Bordering on a dangerous obsession. Chapter 34

Author's note: I think I abused the italics and underline a bit much here. :'o

If it's too distracting, let me know in a review and I'll trim a few off.

I woke up and nothing hurt.

Considering how all my Sunday mornings thus far usually started up, that was one hell of a big improvement. Huge.

Getting out of bed I took stock of myself. I didn't feel itchy, nothing ached, hell, I didn't even feel the urge to stretch.

I did feel a bit... fuzzy, I guess the word would be. But I wasn't feeling zonked like that time I knocked back an entire bottle of cough syrup thinking it would get me over the cold that much faster. I was just... off a bit?

The morning shower also felt weird. I could feel the heat to some extent, but not the water hitting me, but I did feel slick because of the water. A bit of shampoo got in my eye and it didn't even sting. It was just strange.

After I was finished toweling off, I wiped the mirror of steam and took a good look at myself.

I was blotchy from all the needle holes and whatever chemicals were in the injections.

With the exception of the one that he said was going to the thyroid, twelve of the shots were below the waist this week.

I had:

- A triangle pointing down of three puffy welts under the belly button, welts because of the slightly bigger needles. Man those stung going in. And coming out. And while they were there.
- Six in the Legpits (I honestly don't know what to call them. Arms have armpits where they connect to the torso, well, where the legs connected to my hips. And no, the back of the knees are not legpits, if they were then the elbows would be the armpits!), two of which were getting him pretty close to the 'stab you with your pen territory', especially considering where he had to place his hands to angle those needles.
- And the last three, hoo boy, Thinking about England. Butt Cheek. Butt Cheek. And an inch above the asshole. Wait... that was the British Naval tradition right? Rum and sodomy and prayer? British people thought about England didn't they? (Maybe I shouldn't be writing these metaphors down while under the influences of the superpill)

As a matter of fact, aside of a bit of redness, my butt didn't look too bad at all. Now that it wasn't entirely bone and muscle, it actually looked... cute.

I have a cute little ass now!

I gave it a little slap. Then a harder one when I didn't feel it. Then a really hard one that was loud. I didn't feel a damn thing. It also didn't jiggle like most of the girl's asses in the videos did when spanked. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Still, I definitely needed to test this no pain thing.

Oo0oO

Things of note: If I ever need to get my ears pierced, or my nose, or tongue, or anything, take one of these pills first.

Also: Remember to disinfect the safety pin before[u] sticking it through my hand.

And: Have band-aids on hand, or at least something better than socks to wipe up the blood.

Oo0oO

I took the second superpill just before lunch. The fuzziness was something I was getting used to, and I was fairly certain I could be ready for patrol and not put Dave at risk. I'd have to keep things simple and not leap about too much, otherwise I might mess up a landing and be walking on a busted ankle without knowing it.

Speaking of which, I think I understood Dave a lot better now. He still felt something, not nothing like I was right now, but being able to get hurt and keep going, it's a powerful sensation. Nothing they did could stop you, or so you felt. It explained a lot of his confidence and a lot about his bad habits.

I resolved to only take two pills, not three. I'd tough out tonight without them.

Oo0oO

Since I had some time before the patrol with Dave I spent it taking a walk in the nice May weather, and thought seriously on the other big thing that needed to be done soon.

Mindy.

Not the me Mindy, but the Mindy that had to be different from me.

Way back, when Max was first explaining his steps to me, one big one was to separate Hit Girl and Mindy, like Dave was different as Kick-Ass. That'd make it easier for him to accept Hit Girl as something he could touch and not a little girl like Mindy was.

But, I was just me wasn't I? Me in jeans, me in a skirt, me in my Hit Girl costume. No difference at all.

But was I? Was I really?

When nothing obvious came to mind, I forced myself to think about things I really really want to recall, like when Daddy died.

Fuck it still hurt so much. Even now I had to fight back tears.

It hurt, but with the fuzziness of the pills I had a slightly detached perspective.

I recalled how I felt, what I did, what I said.

Hit Girl kept going, even after Daddy died.
Mindy cried in Dave's arms.

I nodded to myself. There was a difference. Mindy and Hit Girl were two separate roles, separate people. Just barely. It's just that I'd been being Hit Girl for so long, it was like a comfortable pair of jeans.

It was default.

It would also explain the problems I was having fitting in at school. I wasn't me in school, I was me, in Hit Girl, in regular clothes at school.

It was a fucking revelation, really.

This train of thought called for a detour.

Oo0oO

I was in the safehouse, kitted out to the nines as Hit Girl. My wig and mask were on, the armor, the skirt, and I had a handgun and a blade in my gloved hands.

I felt normal. Looking in the large mirror, I turned this way and that, studying my reflection. I curled my lip and shifted stances to put the weapons on display. I glared. I snarled. I smiled.

I still felt normal.

Oo0oO

I was back in my civvies. I paced back and forth in front of the mirror, trying everything I could think of to be different, to not be me.

Nothing worked. Just me.

Oo0oO

I was naked now, not even any hair bands.

The me in the mirror stared back. It was still me, just with little tits.

I walked up close and cupped a boob. The Brown jar had flaked off with a bit of rubbing and a small towel.

Nothing. Still me.

I grabbed both and started rubbing my nipples. Maybe if they were perked up?

Sensitive as my chest was, it still took a few minutes. I hadn't had these for even a month yet.

Still no change. I was me.

I was growling now in frustration. Marching over to the cot, I grabbed a pillow and tossed it on the floor.

Down on my knees I went. I grabbed a boob, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, I rubbed my cunt.

Nothing but me playing with myself.

I switched to sitting on the pillow and I spread my legs, cunt on display. Then I leaned back a bit, spread myself with my fingers and looked at myself through my legs.

Me in the Missionary changed nothing.

I was on my knees again, ass to the mirror, ready for doggie style.

Then I tried another pose, and then another.

But no matter what I wore or didn't wear, no matter what I tried, Hit Girl just didn't come off.

Eventually I gave up and got dressed in my costume. Then I called Dave to let him know to meet me at the safehouse a little early. No sense walking home just to turn around again and head back.

Oo0oO

It was a quiet patrol, Sunday's typically were. With most people at home preparing for work the next day most of the scum weren't out to prey on them. Which meant nothing for me to focus on except my troubles.

"Can I ask you something?"

When I broke the silence and spoke, he jumped like I tazed him in the ass.

"Y-yes!?" Fuck it was hard not to dope slap him for acting like that. He had to come to me!

"How did you become Kick-Ass?"

Maybe if I learned how he turned his on, I could figure out how to turn mine off.