taylor reached a shaky hand into the front pocket of her backpack and retrieved a pair of sunglasses.
They were the only other purchase she had made, besides her new laptop: prescription sunglasses. Some testing had revealed that tinted lenses mitigated the effects of her power, and she had ordered them online almost immediately thereafter. They were out-of-place in Brockton Bay's grey, rainy climate, but if she wanted to live and be treated normally, they were an absolute necessity.
They would earn her more teasing, of course. She wasn't sure what they would come up with, but they always came up with something. Any attempt to change her look was met with scorn and mocking. Even as she replaced her glasses, she heard Madison stifling a giggle. The shorter girl pulled her phone out and extended her arm, obviously trying to get a picture. Taylor didn't flinch or turn away - they would see it anyway, one way or another, so there was no point.
If it mitigated the chances of her losing control of her powers and hurting someone, it was worth it.
Even if that person really deserved it.
She nodded her head, trying to convince herself as much as anything. Yes, even then.
With the bell due to ring in about a minute, Julia strolled through the door with characteristic swagger in her gait. She was immediately flagged down by Madison, who waved her over to an open seat. Madison directed her attention to Taylor with an outstretched finger and the two shared conspiratorial whispers. Taylor wondered what they were talking about, but their conversation was too quiet to be overheard, at least from her position.
Greg Veder jumped through the doorway an instant before the bell rang - when he noticed her, he gave a look of disbelief. It seemed that he, like Madison, had suspected that Taylor would never come back - he thought she had dropped out to become a stripper or something. To be fair, she almost had. He took his normal seat next to hers, but seemed almost afraid of her, sitting so that almost half of his body was situated off of the end of the chair opposite her.
So he knew.
Taylor sighed. This was going to be a long class period.
The class period ended and Taylor found herself locked in a stall, quietly eating her lunch. It was only temporary, she promised herself, she would lock herself in stalls indefinitely. Just until she figured out how her powers worked, so that she could avoid causing any trouble. Once there was no risk of accidentally frying someone's brain, she would allow herself to reenter the social scene in whatever limited capacity she could. Not hiding, just regrouping.
She couldn't even convince herself that that was true.
Taylor knew that this hadn't been a good day. She felt her face tighten, and knew that if this course of events continued, she would be a sobbing wreck in a matter of seconds.
Instead, she took a deep, shuddering breath, trying desperately to stay calm and rational.
She took stock of the day's events. Honestly, they hadn't been much worse than she had expected. She hadn't believed that she would go completely unrecognized - she had, after all, become one of the top-viewed girls on her site, and a significant fraction of her viewership was comprised of teenage boys. It wouldn't be a problem, not really, unless she made it into one by worrying about it so much.
Moving on, moving on. Was it the bullying? No, definitely not. They hadn't even done anything yet - Madison had definitely alerted the others about her return, and they were almost certainly plotting some sort of welcome-back prank, but even that couldn't be too bad. It couldn't be worse than the locker, certainly, and she had survived even that. They could hurt her, they would hurt her, but they couldn't ruin her.
Taylor felt a tear roll down her cheek. OK, so maybe this hadn't been the best way to keep herself from crying.
She knew why she felt this way, why it was so much worse than it had been before. It was freedom.
For an entire week, they hadn't pushed her, hadn't teased her, hadn't layed a single fucking finger on her. She had always known it would come eventually - eventually she would go off to college, or they would get bored, or something would have thrown off the dynamic, but she hadn't been prepared for it when it came.
And then she had given it up.
She didn't have to give it up. She could have moved out and started camming full-time, had she really wanted to. Failing that, she could have demanded a new school. After what had happened, she was sure her father would oblige.
Hell, she could have joined the Wards and demanded fucking Arcadia. She wasn't sure exactly how they would market a power like hers, but they would have let her join if for no other reason than to keep her from supervillainy - if she was willing to ethically compromise herself, she would be a much more potent threat.
Freedom was a curse, really. In exchange for all her freedom of action, she had given up her freedom from responsibility. She was back in school, yes, but this time it was her fault, because she knew full well that she was walking into a deathtrap. With freedom came complete knowledge of every missed opportunity, every failure, every mistake, every consequence.
She knew what she had to do.
She pushed her hand down the waist of her jeans, her palm pressed lightly against the skin of her hips. She let her body extend, her spine lengthening as she threw her head back. Her eyes closed lightly and she let her jaw fall, allowing the tiniest space to appear between her lips.
One finger, no more. She extended her index finger and let it graze the bare skin of her pussy, her small tuft of hair feeling smooth and soft on her knuckle. She made a few long, gentle strokes up her slit - nothing rough, nothing intense, just enough that she really felt it.
She had come back to school, but she was still free. She was free to finger herself in a stall, if she so desired.
Sure, maybe it wasn't the healthiest sexual awakening, but it wasn't hurting anyone.
She caressed her lower lips more intimately, two fingers sliding up and down her dampening pussy, their tips dipping just inside the soft folds as they continued their relay. She let her tongue sneak out of her mouth, licking her lips and smiling subtly, as she continued to finger herself.
It felt different, doing this in school. Anybody could walk in on her at any moment, anybody could see her body stretched to full length, her hand shoved deep inside her pants, the wanton sluttiness on her face. The only thing hiding her from the world was a thin metal door with a lock that didn't work, behind which could be anything and anyone.
In some ways it was a terrifying thought, but at the same time it was incredibly sexy. A part of her (the same part, she assumed, that had been coming up with all of these dangerous thoughts) wanted her to be found. She didn't care what happened next; the thrill was as much in exhibiting her own sexuality as in the sexual potential of her situation.
Holding her lip with her teeth, she slipped a finger inside of herself.
She squeaked, any her free hand flew to her mouth, muffling the quiet moans that followed. She froze and loosened her grip, but left her hand in place, covering her open mouth. Only once she was sure she could keep the noise down did she resume her motion, a single digit stimulating the walls of her cunt, the intensity amplified by the sheer naughtiness of masturbating in a public bathroom.
And then she stopped.
And then she stopped.
Why was she doing this? Was it a desperate attempt to assert her control over the world? She was free to masturbate in a public stall - symmetrically, she was free to not masturbate in a public stall. Or was it the other way around: was she internalizing shame, was she surpressing herself because others had made her feel she wasn't good enough?
Or maybe it was just hormones. Maybe she was a horny teenager, masturbating in the ladies room was a bad idea, and it was a bad idea to try to formulate some life philosophy based on her inflated teenage libido.
As the glow of endorphins left her, that last possibility started to seem far too reasonable to discount.
Slightly miffed, she licked her fingers clean, readjusted her panties, and left the stall. Class would start soon enough anyway - she probably wouldn't have had time to get off, and leaving herself horny and unsatisfied didn't seem appealing. All tidied up, she left the bathroom and began the trek to her art class.
Which she shared with Sophia, who had undoubtedly planned some cruel prank to play . . .
Taylor was beginning to wish she had taken the time to release her stress when she had the chance, but no. She had made her decision for good, rational reasons and she would stick with it. That was freedom.
Somehow the day passed without incident, and somehow that made Taylor even more nervous. Madison had definitely noticed her in World Issues, and even if she hadn't, Emma and Sophia had acknowledged her presence with uncannily similar sneers. Besides, she hadn't taken her sunglasses off all day, for fear that her power would go haywire, and despite their necessity, she knew exactly the image they gave off. She had painted a massive target on her head, and her tormentors had seen her, noticed it, and completely refused to take even the smallest shot.
Maybe somebody had told them off? She doubted it. She certainly hadn't had any help from the administration before, and even if the adults were spooked by the accident, Madison had very clearly signalled her presence to the other two. They knew she was back and they were planning something; those things were undeniably true, and pretending otherwise would only set her up for shock later.
But the only time they had completely let up had been . . .
Well, it had been right before the locker, to lull her into a false sense of security. Surely they weren't planning something of that magnitude again, right? They knew she had been hospitalized, they knew the risks. Were they trying to kill her?
Oh God, were they trying to kill her?
She didn't believe it, she didn't want to believe it, it didn't make any sense. And yet it explained their actions perfectly. If they were setting up another dangerous prank, they could have decided to use the same tactic as before. They knew they had gone too far, so they must have been planning to convince her that an authority figure had stepped in, that she had been saved. Then they would go in for the . . .
Or maybe they were just trying to worry her? Leave her alone, let her beat herself up over it. It was vicious enough, Emma would certainly have appreciated that idea. They didn't have to waste their time bullying her, she would tear herself apart with nervousness given enough time. It was petty, it was vindictive, it was narcissistic, it was everything Emma had become.
Was that wishful thinking? Was she trying to avoid the possibility that they were planning something just as big? Could she afford to be wrong?
Emma wouldn't really kill her, would she? Their friendship was completely gone, Taylor wasn't delusional enough to doubt that, but there still had to be something. Even if Emma hated her completely, their relationship wasn't gone in her mind, hate and love being two sides of the same coin. Emma was calling the shots, and Emma couldn't be trying to kill her. She didn't believe that. She couldn't believe that.
Taylor decided on a moderate path. She would stay on her guard, she wouldn't let herself fall into any obvious traps, but she would not allow them to get inside her head. They probably wouldn't try anything that could cause permanent harm, not after the first time, but if they did, she would be ready. If they gave up the ruse and went back to petty attacks, she could deal with that. Caution, safety, but not terror.
Unfortunately, this plan did not gel well with the fact that she was currently hiding out in a stall for the second time that day.
It had seemed reasonable at the time; she would leave the school late to avoid ambush, and the stall was just as good a fortress as any. Now, though, it seemed stupid - she could deal with their more minor attacks, and they couldn't have put anything major together in a single day. She couldn't let them control her action like this.
Mustering her courage, Taylor uncurled her body and left the stall She made her way down the hall, repeating a mantra in her head. Freedom, freedom, freedom . . .
A body jumped out at her from an indentation in the wall, and she shrieked. Immediately, she began cursing herself - she wasn't sure what their game was, but she couldn't show weakness like that, it would only encourage them. They were like sharks tasting blood, they could smell fear.
And then Taylor's mind went blank. Her assailant was not a teenage girl. It was a boy, at least six foot three, Asian, covered in tattoos
Holding a knife.
Before she could process what was happening, he spoke.
"Don't move, bitch." His face betrayed no emotion, but his tone was almost angry. Not angry at her, not really directed at all, just underscored by some sort of rage. "I've heard all sorts of things about you. Sleeping around like a fuckin' whore in a school dominated by the ABB? Yeah, not smart. I think you're coming with me."
Taylor recovered from her shock, processing what he had just said. What did he mean, sleeping around, and why would the ABB . . .
Oh.
Since she was quite young, her father had enforced a strict curfew. Home before sundown, every day, no exceptions. The reason, she had later figured out, was the ABB. Of the city's gangs, the ABB was the only one that specialized in sex trafficking. Teenage girls could be kidnapped off the streets and pressed into prostitution; sometimes they escaped, sometimes they didn't. It was terrifying, living in a city where that happened regularly, but her father had told her that as long as she followed a few rules, she would be safe. Don't stay out late, don't walk through gang turf . . . and don't draw the wrong kind of attention.
Yet another thing she had failed to consider.
"I'll be sampling the merchandise, of course. My boys are obsessed with you - can't say I see why, so you must be a damn good lay. You'd better be prepared to face some consequences if you don't meet my expectations." He held the knife at arm's length, the shining tip less than a foot from her chest. "Turn around and follow my instructions."
He wouldn't rape her here, would he? There were security cameras, there were people still in the building.
There weren't many people still in the building; she had been in that stall for a while. There was no rescuer coming for her - if she went with him now, he would take her somewhere where she would be even harder to find. She had read somewhere that kidnapping victims were much less likely to make it back if they went anywhere with their captors.
"No," she said, tearing her sunglasses away from her face, a temple ripping off of its hinge. You don't want to kill me, you don't want to kill me, she thought, praying for any sort of help from her power.
The man took a step forward, the knife's tip settling just over an inch from her, but he didn't attack.
"I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to. Fucking move, or this doesn't end well." His voice was still seething.
And then he screamed and stepped backwards, his hand flying to his shoulder. His grey shirt became tainted with red, and protruding from his shoulder was an arrow, black and sleek and in his fucking shoulder what is happening -
Before she could speak, Taylor was overtaken by a dark fog that materialized into a person in front of her. The person was wearing a dark black costume that covered every inch of their body, and held a crossbow in their right hand.
The person retrieved a pair of handcuffs from somewhere in their costume and attached them to the prone man, who swiped several times at the figure, but seemed unable to make any sort of contact. His hands cuffed, the hero stood up and gave him a strong kick in the head, which seemed to knock him unconscious immediately. They pulled their arrow out of the wound, prompting a little spurt of blood as he began to lose blood, and wiped it clean on his shirt before storing it in a quicker. Only then did they turn to face Taylor.
"Oh my God, who are you?" I'm so sorry this isn't my fault who are you I swear it's not my fault . . .
The person immediately turned away and ran, reaching the end of the hallway before turning to gas and going right through the wall.
Taylor couldn't react to that, and elected not to try. Hands shaking, she turned toward the stairs - the principal would still be in school, and she would have a phone to call you the police. It was only then that she noticed her sunglasses on the ground, still ripped in two pieces.
And suddenly everything made sense. She remembered her state of mind when the hero turned around, she had been thinking rather aggressively at the hero and she hadn't had her sunglasses on and she couldn't control her power and it made a lot of sense that they would run away from a mind controller if they noticed it happening.
Taylor thought she recognized the cape that had saved her, she had seen them somewhere on the news. They were a Ward? On of the newer ones?
Oh God, she had used her power on a Ward, and they had noticed oh God this day could not have gone more wrong.
Taylor retrieved her regular glasses from her backpack and put them on, her vision coming into focus. She would just keep her head down on the bus ride home. No eye contact, none at all. Definitely no conversation. She walked slowly down the stairs, her entire body shaking, trying her best not to collapse right there.
That night, Sophia Hess made several texts. For the first time in years, she felt guilty.
A/N: So in this story, Taylor's real power is convenient plot events! I hope you'll excuse these plot contrivances - it's bad writing, but it gets us to better places overall.
In other news, it turns out I can't write a one-girl sex scene. I tried to sit down and knock it out several times, but it just wasn't happening, so I just skipped it completely, which means no porn this chapter. Hopefully that won't happen again for a while. Luckily, I haven't lost the ability to write bullshit teenage philosophy.
I'm not completely sold on this chapter, so constructive criticism is very much appreciated.