Prologue
As the sun set over Gotham City, the streets began to fill with shadows and the familiar sense of dread. The towering skyscrapers loomed over the city like sentinels, their windows reflecting the flickering lights of police sirens.
Jonathan and Martha walked through the dark, gritty streets with a heavy heart. The decision to give up the farm that had been in their family for generations was not one they made willingly. Fate had dealt them a cruel hand. The once sprawling green fields that brought them joy had fallen victim to the relentless expansion of Lexcorp's corporate empire. They hadn't been living in the City of Shadows for long, but they had already heard rumors of dangerous gangs plaguing the neighborhood. Jonathan tightened his grip around the takeout food and quickened his pace.
Suddenly a loud boom shook the ground beneath their feet. They jumped, eyes widening in shock. There was a smoking crater in the vacant lot bordering the street. They stared at the scene for a moment, too stunned to move.
"Must have been a gas leak!" Jonathan blurted out, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger.
He grabbed Martha's hand and tugged her away from the crash. Suddenly, the piercing cries of a baby reached their ears, freezing him mid-step.
"Hold on!" Martha called back to Jonathan, rushing towards the explosion site.
"Martha, wait!" Jonathan protested, going after his wife. "This could be dangerous!"
But Martha's instincts had taken over, with nobody around to help, her intuition was telling her she had to step in and rescue this child. She gasped in shock when she spotted a tiny bundle lying in the middle of a twisted piece of metal, at the centre of the smoking crater. The metal carcass seemed to have been ripped open by the impact.
"How in the world is he alive?" Jonathan wondered aloud, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.
The couple looked at each other, their mind racing, trying to make sense of what they had just witnessed.
The sound of sirens grew louder and a sense of urgency washed over Jonathan.
"We've got to get out of here," he urged, "Now." They had to move quickly if they wanted to avoid the chaos that was sure to follow.
Without hesitation, Martha used her jacket to scoop up the miraculously unharmed infant, avoiding the hot metal, and turned to run. She pressed on, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and adrenaline. This was the miracle they had prayed for for so long.
Chapter 1
I opened my eyes to the blinding light coming in through the window. Another thrilling day in this madhouse, with him. I groaned inwardly. I wanted nothing more than to stay in bed, but I knew I couldn't avoid Jake forever. With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly dragged myself out of the warm embrace of slumber and shuffled down the hallway.
And there he was, in all his glorious mediocrity, peeling an apple wearing his signature scowl. I could practically feel his gaze boring into the back of my skull as I made my way to the kitchen table. Jake was watching my every move, waiting for the slightest misstep to pounce. The acrid smell wafting from his mug made my nose twitch. It definitely wasn't coffee.
The air thickened with tension as I took my seat. The scrape of the blade against the fruit echoed in my ears, making my teeth grind. I tightened my grip on my fork as I braced myself for the inevitable verbal onslaught. Deep breath, I thought, reminding myself to relax my hand muscles. I couldn't give Jake the excuse he was waiting for.
"What's that look for, boy?" Jake barked, his voice dripping with the sweetness of a thousand lemons. "And careful with that fork, you hear me? You break, you pay." He warned, pointing his cutting knife at me. So much for trying to stay out of trouble.
I clenched my jaw, channeling all my inner strength to maintain a facade of indifference. I couldn't give him the satisfaction. This morning routine had become as predictable as the rising sun, except with a lot less warmth and a whole lot more misery.
"Jake..." Mom leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.
He snorted, casting her a disdainful look. "Oh sorry, you're the one paying for the damage now?" he scoffed, irony dripping from his words like venomous honey. "I thought not."
Jake's words sliced through me, rekindling the flames of guilt. I was the reason she was unable to work. The chronic pain my mother endured was a constant reminder of the damage I had caused and it never left my mind. Guilt quickly gave way to a seething anger towards Jake for using my mother's condition as a weapon.
"Please" she implored again, her fingers trembling as they reached out tentatively to touch Jake.
Jake suddenly slammed his fists on the table, causing the cutlery to rattle. Mom winced, but quickly composed herself.
My own fists clenched and I hid them under the tablecloth, trying not to touch anything while I regained some kind of hold on my body.
Meeting Jake's gaze head-on, I could feel the smoldering fire of fury in my eyes. "Leave her alone," I warned, my voice low but firm.
He sneered back at me, his hand inching menacingly toward his pocket. "Oh, what's your big plan, boy?" he taunted, a sickening grin spreading across his face.
I felt my blood boil, threatening to breach the surface of my composure. But I stayed rooted in my seat. "Just cut it out," I managed to grit out.
I took a deep breath and focused on relaxing my muscles. It was getting harder and harder to keep my cool around Jake, but I had to try.
I had snapped before, and it hadn't ended well.
The memory was vivid in my head.
I could still hear the bone-chilling sound of Jake's fist connecting with my mother's jaw. The pain etched on her face. The crimson droplets of blood splattering on her lips. "I'll fucking wreck you, woman!" he had roared.
It had been like a dam bursting inside me. Before Jake could so much as blink, I had him pinned against the wall, my grip locked around his throat like an iron vise.
"Say that again," I dared, heat building behind my eyes. He had thrashed and writhed, desperate to break free from my grasp, but I held on tight. "You seriously think you can mess with my mother? Do you have a fucking death wish?" I seethed, the words escaping through clenched teeth. His eyes bulged with fear as he futilely attempted to pry my fingers apart.
Jake always got a sick kick out of my inability to keep my powers in check, using it as a twisted way to mess with my head and put me down. He never missed an opportunity to remind me of my status as an aberration, a living anomaly. He would be thrilled to know how much self-control it took not to snap his pathetic neck.
"Let… go," he rasped. Adrenaline surged, an electric current of power that crackled beneath my skin. It had been a high, raw and intoxicating. For once, I had held the cards, and it felt damn good.
I was no stranger to restraint. It had become my second nature, like breathing. Holding back, guarding myself with every step, every gesture. I'd seen it happen countless times, the aftermath of a seemingly innocent touch turning into chaos. Did normal people ever realize the luxury of unthinking contact, of not having to weigh every interaction on a scale of potential destruction?
But as quickly as the rush of satisfaction hit me, a pang of unease tugged at my gut. The monster I feared to become was lurking dangerously close, its fangs poised to sink into my soul.
"You'll never lay a hand on her again," I warned. He made a choking sound, and I loosened my grip, just enough to let him catch his breath.
The memory of my mother's pleas rang in my ears. "Please stop, you're killing him!" she had implored, clawing at my fist. But I could not bring myself to uncurl my fingers.
"Don't make me do it," Mom had said, her voice filled with a mix of warning and desperation, as she slowly reached inside the cabinet.
I reluctantly dropped my stepdad, who fell to the floor clutching his neck, and gasping for air.
"Give me the damn box, Martha!" he croaked with a look of pure rage in his eyes, "This is over, I'm gonna finish him!" he wheezed, struggling to speak between coughs.
Mom collapsed to her knees, her sobs echoing through the room. Jake pushed her aside, scrambling to retrieve the metal box. Seized with panic, I stumbled backward until I found myself pressed up against the wall. The container snapped open and a searing pain ripped through my chest. Jake grabbed the green rock inside and before I could react, his fist connected with my temple.
The force of the blow sent me sprawling to the ground, my head ringing with agony. The room spun around me as I fought to regain my senses. As I laid there, I could hear Jake's shouts, but the words were muffled and distant. I tried to push myself up, but my arms refused to cooperate. It was as if my body had turned to lead, trapping me in place. Another blow landed, this time striking my stomach. Gasping for air, my lungs burned with each painful breath. The pain was overwhelming, and I struggled to stay conscious. All I could do was lay there, helpless, while my stepdad continued to rain blows down upon me.
The morning after that fateful day, bruises faded, evidence erased, but the memory of the pain, however, lingered on.
I could easily overpower the man, but the cost of fighting back was too high to pay. Since that incident, Jake carried that metal box on him at all times. The moment I showed any signs of hostility or defiance, he would draw it out of his pocket like a gunslinger. The stone had become his constant companion. A symbol of his power over me. A reminder that no matter how strong I might be, he could always bring me to my knees.
As long as I remained trapped under his roof, the risk outweighed the reward.
"And you be useful and pour me some juice, child, I'm thirsty!" Jake commanded as he sat back down gesturing to his empty glass, his outburst seemingly forgotten.
I snapped back to reality, my heart racing. I tried to ground myself. I had learned my lesson that day. I had to take it. Let the words roll off my back.
I reached for the glass, my hand shaking slightly as I carefully wrapped my fingers around the stem. Jake's command was a deliberate setup, designed to see me fail at the simplest of tasks. It would give him the perfect excuse to unleash his drunken fury on his favorite punching bag.
I had always thought of my monstrous force as a punishment. For as long as I could remember, my lack of control over it and the repeated accidents had always made my stepdad's abuse worse.
The one that left my mother in a perpetual state of agony would haunt me for the rest of my days. Her broken ribs had never healed properly and the pain never truly subsided. A permanent scar caused by a forceful embrace.
It was a testament to the danger I posed to those around me. The mangled door handles in the house also served as a stark reminder of the destructive nature of this curse. In a world made of cardboard, I was a hurricane, leaving a trail of wreckage in my wake.
Glasses were the bane of my existence, why did they have to make them so damn fragile?
I poured the man his juice, the liquid cascading into the glass with an almost mocking cheerfulness.
I had thought of leaving, repeatedly. But I couldn't abandon my mother and leave her alone with Jake. It was a matter of survival. I had seen firsthand the kind of damage Jake could do, and I couldn't bear the thought of my mother suffering through it without me there to protect her.
I loved her deeply, but it was hard to comprehend what she was doing with this alcoholic monster, it was beyond me. I had witnessed the way he treated her, yet she always endured it, hiding the true extent of her turmoil. Her silence a thinly veiled attempt to protect the secret that bound us to Jake.
My mind wandered back to that day after Jake had hit her for the first time. I had been carefully dabbing at the cut on her lip, trying my best to be as gentle as possible. Not an easy feat in my worked-up state. I had always been the buffer between Jake and my mother, but he had crossed a line that I never thought he would.
"Why do you stay with him, Mom?"
She had run her fingers over my fading black eye, and I could see the pain on her face. "It wasn't always like this, Clark," she confessed with a hint of sorrow. "After your father... after I lost him, I was a single mother, barely making ends meet."
I had listened as she spoke, a mixture of guilt and anger rising in my chest at the mention of my father.
"When I first met him, he was charming and kind. He helped me through a difficult time, made me feel like I wasn't alone." She fell quiet for a moment, lost in her memories. "But then he started drinking," she said, her voice trembling. "The alcohol... it changed him, made him more aggressive," she hesitated, "especially when I tried to get between him and his bottles." I could sense that there was more to the story, that she was holding something back.
"I don't get it," I had muttered, trying to suppress my anger. "Why couldn't you leave him?"
Her touch lingered on my arm, her eyes searching mine for understanding. "He knows about you, Clark," my mother had said. "He threatened to tell the world if I ever dared to walk away."
"And now, get your sorry ass ready!" Jake's grating voice tore through the air, jerking me out of my daydream, "Don't you have school? If you are late one more time, I swear to God!" the threat hung in the air.
I didn't need to be asked twice.
Without wasting a precious second, I bolted toward the bathroom, seeking refuge within its familiar walls. The mirror stood before me, a silent observer of my inner turmoil. I locked eyes with my reflection, absorbing every disheveled strand of hair and the tempest raging within my cerulean gaze. It was like staring into the abyss, except the abyss had better hair today. As my fingertips made contact with the icy surface of the porcelain sink, a grounding sensation spread through my body.
"Please stay in control, please stay in control, please stay in control" I repeated the words like a desperate mantra, hoping they would carve themselves into my brain.
Being a scholarship student from the roughest part of town and attending Gotham Academy was challenging enough on its own. But with each passing day, my powers grew stronger, threatening to burst through the fragile facade I wore for the world. The mere thought of anyone finding out the freakish truth about me turned my stomach into knots.
Crrr - the sink let out a faint cry for mercy.
With a jolt of panic, I quickly released my grip, sparing the sink from becoming another casualty of my relentless dance with destruction. Another close call avoided by a hair's breadth.
Damn it all to hell. How could I ever hope to fit into a world that trembled under my touch? Jake's rage was already a ticking time bomb, and the last thing I needed was to provide him with more ammunition.
Stepping away from the sink, I took a moment to collect myself, to gather the shreds of courage required to face the day. Exiting the bathroom, I heaved a sigh and slung my backpack over one shoulder.
I could do this. I had to. Because in a world where chaos danced at my fingertips, finding a way to belong was a challenge I couldn't afford to lose.
The sun peeked over the horizon, casting its gentle glow on the sleepy streets as I made my way to college. The early morning hush wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. But just when I thought I had the streets all to myself, a sneaky sensation slithered up my spine, prickling the hairs at the back of my neck.
It was as if a pair of invisible eyes were fixed on me, observing me with intense scrutiny. I strained my senses, attempting to pinpoint the source of unease, but there was nothing. No shady figures, no ominous whispers, nada. I kept glancing over my shoulder, but nothing stood out. The sensation persisted, like an itch that refused to go away. I quickened my pace, hoping to outrun the feeling, but it clung to me like a shadow.
Reaching the immaculately manicured grounds of the campus, I struggled to block out the hushed whispers and side-glances of my peers. Their disdainful gazes lingered on my second-hand clothes and my worn-out backpack. At least I took comfort in the fact my baggy clothes helped me blend in and dodge unwanted attention in other areas. Everyone knew I couldn't afford a gym membership.
Amidst the judgmental sea, my radar honed in on Helena, strutting towards me, and my heart did a little somersault. But I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something off about her family, something I couldn't quite put my finger on.
Maybe it was the subtle glares her butler threw at me when he picked her up, or how her brother always seemed to be lurking in the background, keeping tabs on our interactions. There was an undercurrent of tension that I couldn't ignore. Whatever it was, I couldn't help but wonder if there was more to their disapproving glances than met the eye.
It wouldn't be a stretch to assume they saw me as a liability to their daughter's reputation, or worse, a potential threat. I did live in the Narrows.
Helena fell into step with me as we made our way towards class. But then my eyes caught the fresh gash on her face.
"What happened to your face?" I blurted out, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.
Helena shrugged nonchalantly. "Oh, just a little scuffle with a bunch of Neanderthals at the bar last night," she replied, absentmindedly rubbing her cheek where a bruise was forming. "They were getting handsy and wouldn't take no for an answer. Tried to walk away, but they wouldn't let it go. But hey, no biggie. I handled it," she said, flashing a defiant grin.
A surge of anger coursed through me, imagining those creeps laying their dirty hands on her. My hands involuntarily formed fists, the urge to give those men a taste of their own medicine burning through my veins. "They had no right to touch you, much less attack you like that," I spat through gritted teeth. "It's unacceptable."
Helena must have seen the fire in my eyes, because she reached out and placed a calming hand on my arm. "I appreciate your concern, really, I do. But trust me, I can take care of myself," she reassured me softly.
I took a deep breath, trying to quell the fury that still raged inside me. "I know that, but that doesn't make it okay," I replied, my voice firm. "Promise me that you'll call if those jerks dare to show up again."
Helena's eyes flickered with something that I couldn't quite decipher. "Thanks" she said, her voice low and husky. "That means a lot to me."