Lucy sat in the hospital room and listened to the whirring and beeping of the machines that kept Max's heart beating, kept blood circulating. She walked to his bedside and sat on the edge of the bed.
It was odd to see him so still, so peaceful. Max had always been so full of life, so joyous. He never complained, never worried. Life was always good for him, even when he did something stupid. Lucy parted his hair to the side and stared intently at his face. Even though he had been in a coma for years, he didn't seem to age all that much. He still had that youthful innocence in his rosy cheeks. Although he was four years her elder, Lucy felt infinitely older than him. She felt tired, haggard, lonely.
"Oh Max, what should I do?" Lucy asked.
Max couldn't answer. Lucy knew that, but there was a bit of reassurance just by sitting next to him. And she had hoped some solution would come from the blue just by being here. She missed Max more than anything, and she would do everything in her power to make him wake up from his coma.
Even though they were four years apart, Max had been Lucy's best friend. They rarely ever fought, and when they did, they would be laughing about it ten minutes later. Max would support Lucy regardless of what she wanted to do. When she accidently broke his Captain America action figure, Max was barely even mad. Lucy even gave him one of her Ken dolls to make up for the destruction of Max's favorite superhero. They were inseparable.
So when Lucy lost her best friend, she was absolutely destitute. If it hadn't been for Roxie, Lucy wasn't entirely sure where she would be now.
Lucy remained by his side for a while longer. And as she sat, she began to think.
It was obvious her body was trying to tell her something about Will. Whenever she was near him, she could feel her entire body on edge. She could feel his emotion just by being in the same room as him. She could only imagine what she would feel if she actually touched him with purpose. Her body was urging her to find out what it was that drew her to him.
But Lucy's mind, her logical side told her to avoid him at all costs. She didn't know who he was, or what he was capable of. More importantly, Lucy wasn't foolish to think she was the only person on the planet with a special ability. What if William was like her? Or had some power she wasn't aware of?
When Will had kissed her hand, leaned close to her, it felt wrong. But when he was talking to her, protecting her, there was a bit of honesty. It was all so confusing to Lucy. How could a man be honest one moment, and betray his feelings the next?
It was a conscious battle of fight or flight. But Lucy had run from her problems her entire life. Buried them behind her in art, in hospices, in the dark crevices of her mind. But Lucy didn't want to run anymore.
If there was something about William she needed to know, she was going to find it out. She wouldn't let him trip her up like he did last time. No, this time around, Lucy was in control. She would get to the bottom of this, even if it killed her.
Loki stood in the middle of the studio, scepter at his side.
If Lucy wouldn't come to him on her own, he would make her. He would leave her no option but himself to confide in, to lean on.
Loki picked up the first canvas and put his foot through it. He smirked at how easy it would be to break that heart of hers. She would run right into his arms, begging for reassurance. And he would give it to her; he would swear to find the miserable loser who defiled her studio. Then he would pick out some deranged criminal and make him suffer.
He continued to destroy several works of art, his pride swelling with each tear of fabric. He kicked a few holes in the empty apartment and even tipped over the lamp. His smile grew with each destructive action. He stepped back to take a look at his handiwork, when he found he had forgotten the largest canvas in the room, sheathed behind a piece of cloth. It had been the very canvas he had watched her paint for many hours while he had been watching her. Those long tedious hours drove him to practical insanity, and it would leave him overjoyed to ruin such hard work and dedication.
With one pull, he ripped the sheath off the painting. At first, he didn't quite understand.
But then he saw the painting was of him. And not him as William…
But as himself, Loki the Asgardian.
Loki's heart iced over. How could she know? That was impossible…
It must be some sort of coincidence. Yes, a simple coincidence is all it was.
Or perhaps his little bird was smarter than he originally planned. He hadn't accounted for this disaster. He had assumed he was working under a guise of mystery. But if Lucy knew his secret, she would never open up to him. His flawless plan would fall apart.
Loki lifted his scepter and set the painting on fire. The red flames melted and morphed the canvas in a bent mess of dripping paint. He felt the heat of the flames lick at his face, but still, he felt unsatisfied.
He left the apartment more enraged than he had entered.
Lucy stared at the pile of Will's cleaned clothes. She folded them neatly and covered them in a clear plastic bag. She knew she would have to return them soon, and that was actually working to her benefit. She would pay him an unexpected visit, hand him the clothes, and then invite him over for dinner. It would be a simple invitation, and she wouldn't take no for an answer. She was in control of this now, not Will.
Lucy grabbed the bag and slipped on a pair of heels with mary jane straps. She smoothed out the baby blue dress she was wearing and slipped on her trench. It couldn't hurt to add a little sex appeal to her persuasion. She added a bit of mascara to her lashes and left her apartment.
She walked with confidence down the icy street, careful not to slip. She felt light on her feet, and walked with a sense of poise she didn't know she had. She could do this – she could handle Will. All she needed to do was weasel out what he was being so elusive about.
And not fall for him. She would not let her heart betray her. No matter how handsome, how clever, how gentlemanly he was, Lucy would absolutely, positively not fall in love.
Lucy was tired of playing the victim, tired of having no control. This time, she would be the one playing the games. She would be the one left standing on her feet. This power would not get the best of her, not now and not ever again.
Lucy turned the corner to see police cars and fire trucks littered all over the streets. Police and firemen milled around the building across the street from Will's apartment building.
Her studio.
Every thought about Will, every ounce of confidence sunk to the bottom of her stomach. Lucy's heart plummeted along with it, and suddenly, she didn't feel so sure of herself.
Lucy ran to the building and slipped under the police tape urgently. Had there been a fire? Was anyone hurt?
"M'am, please-"
"That's my studio!" Lucy exclaimed. "All my work is in there," Lucy exclaimed. The policeman nodded and escorted her into the building. Lucy clutched the plastic bag and prayed that everything was okay.
She entered the apartment to find that everything had been destroyed. The walls were marked with slanderous phrases. Each and every canvas was ripped to shreds. Her chair was tipped, the light bulbs smashed. She felt a wave of nausea take over her.
In the center of the room sat a mess of ashes. Someone had set the picture of Will on fire.
Hours and hours of work reduced to a pile of black soot. Every stroke she had ever made was dismantled, destroyed, and dishonored. Every ounce of compassion was ripped to shreds. She felt violated, desecrated…Her heart snapped into a million little pieces.
"Luckily it was only a small fire. It's a good thing your neighbor across the street called it in, or else this entire place would'a burned to the ground," a fireman told her. "Real shame to see such art destroyed. Me and my wife, we're big fans of ya."
But Lucy could barely hear him. Her entire life was diminished to ripped canvas and a pile of ashes. What kind of cold hearted bastard could do such a terrible thing? Lucy didn't deserve this. Tears pricked her eyes as she realized there was no possible way she could produce enough art for the expo in a month. There was no way she could make money.
And there was no way she could pay for Max's medical bills.
"Lucy!" she heard a voice call. She turned to find Will in her apartment.
She couldn't do this. She couldn't put on a smile and invite him over for dinner. She couldn't seduce him into telling the truth. She couldn't figure out why her body told her one thing, and her mind told her another. She wanted to crumble into a ball and cry until she had not a single tear left.
"Lucy, we will find whoever did this terrible thing, I swear it. There is no way I will let that scum get away with this," Will promised her.
Will pulled Lucy close. Lucy wasn't sure what to do, and she froze in his embrace. She felt her entire body ice over in numbness, her heart ached in her chest.
"Why don't you come for dinner tonight?" Will proposed. Lucy broke away and pushed his chest.
And that's when she felt the wretched feeling. She was overwhelmed with hate, with jealousy, with pain. She could feel herself become consumed with anger, even though Will had done nothing wrong. Her entire body was ablaze, just like her painting. Her head began to spin with confusion, with blind anger.
"No! Just leave me alone!" Lucy screamed. She threw his clothes at him and ran from the apartment, tears brimming in her eyes. Her emotions were all over the place, and she began to see spots clouding her vision. She ran down the apartment stairs and all five blocks back home. Her legs felt weak, and were just about to give from underneath her as she unlocked her door. She collapsed onto her living floor and began to cry.
Her sobs filled the entire room. Her vision went completely black, and all she could hear was ringing in her ears. When she had touched Will, her entire body went haywire. She had absorbed something from Will. Some awful, dreadful feeling that she had yet to experience. She was left crumbled on the floor for a while in her trance.
Lucy remained on the floor until her eyes ached from crying. She stood up and wiped her face with a cold cloth. She shut and locked her apartment door and took her phone off the ringer.
She went into her closet and pulled out a canvas. She would not stop painting until she had enough for the expo. She would paint every second, and she would sell every single one. If not for herself, she would do it for Max. She had to.
Lucy spread old newspapers on the floor, and took a handful of paint. She threw it on the canvas with all the force she could muster. With each splat of paint, she gasped, she yelled. She dragged her hands over the canvas until not a single inch was left blank. Her chest heaved with each scream she emitted.
Damn, it felt good.
Lucy stepped back and looked at her handiwork. She was never one for abstract, but she did enjoy what she had created. She glanced at the clock and realized she had been making a mess for two hours. She wiped a bit of sweat from her brow and sunk to the floor.
What was it about Will that drove her crazy? He was hurting, she knew that from what she had absorbed from him, but should she help him? His emotion was so intense that Lucy could barely handle a graze. What would happen if she tried to absorb all of his hurt?
Lucy shivered at the thought. But there was something he was keeping from her, she knew that.
But just moments before, she was so sure she would dominate his heart, she would take control. She would dismantle Will, find out his secrets…
So the real question was what path would she take to get what she wanted?
The doorbell to her apartment buzzed. Lucy stood and wiped some of the paint off her hands. Without bothering to check the peephole, Lucy swung open the door.
And there stood Will with his hands folded. He looked up at Lucy with his two sad eyes.
Lucy had to answer that question, and fast.
So, what should Lucy do? Help poor Loki, or destroy him? Let me know what you think!