A/N: i Hola, amigos ! Tigress aqui. Como esta usted? Lo siento for not posting sooner…as usual (and this chapter isn't even particularly long, I'm afraid). I'm pretty bad at updating, really, but I feel if I rush too much and don't think enough, the chapters turn out to be crap. Anyways, as per tradition, I write, you read, and YOU REVIEW (USTED REPASA). POR FAVOR. 00
Gracias.
t.I.G.r.E.S.S.
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My wings hurt.
I opened my eyes, blinking in the sudden harsh light, to see an expanse of white in every direction. I found myself lying on my stomach on a little metal bed, my head carefully placed on a scratchy pillow. Propping myself up on my forearms, I inhaled deeply and almost gagged on the bitter antiseptic scent that rasped against my throat. Taking a closer look at my surroundings, I found an IV drip inserted in my right arm and my wings carefully bandaged and taken care of. The sight of them nearly broke my heart; they were crinkled, singed, and raw, a far cry from the beautiful limbs of flight they'd been only hours earlier. There was a dull ache in my upper back and wings rather than the searing pain that had been the last thing I'd felt, which I credited to medicine and painkillers.
I knew immediately where I was. There's only one hospital for my kind: St. Crosswind's. The location of this particular facility is even more secret than that of the Justice Council's meeting places, because in its doors lie dozens of injured, wounded, and otherwise vulnerable supers. As far as hospitals go, it's one of the nicest you'll ever find, being funded by nations worldwide, with state-of-the-art technology that hasn't been released anywhere yet, comforts unavailable to the public such as hologrid computers in every room, and staff that responds to any situation in the blink of an eye (speed-inclined supers are especially targeted in recruitments).
But, you know, a hospital is a hospital. And this specific one gave me bad memories.
Almost as if she was psychic (and I'm not ruling it out, mind you), a worker with a clipboard in her hands popped in the door and smiled at me.
"Ah, glad to see you're awake, Miss Ramirez," she said kindly. She had brown hair the color of a sparrow's down, alert gray eyes, and a nametag on her light blue-lavender scrubs that read "Carolyn, Kinetics Dep't". Carolyn got right to her duty and took a walkie talkie from her pocket. "Please inform Powers that her student is awake and ready for visitors." Satisfied with her work, the nurse sat down on the empty bed next to mine and started checking the IV. "Are you feeling better?"
I fixed what my mom calls my "hawk's stare" on her and nodded silently. I still felt a little disoriented. The last thing I'd seen before passing out had been Warren Peace's startled-but-fiercesome eyes burning into mine.
"You're lucky they were able to get you here quickly, Kestrel," she said, concern crinkling her eyebrows. "You suffered some serious burns, some third degree, on your wings. It will probably take a good couple of weeks for you to heal, according to your biometrics chart, but if you had been brought in fifteen minutes later you might have lost use of your right wing."
I shuddered mentally at the thought. I could've been crippled. And what use is a one-winged bird? I suppose it's a little like having only the left shear of a pair of scissors; without the other half the blades can't do what they're made to do. Without the other half, in fact, they're actually more dangerous.
"When can I go home?" I asked abruptly, looking at Carolyn. She gave me the same kind smile and motioned at the drip inserted in my arm.
"We'd like to keep you on the IV for another day," she explained. "Your system went through major shock, you've been out of it for almost four hours now, which is actually extremely well, considering all the factors. At any rate, after the IV, it's suggested that you stay here for a few days for more observation and treatment."
I sighed, rubbing my temples. I was used to sleeping on my stomach, oftentimes at night I sleep with my wings out, but at the moment I had the overwhelming desire to fold them in, as if I wanted to punish them for all the pain they'd caused me.
No, not them. It was Warren Peace.
"Is it all right if I retract my wings?" I inquired, staring at my hands as if they held the key to the mystery of life. I had a feeling I already knew the answer.
Carolyn frowned. "You are able to that?" She checked her clipboard and seemed to find something she hadn't known. "Oh, right, this side note does say that. Your principal gave us your powers record," she added. Carolyn looked back at me and shook her head. "Well, it's not advised. Your injuries will heal at a much faster rate if you keep them out."
Principal Powers came in just then, not allowing me the proper grieving time at this wonderful news. "Ah, Kestrel, it's good to see you awake."
"Um, hi," I managed.
The principal turned to the nurse. "Thank you for all your help."
Taking this as a sort of dismissal, Nurse Carolyn nodded and stood. "If you need anything, push the button by your bedside." I inclined my head, still in a sort of state of shock, and looked up at my principal as we became the only two people in the room.
"Your accident is very regrettable," the formidable woman said, taking Carolyn's seat on the adjacent bed and ignoring the chair by my bedside for some reason. "Rest assured that the perpetrators are being dealt with, though from what I understand you're not entirely innocent yourself. You fought with Warren Peace, am I right?"
Erm…sort of, I thought, but instead I nodded, though it was rather obvious from my condition.
"Glad we're clear on that. For punishments, Mr. Peace has detention every Wednesday and Friday for two months, Mr. Cortes has six weeks, and Miss Samuels three. Rest up, Kestrel. When you come back, because your part was, from what I hear, very minor, you'll serve only two weeks."
"Yes, ma'am," my mouth said. My mind was blank. This was all happening rather fast, and hard for me to process. When Warren fried my wings, he must've fried my brain, too. Principals Powers must've realized it, because her reprimanding, detention-handing-out voice Power Principal voice softened.
"You received the worst injuries, I'm afraid," she said gently. "And that is, as I said, very regrettable. I'm sorry, and we'll be rooting that you'll recover soon. Your mother said she would be here after work, she's being shuttled here as we speak, I believe. She sounded very worried on the phone."
Powers sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "It's getting to be a large problem with Mr. Peace, isn't it?" she said, almost rhetorically. "This is his third fight that he's been involved during his entire high school career, but it's not his only offense. The faculty and I have been discussing expelling him from the school."
"No!" I blurted, and then instantly alarm filled my mind. What the-? What is WRONG with me?! This is the guy that charbroiled your wings, and you're defending him?!
Principal Powers appeared to be wondering the same thing, but thought better of inquiring after it.
"Um, well, yes," she said, standing and smoothing the creases from her pinstripe pantsuit. "When your mother arrives, please ask her to come talk to me, all right?"
I nodded again, wanting my mother there with me more than anything else at that moment. Mama's girl. Haha.
"Very good, I'll be here for another hour or so." With a click and clack of her heels, the principal went out the door.
I lay there for awhile longer, just thinking and trying to ignore the twinges in my back and wings. Just listening to the sound of my own breathing and the tirade of my thoughts. My fists clenched and unclenched unconsciously. Why? Why had this happened? When people played the heroes they were supposed to win the day, weren't they? Had Warren done this on purpose?
Accidents happen, my rationale reminded me. He didn't mean to do it, and you know it.
I guess, my whiny, pathetic three-year-old mind retorted, But he still hasn't won any points in my book, the idiotic, careless typical male--
"Kes?"
I sat up abruptly to see my mother in the doorway, a reassuring yet concerned smile on her face.
"Hi, Mom," I said tiredly, not sure what was going through her mind at the moment. She came around to my bedside and sat down on a chair by my bed, resting her purse on her lap. In a very motherly fashion, she leaned over and put her hand on my forehead.
"I came as soon as I could get off work," she explained. "How are you feeling?"
"Better than I should be," I admitted, not daring to look again at the pitiful state of my posterior limbs. "They do a good job here, don't they?"
Her lips, which were missing a good deal of lipstick (oftentimes she forgets to put a second coat on later in the day, not that she really needs it), pressed together, and I knew she was thinking about the last time we'd been in here, as I had been. At last, Mom just smiled sadly. "Yeah, honey, they do the best they can."
"Yeah."
We sat there together for a few minutes, lost in our own little whirlpools of reverie, until I remembered Principal Power's advice.
"Oh, um, my principal wanted you to go see her," I said. Mom nodded and bent down to kiss my forehead.
"I'll be right back, sweetie, then we'll talk, all right?" she said, standing.
"Okay," I agreed, smiling wryly. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." I raised my wrist to show her my IV, and Mom laughed weakly.
"No, I suppose not," she said, and then I was alone again in my room.
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"Hahaha, well, I'm afraid that's out of the question. You see, I'm married and-"
Click.
"-so Bittersweet is one supervillainess who won't be hurting anyone again, all thanks to-"
Click.
"And just a SPRINKLE of vanilla, and you have yourself a magnificent, delicious cake ready for any-"
Click.
"-Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was raw like me? Don'tcha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me? Don'tcha…don'tcha baby…"
Click!
I changed the channel again rather quickly. Psh, MTV. Like I really wanted to watch a bunch of ho's gyrating around like they didn't care who was ogling their butts. Gross.
Anyways, as I said before, St. Crosswind's is really one of the nicest hospitals around. 987 channels of blissful cable, plus sixteen that weren't available to normals, or un-super people. A real treat for someone whose TV only picks things up when you feel like wrestling with the obstinate antenna that won't get any channels for anything less than fifteen minutes of dancing around the living room, no matter how many times you threaten it.
"Zack! I can't believe you flushed my hard-earned allowance down the toilet!"
"Neither can I! I could've bought another rubber chicken with that!" (a/n: my lame excuse for a made-up Suite Life episode, haha)
"Yay, Disney Channel!" I cheered happily, and I settled down to watch The Suite Life of Zack and Cody. I would probably never admit to anyone at school that I simply adore something as childish as The Suite Life, but I'd be willing to bet that neither would a bunch of other people. One of those guilty pleasures, I imagine.
Mom and Principal Powers had left hours ago. They'd settled issues such as legal ramifications, what was going to go on my permanent record, and other wonderfully boring things that I don't have to deal with as a minor. Mom had offered to stay at the hospital with me (there's a wing of the hospital devoted entirely to worried relatives of the hospital charges who don't feel like being shuttled to and fro to a top secret facility whose location changes every four hours), but I declined. For one thing, I didn't want to make Mom's already-tight schedule more complicated, and for another, while I wouldn't have minded her company, I felt like being alone for awhile.
My stomach complained loudly, but I silently told it to be quiet, stealing a glance at my IV. Thanks to the drip, I couldn't have any solid food until a few hours after it was removed. It didn't endear the IV to me any. I had an overwhelming craving for a nice cheeseburger with the works and a chocolate shake. I guess my little brush with death…okay, not really death, but you know what I mean…made me appreciate things like junk food a little more and things like calories and scales a little less. Live life, after all. Viva vida!
All in all, my few hours at the hospital had been…well, very boring. There wasn't much to do but watch TV and use the hologrid to go on the Internet. Principal Powers had promised to have my schoolwork sent over ASAP, but thus far nothing had arrived. Maybe the teachers had decided to give the injured girl a break.
Lowering the volume on Maddy's obnoxious voice, I brought the holo interface back up on the hologrid. They teach basic usage of these things at Sky High, because that's all supers use on missions and stuff. Soon enough they'll replace computers and stuff in the normals' world, too.
I touched the Internet's icon and brought up the Myspace homepage. There really wasn't that much to do for me on Myspace, as I have a grand total of six friends that I don't even talk to very often, so I didn't go on regularly. However, at the moment I was bored enough to check it anyways. Signing on to I saw that my page had actually gotten a bunch of hits. Huh. I supposed that everyone was now interested to see who the idiotic suicidal girl who'd tackled Warren Peace was. What I didn't realize was that it was beyond that. Wayyy beyond that.
"New Comments!"
"New Messages!"
"New Friend Requests!"
"Interesting," I muttered at last, overwhelmed by the 54 new comments on my profile, 47 messages, and 31 new friend requests. People I'd never even talked to before were wanting to know if I was okay, if I was at St. Crosswind's, if I wanted to be their Myspace friends.
My Ultrasensitive Suspicion Alarm 3000 Deluxe went off in my head. Usually people only associate with someone like me if there's something to be gained. What's with you people?
I could almost feel the raptor bird in me shift uneasily. Birdie no likie spotlight.
"Aw, crap," I said aloud. "Any way you look at it, this cannot be good."
I didn't feel like dealing with all the requests at the moment, especially I realized that "hArTbREaKER67" was Gina Hartman, one of my least favorite people. She was sort of a blonder, preppier, and ten times more annoying version of Gwen Grayson, and since Gwen had left the school Gina was the new social butterfly. What was a butterfly doing chasing a hawk?
"Bad things, bad things," I muttered, and I dumped the Myspace page for I became aware that I'd been literally nodding off for the fourth time, I figured it was time for bed. I said goodbye to Stacey and Clinton (What Not to Wear rocks all socks, believe me) and turned off the TV to snuggled down into my antisepticky-smelling sheets.
All of a sudden, I could feel a wave of homesickness surge through me. I wanted my familiar down comforter and my angel teddy bear, Rachel, and, yes, even my mom. The day's events were finally beginning to take its effects on my heart, and somehow, I couldn't stop the little tears from welling up in my eyes and flowing down my cheeks like little rivers of liquid emotion.
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Tigress:…'kay. Even if you didn't like it…make a writer happy and review:hands out cookies to reviewers: Mmm…chocolate chip…0.o
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Special thanks to the few and faithful and all-around awesome: Tinuel, EMBER91, Rayvin18, Tigger101, Bitsy Glitter, st.elmo-lover, and the rest. You guys rock. The next chapter will have a dedication.