Helga G Pataki: Hillwood's New Superhero

by KlutzyMaiden123

As if my life hadn't already been difficult. I already had to watch the love of my life, Arnold, make goo-goo eyes at little Miss Perfect, Lila Sawyer, while completely ignoring me. Now, I have to juggle school, keeping my feelings for him secret and battling evil dressed in a skimpy bathing suit, all the while keeping my lifestyle as a superhero from my nosey classmates.

22. A Royal Pain

Hello everyone! This chapter ended up taking longer then expected, given the change of pace this chapter, however, it is mostly because I've picked up a new job and have been working five days a week! I normally come back home and try to spend my nights writing before clocking out, I'm just so tired nowadays! But alas, we have finally arrived here, reading the next chapter!

Oh, and before I leave, in the time it's taken me to write this chapter up, we've recieved two more fanarts! They're both by Tiffany1567, who consistently is turning up with beautiful artworks, so please give them some love (both the fanarts are on my tumblr under the fanart tag)!

Anyway, let's continue on to the show!

---

Quickly, I turned and ran.

They were chasing me. I could hear them—their breath, hot puffs that echoed in my ears. Dread dropped cold into my stomach, threatening to bring me to my knees. Hot air burned my throat. I clamped my mouth shut, trying to ignore the dryness, and took another turn.

There was a roar; it split off from behind me, and I clambered up the stairs. A screech followed, nails clacked against the tiles, and a weight thundered from behind. I forced myself to keep going. Moonlight was crawling, it spiralled around me, tainting the air like spoiled milk. Sweat beaded my skin and the air thinned, pressing to my arms like glass, but everything was so hot. Someone called my name—Blue Jay, not Helga. I didn't recognise the voice, it belonged to someone I didn't know. Or maybe I did know, and I simply could not picture them. But I didn't turn around.

I reached the top of the stairs and my heart pummelledagainst my throat, and I swivelled to a stop. A Mutant paced forward, limbs hunched, and everything dissolved into shades of grey. The air sharpened, bleeding into ash, and folded against my face. My skull was buzzing when the Mutant attacked.

I moved without thinking; ducking beneath its fist, I swivelled on my heel. The world was spinning, my heart pounding, and I could see the other Mutants. Still hurtling up the steps, leathery skin pulling back to reveal glimmering fangs. I gulped, the pulsing formed a lump in my throat, and looked back just as the first Mutant attacked again. I ducked to the side then lunged, wrapping my fingers around its wrist, and swung down, throwing it off its balance. I bashed my elbow to its nose then, tightening my abdomen, pressed my weight into my heels as I swung around again. The Mutant swung and crashed into the other Mutants, and their two shadowed bodies clamoured back down the stairs.

Fatigue flooded my system, soaking me like a sponge, and I fell forward. Palms wrapped around my knees and I sucked in large breaths. Painful waves trapped me like cotton, beckoning me to the ground. Heat climbed and soaked my collar. The hammering didn't stop, it pounded away in my ankles and my thoughts became a hum.

I went to move when I heard a slow clapping.

My heart stopped. I looked up.

And there she was, at the bottom of the stairs. Moonlight pooled around her, a halo that shadowed her. She was ethereal, like she always was, and stood with a sleek posture that reminded me of glass. Her hair hung light and loose, moving as though blown by the wind although there was no breeze to be felt. She was smiling, but there was no warmth behind her gaze. I couldn't see her stare, hidden beneath her hood, but I could feel her bright eyes pinned tight to me.

The Mutants were nowhere to be found, like they had never existed. Her shadow stretched, crawling until it hit the wall. Her red lips had an amused twist to them. I felt my stomach turn, rolling until it threatened to come out of my throat. I ground my teeth together and felt my fingers curl into fists.

The corners of her lips lifted higher.

There was a screech across the floor and I roared, pushing myself into another run. The wind swept my hair back and warmth flooded my vambraces. It singed my skin, racing down to my knees. She merely tilted her head, unafraid.

I growled and swung.

---

Rhonda did not look happy.

Which wasn't surprising. She wasn't the first thing that popped to mind whenever you pictured the word "happy" (rather, she was more likely to be there when thinking words such as "spoiled" or "princess"). But even for her, she looked particularly vexed that afternoon.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Sure didn't sound happy either.

She had one hand against the door, holding it open, but her shoulders were stretched. She was trying to take as much room as she could, I realised. Trying to keep me out.

I rolled my eyes at her efforts.

Sunlight shot from behind me and rolled onto her face. Her eyes slightly squinted, trying to distinguish me from the flare, and as she did, I took a moment to examine her. She was wearing lipstick, a smoky shade of red, and her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. Her clothes were the plainest I'd seen them; she was dressed in a pair of black jeans and a spaghetti strap shirt that matched her lipstick.

Her nails also matched her lipstick, I noticed. She drummed her fingers against the door, nails clacking against the wood, and she tilted her chin. Her lips pushed to the side, right eyebrow raising as she scrutinised me, and wrinkles developed from her frown.

Sourly, I noted that she actually looked rather good, like she hadn't come out of a brutal fight last night. Granted, it's not like she'd really participated in it—not enough to get lasting injuries, at least—but still. I'd had to grab the last of Olga's concealer that she'd left behind, which at this point was far past its expiration date.

I really needed to pick up some more makeup, I remembered. Hadn't realised I'd been putting it off until this morning.

Rhonda made a noise, getting my attention back, and I turned back to her. But I had to crank my neck back to meet her squinted gaze and inwardly, I scowled. Stupid height difference.

"Nice," I said. "Do you greet all your guests like that?"

I barged past her, butting my shoulder into hers, and squeezed through the door to slide into her house. Rhonda huffed and released a short, "Hey!" but gave up with a roll of her eyes and scooted out of the way.

I smirked then pulled my hood down and looked around. I blinked with surprise. It wasn't what I was expecting. Nadine made it sound very high and mighty, the type of house that had servants running around and large chandeliers hanging over rosy ballrooms. Don't get me wrong, it was still nice and very rich but almost . . . normal looking.

The floors were wooden, a rich mahogany, and beside me was a side table with a wide bowl full of keys. But the room opened up into the living room and the floors softened into carpet, looking like fresh mounds of cotton. There was a rigid looking couch, curved into an L shape, and a small coffee table that sat very low to the ground. A large flat screen hung above a wide and dark looking cabinet that was full of weird doohickies that resembled black moulds (although I'm sure to rich people, these sculptures hold some value).

Everything appeared sharp and modern looking. The walls were naked of any photographs or anything colourful. The rare item that hung from them were wide, abstract–looking paintings. The light that filled this room was very warm, almost sultry looking; it lit everything up in soft Scandinavian colours that felt harsh on the eyes.

But the air was still and heavy. It made my stomach sink. I realised it was the silence, it rang and drilled holes into my ears. Everything just felt so absent, like we had entered a weird pocket in space where the outside noise ceased to exist. It felt so thick and sharp, I could feel something anxious welling up in my chest. Awkwardly, I shuffled my weight and stuffed my hands into my pockets, glancing around a few times. Where was everybody?

"I treat people, who choose to show up at my door uninvited like that," Rhonda snapped and when I looked back, she had her arms tight across her chest. She had shut the door behind her, standing with her feet shoulder length apart, and scrunched her face like she smelled something bad. "Aren't you injured? The hell are you here for, Pataki?"

I rolled my eyes, words already gathering to aim and shoot, and turned on my heels so I was facing her.

"Could say the same thing about you, Lloyd," I scoffed. "Why are you all here and not trai—"

"Shh!" Rhonda shot forward and clapped a hand over my mouth. I blinked, making muffled noises and squirming to make her let me go, but she pressed her other hand to the back of my neck. I was surprised by how strong her grip was (cause yes, being a Guardian boosted one's strength, but we were both Guardians and I'd been one for a lot longer than her, so we shouldn't be this imbalanced). Rhonda didn't seem to be aware of my discomfort and scanned around like we were standing in the middle of school and not a vacant house. She then sighed and let go. "Okay, you know what? Why don't you tell them that instead of my household?"

Wasn't much of a household to tell, I thought while rubbing the back of my head with a glare, but regardless, I nodded my agreement. Rhonda looked at me for a moment, eyes running up and down my face, and pressed her hands to her hips. I didn't know what it was that she was looking for but from the way her mouth curved, I knew she wasn't pleased. She then rolled her eyes, toes making a squeaking noise against the boards, and walked past me.

I pulled a face but followed her, shuffling down the hallway. Our feet made soft stamping noises against the wooden floors as honeyed lights melted over us. Our shadows moved across the ground and air folded across my face. It was soft, I realised, and plump. It reminded me of butter, slippery and sweltering. It was like the further we moved into the house, the hotter it became. I could feel the warm air misting my skin, sewing itself around my neck like a scarf, as heat pressed to my forehead.

I shuffled, pushing my sleeves up to my elbows and unbuttoning the top three buttons, and looked around. Everything was so clean and open, and yet in the same sense, it felt closed in. The furniture was expensive, all in the same shade. of beige, and immediately, I felt uncomfortable. I clenched my fists to my sides, feeling my stomach curl in on itself. I felt that just from looking the wrong way, I would leave behind dirty handprints—I made sure not to accidentally bump anything.

My heart was pumping, I realised. I could feel it cold against my ribs. And my stomach had wedged itself between my lungs. It felt strange being in this house, where the only thing decorating the walls were paintings of geometric shapes or tall buildings. It felt too perfect, like moving too quickly would make something shatter. It was all sharp edges, no room for mellowness or comfort. Plus, the silence—I looked around again, noting that there were some middle–aged people carrying cleaning equipment. They gave small smiles to Rhonda, who nodded at them, but dropped their gazes when they saw me.

It felt so dead in here.

I shoved my hands back into my pockets, for the sake of busying myself, and tied my fingers around themselves. They felt cold and wet. I swallowed, feeling that familiar pulsing kicking up a fuss in my sides, and looked straight ahead, holding my breath.

Rhonda ended up taking us to a squared off room, where there was a large, dark coloured table, fringed with similarly coloured chairs. A fancy looking chandelier hung above it and there was a squared glass door at the end of the room. It was wide, sunlight tumbled in through the glass, and past it, I could see curling bits of grass.

Rhonda took us there and slid the door open. Sunlight burned the air, blotching my vision with white that moved and merged, and I held a hand to my face. The light felt like needles, prickling the backs of my eyes, and for a moment, I stilled. I could hear grass crunching beneath Rhonda's feet and some gasped tones, and squinting my eyes, I stepped forward.

Unsurprisingly, the backyard was large. It was a wide and open space with a chunky carpet of grass that was skirted with a luscious looking garden, slumped in wet soil. Some flowers I recognised—orchids, gladioli's and snapdragons—but most I didn't. They twisted up from the bushes as black trees spread out into branches that grazed one another. The wind pushed them, making the branches bounce, and sunlight drizzled down to soak everything to the vein.

I raised an eyebrow, growing used to the brightness, and admired the space. It was so different from inside, where it felt hot and closed in; out here, everything was open. I wouldn't be surprised if Rhonda—or her parents—threw parties out here, it seemed like it was made for it.

There were square stepping stones that lead from the door the middle of the backyard, where they then split into two different paths. One led to a wide–looking pool (which did not surprise me; this family was definitely the pool type) and the other to a glass table.

"Helga?!"

That's where I spotted Lila and Nel. They were sitting at the glass table where—I squinted—I could see two tall glasses of pink lemonade. One in front of Lila and the other for an empty chair which had been pushed out (I assume Rhonda's chair).

"I thought I told you to stay in bed," Nel scowled, her voice already rising into that clipped tone as she sat up from her spot on the table.

Lila had already stood from her seat, having kicked out her chair to do so. She was staring at me, eyes wide and blinking, as her mouth hung low. Not very ladylike of her, I wanted to say, but honestly, I wasn't in the mood to joke around, much less with either of them.

She was dressed rather simply today; a yellow T–shirt and a pair of jeans. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that swung between her shoulder blades. I suppose I should be surprised by how plain she had chosen to look today, but I doubted that she was planning on going out after this.

I rolled my eyes.

"You also said you hadn't seen Serec before," I snapped and shoved my hands into my pockets. I marched to the seat across from Nel, who scowled at me, and made a face. The grass disappeared from beneath my feet, and my shoes made slapping sounds against the concrete. I sunk into my seat, but paused when I noticed that Nel wasn't the only one glaring at me. "Oh, calm down, I just came here because I wanted to know why you weren't training her."

Lila had let me know in a text; I'd woken up alone (Nel didn't dare spend the night) and when I asked what the agenda was for them today, she'd explained that they hadn't even arrived at the training spot. This had been at eleven, which was like two hours ago, so seeing that they were still here, yeah, that didn't exactly leave me in a chipper mood.

"Because meathead, I want to know more about what I'm getting myself into," Rhonda said, appearing at the table and grabbing a spare glass from the—oh my god, are you kidding me—silver platter. I paused, actually blinking at that, cause holy shit, I thought that was just a cliché, I didn't realise that rich people actually used those things.

Rhonda ignored my expression, pouring the last of the lemonade from the jug into the glass, and then slapped it down in front of me. The lemonade sloshed over the sides and splashed around the glass. I scrunched my face at the hurtling droplets.

"Throwing yourself into all of this would be stupid," Rhonda continued, crossing her arms and sitting down.

"Worked for me," I pointed out.

"Yes, and you're also the only one here with broken ribs."

"Cracked," I corrected her and wrapped my fingers around the glass. "They are cracked. And it's only the bottom two, drama queen."

Rhonda's jaw dropped and I took a small sip of the drink. I hadn't had pink lemonade in a hot minute so it had a bit of a kick. Fizzling sensations spread across my tongue to the back of my throat but still, it was delicious. Not to mention, it was pretty warm today. So, I downed it in a few seconds but when I put the empty glass down, Rhonda was trading looks with the other two. Her expression was carved with disbelief, like she had just witnessed someone turning a penny into a rabbit, while Lila and Nel merely sighed and nodded, conveying something I couldn't distinguish.

I frowned. "What?"

"You have to be the biggest idiot I've ever met," Rhonda slumped back in her chair. Her brows pushed together and she pressed her lips into a line, tilting her head like she was a detective tasked with a difficult case.

"May I remind you that I'm only injured because of your stupid ass?"

"Again, I did not tell you to—"

"Time out ladies!" Lila stood up with her hands held in a T motion. She was glancing between us, eyes sharpening into knives, and we both snapped our mouths shut. Lila was doing it again—the angry mum stare. The one that could send grown–ass men running for the hills. I could never tell if she was aware that she was using it, but man, was it intimidating.

She finally slapped her hands onto her hips and settled her attention on me. Discreetly, I inched backwards in my seat.

"We were about to go to the training facility as soon as Rhonda finishes her questions," she said, voice hard. She meant business. "It's within her right, Helga."

That made me roll my eyes. Right, two hours and they were only answering questions. That pretty much confirmed my suspicions—they were gossiping. Or something. Talking about things that weren't Guardian related and wasting precious time—even Nel.

I settled my chin into my palms and cast my gaze elsewhere. Geeze, no wonder they needed me as the leader, I was the only one who could stay focused here.

Still, they likely weren't going to let me stay if I interfered. I'd have to keep myself busy or at least pretend to look busy so I could stay. I then noticed a book—dark with white letters—that was flipped on its side, a couple of inches from me. It likely wasn't my style but still.

I pushed my lips to the side then reached for it, turning to a random page and shoving my nose between the words.

"Fine, whatever."

There was a tense pause as—I peeked over the top of the pages—everyone glanced at each other, raising their eyebrows, then let out a shared breath.

"Okay, now that we have that out of the way," Nel turned to Rhonda and internally, I scowled. I did not appreciate being referred to as a that. "Rhonda, what was it you wanted to ask?"

"Right, well, what I was going to say before I was rudely interrupted," I could feel her pointedly looking my way and flipped her off as I pretended to read. "—was . . . these Mutants, you say they come in, wassit, categories?"

"Correct," Nel nodded. "Three of them—Mutants, Wraiths and Leeches. Each more dangerous than the last."

"Right," Rhonda pressed her lips together and nodded. "And last night was a . . ."

"Mutant," Lila answered and shifted in her chair.

"Fucking hell," Rhonda leaned back, sounding exhausted. "That was just a Mutant?"

"Yes," Nel's voice dipped. "Although it was tougher than usual."

Again, I peeked over the book.

Rhonda was rubbing the bridge of her nose and a pause that thickened the air fell over them. It felt like everyone had stopped moving—save for Rhonda—in fear of how she might react, and instead waited for her to say something.

She then pointed at Lila and opened her eyes. "And you haven't encountered the other two?"

"Technically," Lila shrugged. "I've seen a Wraith but I didn't fight it. I wasn't yet a Guardian so Helga was the one to take care of it."

My stomach clenched and I glanced up before I could stop myself. I didn't move my face but watched Lila. Golden swirls swarmed across her face, twisting and collecting beneath her freckles, and her hair rippled around her shoulders. Her eyes were alert and hooked onto Rhonda, but her throat was bobbing. Looking closer, I could see traces of strain, the nervous twist to her mouth, the slight hitch in her shoulders, the delayed blinking—she was nervous, cautious. Fearful of Rhonda's reaction; she knew that how she chose to say something could determine whether we gained another member.

She softened her words, hoping not to scare her away, but that didn't take away from their power. My head was swelling as her words flowed like a dark river that wrapped around me. They stretched until they had me covered, resembling liquid that swallowed me.

I blinked and found myself staring back to that day. When the sky had been thick, drenched in night and soaked with clouds. They shifted and burst into shadowed colours; the air burned, crackling against my skin like white lace. Glass littered the ground around me, spreading out like wings that blinked against the dirt, and swept up in red pools.

Blood had hardened into clay, plunging to wrap around the back of my neck, and cracking beneath my nails. There was a burning in my chest, it felt like I was being pinched so violently that my skin was being ripped away. A weight replaced it, sinking deeper and deeper until my insides had folded themselves into a knot. I struggled to swallow. I'd purposely avoided thinking about this, any and all reminders I had swept away; rolled into little pieces then thrown into the ocean. I didn't want to think about this—any of it. Not because of what had happened in the library but—

"And you all have your precious hero to thank."

I was looking into a pair of eyes—his eyes. They'd found mine. Two deep holes that gleamed at me, stirring emotions that rolled in my stomach. They wouldn't move. Why weren't they moving? Shouldn't they be moving? Why was he so focused on me? I wanted to move, but I couldn't. My body wouldn't obey me. It was like I was trapped underwater and his eyes were the anchors that kept me beneath the waves. My elbows wobbled, the weight of their stares pressing down on me.

This is why I couldn't think about this, about that day, because then I remembered what happened that night—all of it. It was great that my powers had come back, great even that Nel had realised Lila was a Guardian, but no matter what, all of that was overshadowed with—

"The pin, it—it chose me!"

I shut my eyes.

"It chose wrong."

His words were cold to my ears. They cut like knives, stuck to my brain and branded me. Seconds passed like days as I searched for something I could say to him, something I could say to myself. Did it choose wrong? What was there about me that even deserved to do this? Was there anything or was it completely random? I still didn't have my answers. Not even now. I still didn't have reasons.

They all just sat there—my questions. Heavy in my chest and dragging me down. Spots dented my vision. I moved my chin, but my sight twisted and by the time I glanced up, I was back in my seat.

Light soaked up the shadows and my muscles swam in the chair's cushions. I blinked, sounds rushing in. I came back, ears burning, to tapping. Fingers tapping, drumming. I looked to the right, seeing Rhonda drumming her fingers along the table. Her nails were making sharp clacking noises. Her eyes were far off for a moment, lips twisting to the side, before she flicked her attention back to Lila.

"How much tougher are Wraiths and Leeches?" she slowly asked, eyes darting between the redhead and the cat. "Compared to Mutants, that is."

Lila looked at Nel, but the cat kept her attention on Rhonda.

"It can depend on the Wraith," she answered. I could imagine her shrugging her shoulders. "The one Helga took down was thankfully relatively powerless. I've seen them come with far greater cloaking abilities and much better resilience. But regarding Leeches, well . . . I do not wish to scare you."

I glanced back down, back to the book in my hands. I stared at the words, not understanding what they said, as a chill thumped in my chest. The words, I realised, were blurred, like someone was shaking them.

I looked at my fingers and understood; they were shaking. Trembles raced down my arms, knocking back and forth in my elbows and shoulders, and words became tangled in my throat. If I tried to speak, I knew that it would come out awkward and cracked; I pressed my lips together. A sleekness spread beneath my fingertips, leaving marks along the book, and the back of my collar was damp.

I couldn't shake his glare from my head.

"Why not?" Rhonda shrugged and leaned on her right arm. I could see an inch of her movements from over the page. "If this is gonna become a regular thing, I'd rather find out now than when it's too late."

There was a short pause.

My eyes darted from the book.

It was a picturesque scene; the sunlight paling, turning thin and wispy, and twisting through the air to graze us. It stretched, rimming the pale roses with white, and pinned our shadows to the table, like cloth blown from the wind. The glass table reflected rainbows which fell along the pavement in little squares.

The girls were tense, not moving an inch as they looked at each other. Strands spilled across Rhonda's shoulder as she watched Nel, eyebrows raised and waiting. Nel's stare was pointed in her direction, but her eyes were calculated. I felt a part of me twisted, vexed that I had never seen it before. I always knew that Nel was cautious and liked to think everything through, but I hadn't realised how much until now. She wasn't just debating whether to let Rhonda in on the secret, but how much she should be editing the truth.

"Alright," she eventually said. I glanced down, feeling my stomach curdle. "Leeches are . . . they're not like Mutants or Wraiths, they're different. They don't go out searching for their victims, preying on any human that makes the unfortunate mistake of visiting the area they've inhabited, they're . . . they call their victims to them. Through whatever means, usually echoing phrases in the voices of their loved ones, people they would trust in a heartbeat, and lure them into their nests."

"Nests?" Rhonda repeated.

"Yes, nests," Nel nodded, looking grim. "It's where they keep themselves. Pockets in space that are theirs to bend to their will; they can control anything and everything inside it. That's why you do not want to fall victim to them; Leeches can shape reality however they desire, which they use to create the perfect nightmare for their victim. Whatever it is they fear, a Leech will create, because unlike Mutants or Wraiths, they drain their victim's anxieties and fears. And that's how they get you—they entangle you in your fears, your worst nightmares, making you believe that it is all real, and then drain you until you feel nothing. Until you're nothing but a body, a frail one, with a torn up mind."

Her words hung in the air.

And for a moment, no one responded. No one knew how to respond. I could feel the tension, weighing down on my shoulders, turning my chest into a block of ice.

I shuddered, forcing myself to swallow. I'd known about Leeches, had them explained to me countlessly, yet no matter how much Nel circled back to them, I could never grow used to the idea. They were terrifying; Mutant's were difficult enough but adding on telepathic torture on top of that? I couldn't think of anything worse. And I still didn't know all I could about them. That I was certain of; Nel could be holding back on something even more vital.

"Wow," Rhonda leaned back in her seat. Her eyebrows were raised and she blinked, brows dropping then raising again as she blearily shook her head. "Intense."

Tell me about it.

"Still wish to remain a Guardian?" Lila asked, eyebrows pressed together. She had a sympathetic look, lips pressed together as she tilted her face a fraction.

"Truthfully? No, but—" she wiped her forehead and looked at them. "What choice do I have?"

Some of the tightness decayed and they both let out relieved breaths. Rhonda then forced a smirk.

"Besides, what else can I do?" she asked and held her hands up in a shrug. She pressed her knees to the edge of the table as she leaned back. "If the world's about to end, it's not exactly like I can just turn my back on it. Where'd I go?"

She forced a laugh, but it awkwardly trailed off when no one joined her. She paused, for once picking up on the tension, and glanced between them. Nel and Lila shuffled, not saying anything, and the silence rang in my ears. It pressed into me, almost leaving bruises, and a coldness crept along my shoulders and blotted beneath my neck. The air in my chest sharpened, soft ribbons splintering into knives that threatened to tear me into two.

My joints had locked up but I forced myself to peek over my book. Their faces didn't surprise me, but they still felt like a punch to the gut. Lila had frozen, her fingers splayed across the table and her back rigidly straight. But her chin gave a jerk and her wide eyes connected with Nel, lips pressing together as her throat bobbed.

And briefly, Nel's eyes found mine.

I swallowed.

"What?" Rhonda looked between them and then at me.

She still didn't know. I lowered my eyes. Right. There hadn't been much room left for talking last night; we were all tired and injured, and though Rhonda was still so confused, she didn't have the energy to keep talking. I could see it in her shadowed eyes, the sleepiness that fogged her gaze and slumped in her shoulders. Rhonda was never one to slouch but by the time she had driven Lila's house, her spine resembled a giant question mark. We had all decided to go our homes instead and get some sleep before forcing ourselves to stay out any later.

Besides, Nel had reasoned, it'll give Rhonda more time to think, to let everything sink in.

Not that I'd gotten much sleep, I thought, inwardly rolling my eyes. My ribs felt like they were on fire, no matter how many hours passed, and my thoughts couldn't stop. Those frantic questions slithered in my head and passed the confines with harsh hissing sounds. I couldn't stop them; they boomed like thunder, drowning out my surroundings, and softening the edges.

My pulse rushed as I finally sat up and rubbed the back of my neck. Sweat wriggled between my nails. It was the first time in a while I'd slept alone and the silence had hit me hard. Now more than ever, that space beside me was empty. And I didn't know who I wanted it filled by.

I swallowed, trying to dislodge the knot in my throat.

"I–I'm sorry—"

A chair screeched across the floor and everyone's eyes were on me. My shadow swallowed them, pooling across the table, and I could feel rays digging into my scalp. There was a pounding in my wrists that made my fingers shake and I tried to clamp down on my panic. Lila and Nel watched me, their stares like needles.

I shoved the book in Rhonda's face.

"What the hell, princess?" I scowled, voice rolling into a pit. "Stephanie dies?"

"Wha—" Rhonda's gaze dropped to the book and then her mouth opened in outrage. She stood up, her chair making an ugly sound, and slammed her fists into her hips. "Thanks a lot, meatbrain, I haven't read that yet!"

I dumped the book on the table and crossed my arms. "Why would you leave it lying around if you haven't read it?"

"Because I was in the middle of reading it!" she cried, reaching for the book and flipping through the pages. "Then they arrived! Why would you pick it up when it's not even yours?"

"You told me to shut up!" I exclaimed. "What am I supposed to do, sit in silence?!"

"Yes!" she slammed the book down. "Or I dunno, not show up! Considering you're still injured."

"How like a drama queen! I am not injured and even if I was, it would be because of your—"

"Time out, time out!" Lila stuck herself between us, clamping her hands onto our shoulder and gently tried to separate us. "Would you two put away the claws for a couple of minutes?!"

"But she—"

"—well, I—"

"No, no more!" she pushed again, this time forcefully. It drove us back to our seats and she pinched her nose, sucking in a breath. "Geeze."

"Thank you, Lila," Nel nodded gratefully at her then sharply turned to me. "Now Helga, why are you here? Rhonda is right, you're still very injured."

That made Rhonda stick her tongue out.

I groaned and slumped back into my chair. "Why is it that big of a deal? I'm here because I'm part of the team, I have a right to be. Hell, I'm the first Guardian and the leader, I have more right being here."

Rhonda scoffed. "You are not the leader—I am."

Nel and Lila groaned, sensing where this was going.

"You ran away!"

"Again, you're going to keep bringing that up?" Rhonda leaned her cheek on her knuckles, gaze half–lidded. "You're like a broken record player, either shut up or change the tune."

"Oh, why don't you—" I stopped with a gasp as a bolt of pain shot through me. It lanced white hot up my side and I felt my chest dissolve from the inside. For a moment, I thought I'd been stabbed again, but realised as it ebbed away that it was merely an involuntary spasm. My surroundings wobbled, softening until they became a sweltering wave. I wrapped an arm around my ribs then let go because fuck, did that hurt. My throat burned from holding back tears and I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping it would go away.

Everyone froze but Lila, who crouched by my side, and wound her fingers around my wrists. She moved them out of her way and gently lifted my shirt to examine my ribs. I couldn't see them, my skull hitting the back of my chair, but from the look on Lila's face, they were definitely in bad shape.

She clucked her tongue.

"You're much too injured to be here, Helga," she said, voice low, and dropped my shirt. She rose back to her feet, knees clicking, and crossed her arms. Her expression flattened, mouth lowering into a scowl, and her eyes narrowed.

"Meathead," Rhonda muttered.

I opened my mouth. "I—"

"No, no—no more fighting you two!" Lila snapped, hair flipping as she jerked her gaze between us. "Now Helga, how exactly did you get here?"

I rolled my eyes and pressed a hand to my ribs. "I transformed and swung here."

They all just stared at me.

"What?!"

"Of course you did," Lila chuckled darkly. It made chills crawl down my neck. But she didn't look at me; she turned on her heels and collected her jacket from her chair. She rubbed her forehead as she did so, looking very much like a tired and overstressed mother.

Rhonda turned to Nel. "She's really been the one saving our asses?"

Nel nodded.

"How the fuck are we still alive?"

I scowled. "You—"

"No—stop it, the both of you, I'm sick of the bickering!" Lila snapped and spun around on the balls of her feet. She raised her eyebrows, clamping her fists onto her hips, and glanced at Rhonda. "I think we're about done with the questions then. Everyone pick up their things, it's time we left for training."

We didn't move at first. I felt like a deer caught in headlights, the pulsating in my wrists anchoring me down, and when I peeked at Rhonda, she was already staring at me—helplessly.

I shrugged, not sure how to get out of this, and when we glanced back to Lila, we both opened our mouths.

"And if I hear one more peep out of the both of you before we arrive at Helga's house," Lila said before we could say anything, "you're both going to have to deal with me and I can promise you that neither of you will appreciate that, do I make myself clear?"

We looked away.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Startled, we glanced back.

"Uhh, yes—"

Rhonda nodded. "Quite clear."

"Perfectly clear."

"Crystal clear."

Lila nodded, face still hard, and swung back around. "Good. Now, let's go—c'mon Nel, you can sit with me."

She marched off, jacket swinging from her fingers over her back, and her rust–coloured hair spraying across the fabric. Nel made a noise from her throat but followed after her, not sparing us another glance.

And soon, it was just the two of us. Sunlight shifted, feeling like ice pressing to my skin, and awkwardly, I shuffled.

Rhonda turned to me, cupping the side of her mouth. "Well, who pissed in her cheerios?"

---

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"I said yes!"

"And I said no!" I held the pin tight to my chest, eyebrows crunching over my forehead. "Are you kidding me, Lila? I'm not giving my pin to you, what if there's an attack?"

Lila's mood dissipated with a frown. She was twisted back around in her seat with her hand held out. But having seen that I wasn't going to give said pin up just because she asked politely, she let it fall to her side.

Creases folded the space between her brows and her lips curved to the side. Half her face was bathed in a pale light. The sunlight crashed against the buildings outside the windows, streaking their edges silver, and reached out to claw her face. I was sitting in her shadow, the only one to be shoved into the back, while everyone rode nice and happy in the front of the car.

I crossed my arms, some team.

"Then Rhonda and I will handle it. You're much too injured to even be thinking of handling such matters!"

"I am not in—OW!"

She lifted a brow. "See?"

"Piss off!"

"It isn't for very long, Helga," Nel glared from Lila's lap. The sunlight glimmered on her fur, making it look like she was wearing an obsidian cloak, and her eyes beamed. "Just the allocated time it will take to train Rhonda for the day."

"You're kidding right? Look at her!" I gestured at Rhonda. She wasn't even paying attention; she had her eyes glued on her reflection in her mirror as she applied lip gloss. "You're gonna be stuck there for ages!"

And Rhonda, without looking up, flipped me off.

I gave her an ugly look then turned back to Nel and Lila (mostly Lila).

"Why can't I come to training?" I asked them, feeling my voice fold as I tried one more time.

"You must be kidding," Lila made a face, turning her chin away.

"Well, I wanna see Rhonda getting her butt kicked."

"Fuck you too, Pataki."

Lila rolled her eyes at that.

"And what exactly do you wish will come out of this?" Nel finally asked and when I looked, her eyes had softened. Those amethyst layers had thawed, melting into a gloss that rushed through me like cold air.

Twisting my lips to the side, I pulled my gaze away. There she went again, playing mother hen. Twisting her expression so it looked like she understood. But she didn't, I knew that. Or maybe she did, maybe she knew exactly how I felt, and wanted to fix it so I would go back to being her dancing monkey. Jumping in without questioning anything.

I pressed my hands to my middle and a hot ache swelled in my sides. The pain kicked against my ribs, thickening the air on its way out, and clawed at my insides. It pinched up my spine, I could feel my eyes watering, and quickly, I clamped down on my tongue so I wouldn't scream.

But despite it all, my mind felt clearer.

The smoke between my eyes eased and when I looked, edges had sharpened. The weight in my throat lightened and the ache in my chest ebbed away from my notice. The stinging did me good, I decided. For now at least. It distracted me, put me back in the present. It was my anchor, fastening my disjointed bits back to the ground and barricading me from my thoughts. It hurt, it hurt so goddamn much, but I needed it to hurt.

Hurt was good.

I looked up and marvelled at how sharp everything seemed. Light scattered through the windows, splattering down my skin in tiny squares, and tangled up in Rhonda's hair. She had let loose her ponytail, so now the strands folded across her bare shoulders. Looking at her in the mirror, I realised that she had put too much gloss on, slathering multiple layers across her lips, but she hadn't noticed. Her eyes sometimes glanced in my direction, trying to appear inconspicuous (for once); it wasn't working, she'd run her pinkie finger over her mouth too many times.

But I could still feel their eyes on me, waiting for my response. The knot was still burning my throat; I dug my heels into the ground and straightened my posture, hoping they wouldn't notice that I'd slump from the hit of pain.

"I dunno, that I'll be of use somehow," I eventually said and looked at my hand. Blood pumped beneath my skin, like the pin was burning a hole through it. I tightened my hold until my fingers were cramping and the tips grew cold. "You take this pin away and I—"

"Stop right there," Lila interrupted and straightened in her seat. Nel glanced at her, ears twitching, but then turned back to me. "We're not going down this path again. You staying back to rest and heal is not akin to being useless."

I felt a kicking sensation from the back of my throat. One that wasn't coming from the knot. Pounding, hard enough for me to see stars; it was like a hole was being punched through my chest. Nausea cemented in my stomach. I scrunched my lips to the side and looked away, aware that I couldn't keep my expression clean.

I hated when she did this, stuck her neck out to make me feel better. Not for the same reasons as Nel, who I was sure was feeding me what I wanted to hear so I would fight better, but because she actually meant it. She meant it when she told me I wasn't the weight, or that I was being too hard on myself, and that hit me harder. It weighed me down with guilt because even though she believed what she said, and I believed her, I didn't believe what she was saying. Lila was the type to do anything she could to make someone feel better, even unconsciously distorting the facts, while I was the type to keep things grounded. She was an optimist, and I a realist. She thought this wasn't a big deal, but I knew it was. A lot could happen in a night, let alone a few of them. And she didn't know what could happen if I allowed myself to believe her when she said I should ease up on myself. Whenever I did that, someone always got hurt.

"Besides," Lila continued after a second. "We need to make sure you won't go anywhere."

"I won't."

"You came to my house, buzo," Rhonda said, actually looking away from the mirror to turn around in her chair.

"Context, Rhonda. Context."

She rolled her eyes.

"If you wish to remain useful then you would allow yourself to heal," Nel interjected. "Choosing to stay up only disrupts the healing process which makes it even longer for you to be back to your usual self again."

I huffed and crossed my arms. "And how long will it take to get back to my usual self?"

"Depends on how long you'll allow yourself to sit still."

I rose an eyebrow.

"Perhaps a few days," she amended with a sigh.

"A few—" I cut myself off when another painful flash flared up in my side. This one making the breath in my lungs wither. "Fuck—a few days? That's so long!"

"It'll be even longer the more you argue about it," Lila said then reached over to open my door. It swung open and a rush of air hit me, rolling down my arms and scattering across my face. It clawed from my hair to the back of my neck and a shiver raced down my spine. I clenched my teeth tight, hoping they wouldn't chatter.

Lila twisted back around, her face etched into a glare, and held out her hand. Coldness pressed to the back of my neck and scattered down my shoulders like tiny spiders. That ache burrowed back into my throat, burning with words, things I wanted to shout and scream so they wouldn't take it away from me. I could feel the walls tangling around me and thick air misting around my temples. But when I opened my mouth, instead of talking, I felt myself handing over the pin.

It was gone in a few seconds, and I found myself moving before I could think too deeply about it. Gravel crackled beneath my shoes and another breeze sliced through me, spinning around my ears. Shadows fell over us, buildings sheltering us from the light, and without Rhonda's heater, I realised how cold it had become. I tried not to let it bother me and shoved my hands deep into my pockets, bouncing my knees slightly.

I sucked in a breath. It was brittle, sharp in my throat like the air was full of shards.

"Oh," I heard Nel's voice and turned back around, "and I don't expect to see you attending school in the meantime."

"What?!" I almost fell over. "But I—"

"There wouldn't be a point in staying down today then springing back into action tomorrow," Lila explained and folded her arms. I could see the pin peeking between her fingers, stark against her white skin. It glinted almost teasingly at me. "Any process would be lost."

"But I'll be bored."

Rhonda groaned, turning back around in her seat, and smacked her hands around the wheel. "Can we leave already?" she said and threw her head back. "There's only so much of Pataki's whinging I can take."

My jaw dropped. "I do not—"

"Helga," and then Lila fixed me with her mum look and my mouth clamped shut. She held my gaze, eyes pressing into me like nails, and I held myself perfectly still. It stayed like that for a few seconds, me not allowing myself to move, as Lila raked her sharp gaze over my form. And then she tilted her face and reached to shut her door. But the window winded down so she said, "See you in a few days—no cheating."

"How would I—"

Rhonda stamped down on the accelerator before I could finish and the car shot off. The action sent tiny pieces of gravel flying and I had to jump out of the way, covering my face to avoid the assault.

And when I looked up again, the car had gone, racing down the street and taking a screeching right.

Scowling, I watched them disappear.

"Bitch."

---

It wasn't surprising that my day became slow.

It was kinda expected. I hadn't spent a day inside doing nothing but watching Netflix in what felt like months. It was just so normal. And easy. I was used to everything happening at once; my brain was always tied up and trying to find solutions in a matter of seconds. Or tripping over my tongue, stitching together shitty lies. Or powering on, despite the strain burning holes in my muscles. There was always something happening and now that I was forced to sit out, it all felt so empty. Quiet. Boring.

It didn't help that my body had become wracked over in pain. Again. It actually seemed to have gotten worse since I'd sat down. It was a constricting sort of pain, one that pinched up my sides and made it difficult to breathe, let alone move. I had to pick one spot and hope that it was comfortable enough to last me, cause so much of a twitch sent another painful surge up my sides. And it wasn't just my ribs; the scratch along my arm was pulsating.

I'd actually managed to have forgotten my wounded arm. It's not that it didn't hurt—it definitely had its moments—it's just that it had almost become garbled background noise when compared to my ribs. My arm didn't, at least, make it difficult to breathe. But still, it wasn't exactly a picnic in the park, and no matter how much I tried distracting myself, I couldn't focus.

My attention was split.

It was like I had my feet in two different pools—one, my current episode of Schitt's Creek, and another literally everything else. And no matter how hard I tried tugging, I couldn't put my all into one. It was like I was stuck in a fog that wrapped around me and made everything dizzy because no matter how hard I tried focusing on the screen, nothing registered.

So, I was stuck watching blurred shapes flash over my screen, unable to focus on them. I couldn't stop thinking about training, no matter how hard I tried pulling my mind away. I kept thinking about Rhonda and wondered how it was all going. I didn't know how it would turn out—the obvious prediction would be that she was terrible and right now, she was on the floor, bemoaning about how hard it was to be a Guardian (an image that wasn't a total bummer to think about). But then, on the other hand, I guess she had a fair shot at actually doing alright. I mean, she wasn't a rock 'em and sock 'em kinda gal—at all—but I wouldn't have even pegged her as a Guardian in the first place. And she had managed to fight pretty well last night. Who knew? Maybe she was secretly a total badass who was bound to shock us all.

I scrunched my face. Maybe.

It's not like Rhonda was stupid or anything—when it came to certain areas anyway. She was still thick headed, but she knew when to ask the right questions and scope out the coast before jumping blindly into things. I don't think she would take up the offer if some part of her didn't feel drawn to being a Guardian, much less believing she could fit into the role. Hell, thinking back on who I was before all of this, I never would have imagined I could be a superhero. Guardianship kinda had that effect on people; bringing out sides to themselves they never knew were there.

But still, this was Rhonda we were talking about—the rich girl. Mega rich. Spoiled brat valley girl. Someone who could whine for hours if she saw a speck of dirt lodged beneath her nails. Not exactly superhero material.

Man, I wish I was there. If anything, it at least would be a good laugh. I'd love to see her getting her ass handed to her.

Stiffly, I glanced down at the screen and realised that twenty minutes had gone by. I groaned and shut my eyes, slumping back in my pillows. I'd taken none of that in. So, rolling my eyes, I slapped the screen down and shoved the computer away. No point then, was there?

Pulling out my phone, I hit the Instagram icon. It wasn't an app I really used, it was mostly to scroll through when I was really, really bored. There weren't any pictures on my account—I didn't even have a profile picture—but I followed pretty much everyone in our grade. It gave me more content to watch so my feed would always be bustling.

I tapped through people's stories, trying to fill my mind with their smiling selfies and pictures of their meals rather than the battering pain, but came to a stop when one in particular caught my attention.

The screen showed two DVD cases laid out on a worn carpet. The DVD's looked new, like they'd been recently bought, and their text was clear: The Mummy (1999) and The Mummy (2017).

I blinked and read the teal caption above it.

Having a movie night with the family.

Which one?

I checked the username— arnoldtheshort.

My lips twitched, threatening to pull into an instinctual smile that always appeared whenever he was mentioned. But then I reread his caption and rolled my eyes, such an idiotic question. Clucking my tongue, I clicked on the poll and selected the correct option—because it was hardly even a question, clearly this one was the superior. I then switched off my phone, knowing there was nothing else to do, and twisted around to place it on my bedside table.

I then stretched back onto my sheets, realising how tired I was when my eyelids began to droop. A warm dose of relaxation sloshed through my body, something I hadn't felt in a while, I realised. The light was still pushing through, dipping between the gaps in my blinds in dusty white beams.

But I rolled over and shut my eyes.

And dreamed.

---

I awoke seconds later.

To white—everything was white. It plumed around me, hurling into my mouth and stuffing my lungs until they were ready to burst. It splashed hot across my arms and washed me in warmth that poured back out through my pores. It was like clouds had rushed in, crashing over me in bursts of white, and coated me so thick that I felt sick.

I could hear slaps. My boots rhythmically coming down against the ground. A jingle of metal. I was running. Soft air was bending, and coolness had pressed to the back of my neck. Where was I running? I looked up ahead. A shadowed building loomed over me, sharp with tall edges. Fog filtered around it, thick like cotton, which made it look like a stack of moulded clay. I didn't recognise it—it was too grand to be a skyscraper but not small enough for anything else—but for some reason, the sight of it made my heart crash against my ribs.

A shiver raced down my spine. There was a twinge of familiarity buzzing at the back of my brain, like I'd run into a familiar face on the street. One that belonged to someone I could recognise but couldn't put a name to. I knew that I knew this place and that I had to get there—urgently—but I didn't know why. It was like that part of my memory was blocked; a rock jammed into a wedge that blocked the water from pouring out into a stream.

But the bands around my wrists—my eyes darted down—they were tingling with warmth. They weren't my usual vambraces, I noticed with a small gasp. My regular ones were black but these, they were gold—a bright gold. They clamped around my forearms, burnishing so bright that they sliced through the fog. Sultry glimmers of light were cast and dazzled me, like they were being touched by dusty beams of sunlight.

But there was no sun, I thought with a frown. Where was this light coming from then?

And why were these vambraces so much thinner? My usual ones weren't bulky but they were sturdy. They protected my forearms and stored the wires that swung me around everywhere. But these ones, they couldn't have been thicker than my fingernails. It almost felt like nothing!

That's when I noticed my skin—a warm mahogany. And I realised that it wasn't me—Helga or Blue Jay.

I was someone else.

I heard another set of footsteps.

Someone was here.

Racing besides me. I could feel the heat of their bones and their fingers grazing against mine.

I twisted my face around, wanting to collect their features and maybe get some answers, but before I could—

---

My eyes snapped open and I came up with a gasp, hands flying around my throat. There was a racing pulse that kicked against my neck and radiated in my skull. It was like a baseball bat ramming itself into my skin, over and over and over again. I tried swallowing it, hoping to dislodge the lump that had grown there, but it felt like nails dragging down my walls.

The floors shivered.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes, realising how dizzy I was. Everything spun; lights tangled with the shadows as spots loomed white above me, and the air pressed hot to my face. I groaned, palming my temples and lowered my head.

My skin was prickling, I realised. The back of my collar was wet, and something was trickling down between my shoulders. Beads were rolling, small but hot. I could feel them crawling down my skin and sticking to my clothes. The hole was back, gaping wide and making my chest ache. Sniffling, I wiped the sweat from my brow then ran my nails through my hair, trying to let the air cool my skin.

Everything started to settle at this point. I blinked, coming back to the light soaking up the shadows, and pulled back until I was back in my head. Fluorescent lights hung in the air like a thick net, pouring out and melting into the carpet. My blankets were kicked down to my feet, like I wrestled with them in my sleep, but my laptop was nestled in the corner of my bed. I realised I should be shivering but my skin was still roasting. Like I'd just finished going for a jog or a particularly long battle. I cleared my throat, thumping my chest, and glanced around, casting my attention elsewhere.

I didn't realise how late it had gotten until I glanced at the window. The sky was darkening, I realised with a frown. The bright azure was melting into a shimmering navy that loomed thick and black around buildings. It was almost night–time. I rubbed my temple. I hadn't realised how tired I'd been.

I then became aware of a rattling.

I looked to my left and realised it was my phone, buzzing on my bedside table. The screen was lit up with two texts. I made a noise at the back of my throat then reached for it. The air collected around my wrists, almost shifting to hold me still. Ignoring it, I swiped right on the screen to Lila's texts.

6:47pm: Nel's staying at mine tonight.

6:50pm: Better not see you at school tomorrow. Will keep the pin even longer!

A growl crept up my throat and I typed back furiously.

6:50pm: Lila, are you serious? That's unfair.

Her response took another minute.

6:51pm: ;)

I threw my phone across the room, not blinking when I heard a thud! I didn't care if it left a mark or if I'd cracked my screen. A phantom scream haunted me, building up in my chest, wanting to unfurl from my neck. Instead, I shifted my position, propping my elbow onto my leg, and a held a hand to my mouth.

I was pissed.

Heat thumped into my chest which punched out into my skin and I struggled keeping my hands from hitting something. It was totally unfair for Lila to dangle the pin around like that, like it was the carrot and I the dumb little horse. It was more than that, more than what she made it sound. It wasn't a treat that I had to earn my rights for—because I already had—it was everything. It represented all that I had become, all that I could be, and kept me moving forward rather than glancing back.

It was my salvation. My emancipation. It was everything.

I could feel my lungs aching, like something had been scooped form them, and now they were beating hard and dead against my chest. Old instincts buzzed and my fingers twitched, wanting to wrap around my pin. It was what I did when things became overwhelming; I think it was a way of reminding myself that, hey, I'd gotten out of worse than this and my pin was proof of it. It reminded me that I could power on if I just tried. But now without it, I felt so vacant.

I swallowed and shakily moved the hair from my eyes. I leaned over to switch my lamp on and realised that I was still dressed in the clothes from this morning, including my shoes.

I groaned and fell back onto my pillows, rolling over onto my face. I kicked off my shoes then awkwardly shimmied out of my jeans, leaving me in a much too large sweatshirt and boyshorts. But I could still feel the braid in my hair, uncomfortably snagging the strands from my skull, and ripped the hairband out. I raked my fingers through it, combing the ridges and knots, and pulled the pillow back over my eyes.

But it was no use—I wasn't tired. Not right now anyway. It'd probably hit me again in an hour but right now, I was wide awake. I was awake and angry and bored and none of that left me in a state to sleep.

So, I sat up watching the room spin and stumbled for my vanity. The warm air that had rusted against my cheeks scattered and inwards, I breathed in a sigh. My fingers grazed the surface then wrapped around the edges and I dragged my eyes to the mirror. And groaned. My face had definitely seen better days. My lids hung low, like the lashes were laced together, and there was a patch of wrinkles between my brows. The makings of my signature frown.

But my face had mostly healed. There was a yellow splotch on my cheek, but it should be gone relatively soon. I glanced at my arm, shoving the sleeve to my elbow, and marvelled at how thin the cut was now. Then I lifted my shirt, looking at my abdomen. It was still purple but much less sensitive than before. It didn't hurt every time I breathed, rather it was just with sudden movements that sent hot flashes down my body.

I sighed and dropped my shirt, screwing my lips to the side. I should've been grateful or even mystified by how quickly everything was healing but honestly, I was just annoyed that it meant Lila had been right.

Just thinking it pissed me off, so I turned on my heels and marched. The city buzzed from the windows, a strange static filling the air, so I came to a stop outside the glass. I watched the tops of the buildings, bathed in milky lights, as shadows draped around their middles like shawls. Dazzling spots, flickers of lights, flooded the city and painted the walls in different hues. And streetlights shimmered like they were hanging golden tassels, seeking out darkness.

I felt myself sink until I sat against the bench and touched the windowpane. A memory rose in my mind and flushed me cold. I remembered the last time I'd left through this window—it was before Lila had become Lark. Before my powers had come back. It was when all hope had been lost, I didn't know if I was going to make it for much longer. I didn't know I was going to make it or if anyone would even notice if I didn't. I could remember it so clearly—untransformed and climbing up the wall as rain drizzled down my skin. It had battered me, coming down with such ferocity that my skin had become pink. And my fingers didn't stop cramping for the next two days; even with Guardian–level strength, carrying all my weight had been far too much. Not to mention how hard my muscles had clamped, how my knees creaked, and my feet flared with every painful stomp.

But still, I was tempted. I wanted to do that again but decided against it. It would be stupid to climb up that building when I was still injured. And as angry as I was with Lila, I still wanted to heal. I wanted to repair as quick as possible so I could get back out onto the field.

But still, I couldn't stay locked up forever.

Because as much as that had hurt, and as much as I regretted it the morning after, I hadn't in the moment. My room had become a prison cell, where my thoughts had hardened into prison bars and the walls taunted me. Here, I was reminded of all my failures, everything I wasn't. And not only had I been able to escape that, but with my Guardian strength. The storm couldn't stop me and that made me powerful. My fingers had felt like they were on fire and my heart was in my throat as I tried not to slip, but I was powerful. The warmth that fired in my soul flooded my body, blending together in my spine and sprouting into wings that could take me away from here.

The memories clung to my sweat soaked skin and I pressed a hand to the window, watching as fog stretched from my palm. I then lowered my chin, feeling my heartbeat rattling in my jaw and looked over my shoulder to the vanity.

My lips twisted to the side.

---

Signs of a late evening greeted me when I left. Streetlights had grown brighter, streaking the night with silver, and shadows rowed after one another. The sky was soft and as cold air crawled down my face, I lifted my chin and breathed it in. It slid down my throat, cool and refreshing, and melted some of the tightness in my chest. I hadn't realised how closed in my room had gotten. The walls seemed to have tightened the longer I was there, and the roof lowered dangerously close to the ground. Out here, I was no longer so tightly bound, I felt like I could spread my arms out for the first time in ages.

I breathed in again, relishing how light it all felt. Smooth wisps coiled together, rushing through my nose and spiralling into my throat. It rolled and blocked out the hole in my chest, attempting to wash it away.

It wasn't enough though.

It loosened the tension, but it couldn't calm down the racing. I could still feel it, spiking in my shoulder blades like someone was kicking me. Beating so hard that the hole felt like it was being ripped down even further. I shook out my arms and twisted my wrists, trying to shift the tension but it clung to me.

I couldn't get those dreams out of my head—any of them. Ever since I had picked up that trinket, they wouldn't leave me alone. Some nights, I was left to my own devices—left in a world that was mine and as nonsensical as the next person's; but a lot of the time, it felt like they were someone else's creations. Like I was trapped in someone else's web and forced to adhere to their rules to escape.

I shoved my hands into my pockets.

Lights shuffled over me and the sidewalk glistened beneath thin sheets of rain. I kept my eyes down and skirted around the shallow puddles. But no matter how much distance I put between me and the house, I couldn't shake the thoughts from my mind.

No one else had mentioned having any dreams, so was it just me? Was I going crazy? Technically, I knew that I could go to Nel about this—since she seemed to know the answer to everything—but it's not like we were really speaking much now. It was still awkward and I didn't trust her to be honest with me. How did I know this wasn't something more serious than what she would tell me? She could keep that information to herself so as not to disrupt the process she deemed necessary. The longer I pondered on her, the more I began to feel as if I was nothing more than her little experiment, which she would occasionally check on to see if her hypothesis was correct.

No, I couldn't tell Nel. Not right now, at least. And I couldn't tell Lila, she'd most likely blab to Nel about it. Besides, these dreams didn't mean something was actually wrong. Maybe they really were signs that I was losing it. I was being put under an abnormal amount of stress, maybe these dreams were a sign I was too into it and I didn't have anything else to focus on. Or maybe it was nothing—that was always a possibility, right?

I suddenly stopped and found myself at one of the parks. The sky was darkening so the equipment resembled silhouettes sticking out from the ground. Grass no longer crunched beneath my feet, now replaced with wooden chips.

I sighed, feeling that same heaviness sink through my chest. The wooden chips clattered as I moved and leaned against one of the poles holding the swings up. It pressed between my shoulder blades and I looked up to the sky, leaning my head against the metal.

The air was still thick with rain. It must've poured while I was sleeping. Explained the puddles. Clouds were thick, rolling and puffing and filling the sky, covering up the beading stars. And the streetlight's silver rays were like cold bursts of moonlight, knocking the shadows from my feet. They threw light onto my face and, as it washed over me, a knot grew in my throat. Fog filled my brain and I thought back on those dreams.

What did it all mean? Who was that woman? Why did she keep showing up in all of my dreams? Was it just my imagination or . . .

I sighed, hitting my head back against the pole. That woman, the one who wore gold, she couldn't be the same one. Her skin was dark and she just—she felt different, whereas the usual one, she . . .

Her red lips smirked.

A door suddenly slammed shut.

I gasped, spine hitting the pole, and looked up.

My eyelashes fluttered and I found myself staring at Arnold. My heart dropped into my stomach. He hadn't noticed me yet; he was across the street. He was leaving his house, having just shut his door and, after shoving his coat on, fiddled with his camera. Not his polaroid, I noticed, but a digital black camera. I'd never seen him use it before.

I blinked and felt my heart rise back up into my throat. He raised his hand, eyes still on his camera, and ran his fingers through his hair. The strands shuffled and my chest fluttered so I looked away. Fuck, I hadn't realised that I'd stopped at the park across form his house. I was in his direct line of vision. Shit, how out of it was I?

He took a few steps but quickly stopped. I couldn't help myself, I found myself staring back in his direction just as he looked up and noticed me. He stopped in his tracks, eyes widening. I felt my heart pound, a heat spreading from the empty hole in my chest, and I tried clamping down on it.

Criminy, it felt like forever since I'd last seen him, though a vague part of me registered it'd only been a couple of days. Just so much has happened since then. It made me wonder if this was my normal with him? Feeling like I hadn't seen him in centuries when it had merely been hours? I knew that that was common when you liked someone, wanting to spend all your time with them, but I really was living two separate lives. One where my vision was limited, and everything gathered around me like storm clouds to form iron bars. And another, where everything was piled up, but I at least had the strength to carry it. It tore me from that cage and forced me into the air where I may be detached, but I was also free.

Unintentionally, Arnold had become the gatekeeper to my old world.

He shuffled, looking like he was clearing his throat, and let his camera hang from his neck. His hair was bouncing as he moved down the steps; I could imagine his bangs bobbing, feathering his eyebrows, and felt myself smile.

But I froze when I noticed him crossing the road. He shifted his chin and his eyes found mine again, and something needled my chest.

"Helga?" he said, voice slightly hoarse when he approached me.

Shite.

His musk found me, pushing over me like a cloud, and my knees wobbled. It filled my senses, a slow and warm scent, and unintentionally, I found myself leaning in. He was an arm's length away from me but his presence was still comforting. It was like a thick and fluffy blanket being offered to you in the dead winter.

Everything was twisting in my stomach and pushing through to my arms. I wanted to wrap myself around his shoulders, pulling him close so I could press my face to his chest. My skin was tingling. I was taken aback by how strong these emotions came at me, I could feel them rattling in my bones, and cleared my throat.

"Football head," I nodded and shoved my hands back into my pockets, only just now realising that they weren't there to begin with.

"Wha—what're you doing out?"

I didn't answer right away. What was I doing out here? Why had I wanted to leave in the first place? I knew I was suffocating in my room and I hated being told what to do in the first place, but . . . what was I planning on doing now that I was out? I didn't have my pin so it wasn't like I could go around swinging as Blue Jay. And given what had happened last night, it wasn't smart to go out on the town. I knew Serec wouldn't attack, but the Mutant's? No idea.

I lowered my chin, peering from my peripherals, then turning back to Arnold. His lips were spread, the space between his brows ticking as he waited for an answer. His hair had become a tangle of blonde, like he'd run his fingers through it a bunch of times, and not for the first time, I wondered why everything looked so good on him. He was wearing a sloppy hoodie and an ordinary pair of jeans, and somehow, he was still so handsome and magnificent in it.

"Could say the same to you," I eventually said and mentally cringed. I'd taken much too long mulling over my response and I think my voice had come out funny. I twisted my lips slightly. Was there ever going to be a time where I wasn't so awkward? Arnold looked at me strangely and I sighed, relented. "Just wanted to get out of the house—clear my head, y'know." I glanced at the sky then back to him. "How about you?"

"I, um—I like going out at this time of night," he was holding his camera as he said that, giving the device a gentle pat. "To take pictures."

I allowed myself to crack a smirk. "Nerd."

He smiled, which surprised me, and ducked his gaze. "Yeah."

There was a pause and awkwardly, it curdled in my stomach. I swallowed, unsure how to respond or whether I should be responding at all. Arnold wasn't responding—he wasn't even looking at me—and he was much better at this conversation thing then I was. Still.

I glanced at him, he was looking away, but was it because he was uncomfortable? I couldn't tell. His hair wafted around his face, covering his brow from my sight, so I couldn't see if it was lined with anxiety or discomfort. His jaw wasn't clenched and he wasn't fidgeting, but still, he wasn't making eye contact. Wasn't that bad?

"So, how was movie night?" I eventually asked.

He glanced up with surprise. "How—"

"You put it on your Instagram," I quickly added, not wanting him to get the wrong idea.

"Oh," he nodded and looked at his shoes. "I, uh, I hadn't realised that you followed me."

I paused and wondered if that was weird. I still hadn't caught onto what was normal and what wasn't. Was it weird that I was following him? I mean, it's not exactly like I was a saintly child who understood boundaries, and I knew that I'd really pushed those boundaries back then. Maybe ordinarily, following him would be okay but because it was me, automatically that made it not okay.

It made sense; I wouldn't want my ex–stalker liking my photos without my knowledge. Not that he was technically aware about that ex–stalker business, but it's not like he hadn't put together that I could get a bit overenthusiastic about things.

Crud, was I a creep?

"Not many people do," I heard myself saying and forced a shrug. I wasn't allowing my facial features to move from their current state. I didn't want him to pick up on the uncertainty I felt, although my shoulders were jittery. I could feel his eyes gliding over my face, soft but scrutinising like strokes of firelight, and felt my chest pinch.

"I'll be sure to follow you back then."

"Don't bother," I said with a half shrug and angled myself away from him. "I haven't got anything on my account."

"Why?"

I shrugged away and looked up at the sky. The clouds were thinning, stars were beginning to break through the musk, but I couldn't focus on them. It felt like my right side was burning from where Arnold was watching me. I didn't know what it was about him that made me act like this, but he so easily could send me into a panic.

It was like he was the anchor that kept me from floating too high. I'd done so many things within the past few weeks, seen so many things that no normal teenager should have to, and to keep me from flying with the stars, Arnold was there.

I could feel the effect he had on me, washing over my skin. It was warm, radiating a Christmas–y glow that reminded me of liquor, rolling and thumping in my chest. A beautiful kind of magic. The type that tied little knots around my ankles, keeping me down here, back in reality.

He shuffled his weight, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Do you, uhh—" I glanced at him, confused by how he was acting. "—I was gonna go take some pictures of the city . . . did you wanna come?"

My eyebrows shot up.

Apparently, I'd misread the signals. I thought he'd become uncomfortable—having only approached me out of curiosity—and, by not looking at me, was awkwardly trying to wedge himself out of this conversation. But apparently, he . . . he wanted to spend more time with me?

Heat filled my chest. The ground felt firmer, and air sifted up to graze my face. I didn't know what to say or even what to think. My stomach was fluttering, wanting to burst from my torso, and my knees were shaking. I should say no, right? Walking around while I was still injured and unable to protect him, that was just asking for trouble. But I was looking at his face and those soft, wide green eyes and that awkward stretch of his mouth and found myself nodding.

"Yeah, okay."

---

"You never answered my question."

"Huh?"

He was already looking at me when I peeked through my hair. His mouth had a funny twist to it as he paused to understand what I was referring to. There was a pool of wrinkles between his brows, feathered from his bangs, and temporarily, he stopped fidgeting with his camera.

He was looking at me in a way that sent ripples of warm pools in my chest. Arnold had this way of getting to you, even without saying much. It was his eyes; they were bright and soft, all at once. They had a way of melting your heart, unlacing the secrets from your chest, and half the time, I'm not even sure if he was aware of it.

He caught my gaze and held it. I laced my fingers together behind my back to cover up the shaking. The moon slipped silver on his skin and turned him into a beacon. His hair became like satin and light melted down his swan–like neck. Moonlight swam thick around us, and as we moved through its waves, looking at Arnold, they burned me like acid rain.

I felt myself smile.

"About movie night," I answered as we passed the shops. Most of them were shut, but some were still beaming with lights. "How was it? And which one did you end up watching?"

I didn't know why I asked, it had been hours ago, but I guess I wanted to say something. I wanted to fill that silence. Not because it was awkward or anything, surprisingly it had become comfortable. On the bus we'd chatted a bit, enough to soothe the tension, and every once in a while, Arnold would get this big dorky grin. It always struck me because it wasn't like his other ones. It wasn't presentable or beautiful in a strict sense, but it was genuine. He always got it when something struck his inspiration, and he would spend the next five minutes trying to snap its photo.

I always stopped in my tracks whenever I saw it—it was so dazzling. There was something about it that was so enchanting, more than his most handsome smiles. It was uneven, too many teeth were showing, and that made it dazzling. He wasn't trying to seem acceptable or earn someone's trust, he was in his own world. A place where he was happy and excited and not having to constantly think about what others wanted or expected of him.

He was himself.

And when he was himself—and not thinking about someone else—a warm, ambrosial feeling filled my chest, tingling to my foggy depths. It made me forget everything, everything that had once been my freedom that had now formed iron bars. He made me feel normal.

"Ah," he nodded and let go of his camera, which still dangled from his neck. "Well, we didn't end up having it."

"Really?" my eyebrows raised. "Why?"

Earlier, I'd asked why he used his camera rather than his polaroid, which I knew he considered his good luck charm. He explained that his polaroid couldn't take as good photos at night. And besides, he'd added, he wanted to upload these to his Instagram account, which he had said with a weird look.

"Grandma went on one of her tirades again," he said with a strange look. He twisted his mouth to the side and lightly kicked a small rock from his path. "Dressed up as a fireman and was throwing water at everyone. We had to grab her before she could hit the TV so by the time we'd managed to get her to bed, everyone was too tired to watch anything. So . . ."

"Oh," I glanced down with a twinge of guilt. "Well, I'm, um, sorry about that, Arnold."

Sometimes I forgot that, as much as Arnold loved his family, he sometimes resented that he couldn't do normal things with them.

"Eh, I'm used to it," he said in a way that made it obvious he'd rather not talk about it. I tried swallowing the lump in my throat, empathising with that feeling. He cleared his throat and looked back at me, and as he did, light scuffled across his face. "Which movie do you prefer?"

I scoffed, the weight lightening in my chest, and half–shrugged. "Obviously the 90s one."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's better written, acted and has Brendan Fraiser. Need I go on?"

Arnold laughed. "You're right. He seems pretty cool."

"Try awesome," I felt myself grin. "It's the peak of Hollywood cinema. It's an insult that the 2017 one even shares its title."

Arnold rubbed his neck and looked down with a smile. "Man, I wish I'd watched it now."

For a moment, I was transfixed. Not because of what he said, but . . . damn it, his hair again. When he glanced down, his hair drifted around his brows, feathering the tops of his lashes. I could feel my fingers twitching to push those strands back. He had paused and the windows behind him plastered his skin in pastel colours. They rolled, striking him in pale shades of blue, and sharpened the shadows beneath his cheek and jaw.

I could feel my heart kicking up a storm in my throat. It took me a moment to realise I should probably respond.

"Just do it when you get back," I said with a forced shrug and turned, continuing our trek down the sidewalk. It was dark so there weren't many people out, aside from us. "Who needs sleep anyway?"

He chuckled and followed, keeping up with me easily.

His eyes fluttered down, connecting with mine, and I felt my pulse jump. I glanced down, battling the twitching of my lips, and watched our shadows rolling across the streets. They were still shiny from the rain, and the leaves pasted to the bricks resembled silken squares. Red lights from the traffic washed over my feet, while blue washed over his, and as the colours rolled on top of each other, heat punched my throat. It felt like we were being joined together.

He continued. "What other movies are you this passionate about?"

"Not many. That movie is flawless. But I love The Breakfast Club, Iron Giant and—ooh, Labyrinth is a big one."

He smirked. "David Bowie?"

"Yes," I said then paused. "Wait, no—I mean, you know—the writing is also really, really good and so is the movie."

"Uh huh, sure," he nodded, eyes twinkling.

I could feel my cheeks burning and hurried to change the subject. "Well, what about you? What movies do you love?"

"Mm," he looked up in thought and tapped his chin. I allowed myself to admire him for the billionth time that night, feeling the butterflies glance at my stomach at the graceful movements of his hands. "I really like The Avengers—not the second one though—and the Batman movies annnnd—hmm, the Spiderman ones are pretty good—wait, no, Into the Spiderverse is the best, hands down."

"You sound like Lila."

"Yeah, we have pretty similar taste in movies," he smiled, gaze going soft and lost over my shoulder. "Superhero movies are just . . . I dunno, they're so interesting. And now they, uh, they hit differently considering . . ."

The unsaid words hung between us, cold and plush like they were pushing us apart. They probably were. Suddenly, every part of me was hurting all over again, a familiar weight hanging in my mind. I glanced down, feeling my throat clench. Superheroes—I could never seem to make an escape.

"For the longest time," I heard Arnold continue and when I glanced back, he was already watching me. There was a slight furrow between his brows and instantly, I knew he had noticed my change in demeanour. "Lila's tried to get me into Sailor Moon."

I scoffed before I could stop myself. "Yeah, she never shuts up about it to me either."

"She really loves it, doesn't she?"

"You're tellin' me," I nodded. "Have you seen it?"

"No, not yet. Somehow. Have you?"

"Nah, she hasn't gotten to me."

"I get the feeling that she will though."

I realised that I was smiling. "So do I."

Silence pressed back onto us, but it wasn't awkward. It was soft, almost warm like on the bus. It folded into my curves, mending the cracks, and crammed into my chest. I took a moment to contemplate, to think over the dullness in my chest. It twisted, sheltering an empty space that burned. I suppose I'd been too hard on Lila; she was meddlesome and at times, insensitive, but she had a good head on her shoulders. Her mind was clear while mine muddled, and truthfully, she kept displaying more reasons why she should be the leader instead of me. It had been right for her to take that pin away, no matter how much it hurt, because knowing me, I would be swinging through the city right now. I would be making choices that would make it more difficult for all of us.

It was like she said, I needed to heal so I could become better and we could be a team again. Because regardless, if there was stuff I still didn't know—which I was certain of—people needed us. That I knew was true. It wasn't just me, but us.

I pressed my lips together. For whatever was happening between Nel and I, it was nice to have someone to rely on. Rhonda may be a wrench, but I at least had Lila, who kept doing her best to hold us all together.

The air suddenly sharpened when my insides heaved so violently, I stopped, feet sticking to the ground, and clamped a hand to my stomach. A white–hot throb lanced my side and I felt my throat tangle, a cry getting caught amongst the walls. A drilling rushed into my brain, echoing in my ears, and I gasped in pain. Shit, shit, shit.

"Helga?" Arnold was by my side in an instant. His hands came down on my shoulder, soft with warmth, and he watched with concern. "Helga, are you okay?"

"I—" I gasped as another powerful bolt shot through me and gnashed my teeth together. It felt like I was being stabbed or kicked over and over. "Yeah, I just—cramp. Gimme a minute."

The burning consumed me, I could feel it spreading out and swelling down to my fingertips. I sucked in a couple of breaths but held myself still, not wanting to trigger anymore lashes. My bones ached dully, making me aware of every move I made, and every breath I took.

I don't know how long we stayed like that—me, bent over, and trying to ease the pain, and Arnold, unsure of how to act but watching with concern—but the seconds burned. They dragged on, and I began to feel stupid. Who carried on so much over some cramps? Helga, what if he thinks even less of you? But then I began to feel it, a numbness. It spread, almost feeling cold in comparison, and with it, my breath came back to me.

My toes twitched and my hands curled into fists. I could feel my body moving, untwisting and standing tall, even though I hadn't yet given it permission to do so.

"Okay, I think I'm good," I muttered, willing the leftover scream on my tongue to form into tiny whispers.

Arnold stopped, staring at me wide–eyed, but I turned before he could say anything. I was walking before I was aware of it and tied my hands in front of me. I heard him hurry after me, his shoes making hasty slaps against the pavement, and released a breath, hoping to ease the aching in my throat.

There I went again, building walls around myself so he wouldn't see. It was the same, one step forward and then three back.

"But—Helga!" he caught me by the shoulder and stepped in my path, forcing me to stop. My heart stopped and thumped into my throat when I found myself inches from his eyes, his breath washing over mine. His scent wrapped around me like a cloud, permeating my senses. His hands curled over my shoulders and I could feel my skin tingling where he touched mine. "Just . . . stop, okay? You're always so quick to keep moving, even when you shouldn't."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't, my words were tongue tied. Caught in a little rope and lodged so deep in my chest, I couldn't hope on saying anything. Instead, I watched him. Watched the way his eyes darted, hurtling across my face, down my form and then back to my eyes again. His heartbeat was strong, I could feel it in his fingertips and wrists, pounding away at my skin. I wasn't sure if I was grateful that my Guardian senses were kicking in or not; it was distracting, but it put more distance between now and that pain.

But when his expression twisted again, I wilted with guilt. It was clear how helpless he felt, wanting to do something but not knowing how. I swallowed, eyes connecting with his again. He was so tall; his frame next to mine made me feel so small, but not in the way that strange men on the street or on the bus made me feel. No, with Arnold, it was different. He wanted to protect me, which is crazy because that wasn't his job.

But I guess, in a way, it kinda was. Arnold was always there for everyone, it was his Achilles heel—his kindness. His selflessness. He stuck his neck out for his loved ones, even strangers, because that was the kind of person he was.

He would make a perfect Guardian, I realised.

His eyes misted over and then, he sighed. I watched his shoulders sag, like he had just put down a particularly large weight.

"Listen, just . . . are you sure?" he asked, voice lowering. He looked me over again, lips twisting into a frown, and I felt my heart glaze. I wasn't used to having people look after me, not this thoroughly.

"Yeah, I . . ." I trailed off, aware that his thumb was drawing random patterns into my neck. It made my heart do a funny dance and I moved away, gently breaking free of his grip. He didn't seem to notice and kept watching me, eyes pressed with concern. I cleared my throat and rolled awkwardly back and forth on my feet. "Yeah, I—I'm sorry, I'm fine, I just—" I paused and then gasped. "Oh, shit."

I left his side, shoes pattering across the bricked pavement, and felt the wind lace around my neck where his hands had been. Arnold's voice was distant as he called after me, trying to get my attention.

"Helga, what're you—"

"Look at this, Arnold!" I gestured wildly then pressed my fingers to the window. My shadow flailed along the ground, pinned there from the lights. "This jacket—isn't it wicked cool?"

He blinked then looked at what I'd gestured at. My lips lifted into a grin as I followed his gaze and crossed my arms over my chest. Inside the shadowed store was a tall and shapely mannequin, dressed in the coolest looking bomber jacket. It was a cobalt shade of blue with white panels running down the arms. It had Chinese–designed imagery on both breasts—one a dragon, the other a tiger—best of all, it had Kiss stitched above the tiger. Yeah, that's right, it was a vintage Kiss jacket.

"A jacket?" he asked and when I turned back, he was raising his eyebrow at me.

"Not just a jacket, football head," I scoffed at him. "It's—I mean, look at it, isn't it awesome?"

". . . I guess?"

I rolled my eyes, not liking that I was beginning to sound like the princess, and turned back to the window. I couldn't explain it, but it was such a nice piece. I was still wearing my black hoodie everywhere which yes, was comforting, but it was old and worn. The elbows were close to being worn through completely and it did basically nothing to protect me from the cold. . I could just imagine myself walking around wearing this jacket instead, with my sleeves rolled up and my fists in my pockets. I would look like such a badass, wearing this and some dark sunglasses while popping some pink bubblegum. So leader–like. I could pretend I was the head of a mega cool gang. I felt myself smile and wished I could scrawl my name across the back, so no one else would get it.

But I was starved for cash; I was already spending far more than the usual with all these afternoons spent out and the bus rides, there was no way I could add this on top of that.

I then heard something—a small snapping sound—and a bright flash engulfed my vision for a second. I blinked and started at the unexpected flash, then looked to the object in Arnold's hand.

He was lowering his camera from his face, looking at the screen with a soft expression.

I scowled. "Hey, what the hell, football he—"

"Just look, Helga," he interrupted and moved to my side.

I raised my gaze, catering to his much taller height, then saw that he was moving his camera toward me. I gave him one last glance then turned to the screen.

And blinked.

I was staring at myself. At a really nice photo of me. Not something I'd been expecting; when I put the pieces together and realised that Arnold had taken a photo of me, I'd assumed it was because I looked ugly or had a funny face. But no, I actually looked . . . really nice.

Light swelled and burst, a vivid shade of blue, which I hadn't noticed when I'd approached the window. It softly washed over me and folded around my face, lifting my lips and gleaming in my teeth. But that was only one side of my face; while I was turned in the direction of the window, which showered me in blue, the streets behind me glowed like winterberries. The red streetlights weaved in and out, curling over my shoulders, and twisting with the shadows.

I turned my attention and noticed there was something different. There was a lightness to my expression; the weight that sagged in my features, my eyes especially, had momentarily left. So when I smiled, it shone from my eyes and revealed all of my teeth. Red light tangled with my hair, making the strands look like fallen fire, and my eyes were a rose velvet. It didn't matter how plainly I had dressed, or that my smile was slightly crooked, there was a glow in my gaze that reminded me of the stars, and it made me glimmer.

"Holy shit, football head, I—wow," I uttered then looked back at him. "You're really good."

He smiled. "I only take the pictures, Helga. This pic—it's you, not me."

I felt my cheeks burn and looked away before I could think too deeply about that. I found myself looking back down at his camera, at the image again. I looked so different, especially from how I saw myself. I looked so carefree, not only normal, but unlike the regular Helga. This wasn't the Helga I showed to people at school, or even my friends. It was another side of me, a new me, and I didn't know how I felt about it.

I then moved my hand up to my hair. Maybe Eugene had been right, maybe those ponytails really were doing me a disservice. I'd been hanging onto that style for reasons that borderline pathetic, and yeah, they really didn't paint me very attractive. But looking at me now, with my hair swept over my shoulder like that, maybe change wasn't a bad thing.

I looked back to see Arnold's eyes darting away. I paused and frowned, watching as he awkwardly moved his mouth to the side and seemed to look everywhere but me. But I shrugged it off when I saw the time on my phone.

I whistled. "It's gettin' kinda late. Should we pack up for the night?"

He blinked and turned back to me, then smiled. "Yeah, sure."

He made an awkward gesture, which made my lips quirk, and we turned back in the same direction. Blue and red lights laid upon the tiles like a carpet, dancing across our black shoes, and we soon found ourselves sheltered in a nightly sapphire.

But a cold gust of wind swept by, rolling over my arms and shoulders, and I stopped. I pressed my hands to my arms and felt goosebumps as I tried suppressing the shivers. Mentally, I swore at myself for not bringing a jacket.

"You're cold," Arnold said after a pause.

He had stopped in his tracks to watch me, and for some reason, that made my stomach flip up into my chest.

"Yeah, but it's nothing, I—" I stopped when Arnold began unbuttoning his jacket. "Wait, no—Arnold, not again, I—"

"Too late."

The right side of his mouth lifted as he placed the jacket over my shoulders. I wanted to keep protesting but his scent had already hit me in the throat and silently, I relinquished. The fabric was still warm, like it had collected Arnold's essence, and now it painted me with it. I wanted to take off the jacket and shove it back at him, but I could already feel my fingers curling around the lapels. I hadn't realised how cold I was until now.

And when I looked at him, he had a weird smirk on his face. He leaned back, putting distance between us, and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

"Why Arnold?" I practically whined, despite the thumping in my chest. He was still very handsome, dressed in his pale long sleeved shirt and wearing his dorky camera around his neck. There was a V neckline, I noticed, and as the lights rolled down his neck, I watched his Adam's apple bob.

"You were cold," he said with a shrug. "Besides, I'm already covered. The cold doesn't bother me."

"Alright, Elsa," I rolled my eyes, lips creeping into a smile. "Is this gonna be a regular thing?"

His eyes twinkled. "I hope."

---

I didn't get home for another hour and a half and by then, I was exhausted. The night had become rich and sultry and pressed against my window like clouds. Fog puffed, sticking to the glass like glue, and a square of light pushed across my carpet. The curtains were still drawn so the stars were shimmering from behind the buildings and the streetlights sauntered.

I watched it, pressed against my door, feeling my heartbeat pound in my shoulder blades. Before, it felt like my mind had been alight, buzzing and rattling with so much energy but now that I was alone and without noise, it had dulled, and I was left very sleepy. I was surprised by how tired I felt, given that it couldn't have been later than 7:30, but then I remembered that I was still injured. There was still an ache that burned in my side, it had never left, not even a fraction. I had simply learned to move and think around it, letting it fade from my mind so I could continue hanging onto those green eyes. But without them, I could feel it again, warm and sharp, and my knees trembled.

But I didn't move. My hands twitched to wrap around my side, but they felt like dead weights. They stayed pressed against my sides, flat against the door, as my mind whirled.

His eyes swelled, filling my mind. He had eyes that were softly woven with green thread, they always make me so happy. I wanted to keep them on me, I would do anything to keep them on me—forever and ever. It should've sickened me, made me groan and lean my head back in frustration, that after all this time, I kept arriving at the same spot. That he would always wield this power over me, that he was a hurdle I couldn't bypass, but . . . I didn't hate it. Strangely, I felt tranquil about it, weirdly accepting.

He was hardly the worst thing that had happened to me—not even close—and time and time again, he brought with him good feelings. Feelings I'd thought I'd lost, feelings that made me happy and free and like I wasn't losing my mind. He was an anchor amongst all this madness and thinking about him made my chest warm.

Mind in a haze, I felt my body slipping, sliding down the door until I was curled on the floor. The air sank low in my chest and my heart rattled; I pressed my shaky palms to my shins and rested my head against the door. My heart was racing like fingertips that pitter pattered up and down my throat.

I swallowed; I was surrendering myself to him. Once again, I was back where I started, all those years ago. I should be fighting it—I couldn't afford another distraction—but I knew it was pointless to do so. He had me wrapped in his shades of warmth; with him, I was seeing colours I'd never seen before. Pastels that looped and melted, softening until they were a paste that rushed through me like hot liquor.

Silver clouds danced around the moon and shadows painted my walls. I shivered. I didn't have his jacket anymore—I insisted on giving it back to Arnold when he dropped me off.

I could feel myself smiling.

Dropped me off—he had actually dropped me off. He didn't want to let me go by myself since my house was down the street from his. So, shoving his hands into his pockets, he had walked me the rest of the way. He hadn't minded my protests, even when I told him that I was fine and he shouldn't have to bother himself with me. He'd merely smirked, lips curling higher on the right side, and insisted that it—I wasn't a bother at all.

And something about that way he had looked while saying that—the cocky way his lips lifted and the way his eyes had fluttered as he glanced down at me—had my stomach fluttering. I swear, my legs had actually stopped working. It had made him chuckle, which I shoved him for. But despite it all, I could feel the warmth dancing around in my chest. Because yes, I could still fight if it really came down to it, but this . . . it was nice.

It was nice to be taken care of; the defences I normally kept around him were wearing down, ice that was slowly melting, and I could feel myself easing. It was a strange sensation, I always felt like I had to be on guard—even before I'd become Blue Jay. But relaxing and letting someone else handle it, it was different. Not as scary as I'd once thought.

I suppose I'd seen and experienced worse; the past few months had been exhausting and I was too tired to keep those same defences up, around him especially. I wanted him to know me, like I wanted to know him. When I was around him, I was entrenched in feelings I hadn't experienced in a long time. It was like I'd opened a window for the first time in a century and now, I could smell the fresh air dancing on my tongue, and the smoke easing from my lungs.

My phone buzzed.

I glanced down and pulled it from my pocket. The screen had lit up with another notification, and I felt my pulse rush.

arnoldtheshort tagged you in a photo.

I raised a brow and swiped right, opening the notification.

But when my screen lit up, my mouth dropped. I was staring at the picture he'd taken not that long ago—the one of me—now on his Instagram page.

The caption read:

Guess who decided to tag along on my nightly stroll?

My cheeks were burning, the walls twisting, as I scrolled to the comments before I overthought it. I blinked, surprised with how quickly people were responding and remembered that—right, Arnold was really popular. Of course, he'd get traction on his pictures so quickly.

sheenasheena: gahh, she looks so pretty! She should wear her hair like that more

geraldjohanssen: nice pic bro!

curlytheman: what were you two doing together? ;)

Eugarrio: I didn't realise Helga had an account! She looks so good!

The heart emoji in the corner was buzzing with notifications—people were requesting to follow me. What the . . .

So much for staying anonymous.

I didn't even know why I'd made this stupid account to begin with. I'd never had any friends who I could support behind the scenes and I definitely had never taken photos of myself. I hadn't taken a selfie; I'd never had the urge. There wasn't much about myself that needed to be captured and remembered. I'd always tried cropping myself from photos if I accidentally captured my face. I didn't like looking at myself, I wasn't photogenic. I was ordinary in every sense of the world and because of that, I didn't try dolling myself up. I mean, yeah, I plucked my eyebrows and dabbed on some concealer when needed, but outside of that, I hardly even touched my appearance let alone taken a picture of myself.

A part of me wanted to accept the requests, but I felt embarrassed. What would they feel when they realised that my account was blank? I was private so they couldn't see yet, but once they did, would they judge me? Take back their requests? Call me a creep for stalking their accounts?

I put my phone down, head buzzing, and rubbed my face. Well, could I take a photo of myself? If the situation called for it.

I stood to my feet, shakily turning on the light, and moved to my mirror. My hair was dishevelled from the wind; I messed it up, rustling the strands then smoothing them out, and tilted my head.

I didn't look awful, I guess. I was no longer wearing Arnold's jacket so I was dressed in plain clothing—a pair of jeans, a white T-shirt, and black converse. Nothing about this stood out. A heaviness sank in my chest as disappointment pressed in. I found myself holding my breath and straightening my posture, so maybe I could see—look better.

But it was no use, I didn't look any different.

I blinked then squinted, trying to see what Arnold had seen and captured. I'd looked so pretty in that photo, what was it that I was missing? Then again, it was Arnold. He was good at everything; maybe he'd been wrong and it really was him. It probably was the photographer rather than the subject. It wasn't like Arnold was at all shabby at taking photos. Lord knows he spent a lot of his time photographing the most random and unappealing things, and he always managed to make them appealing–looking.

What was different between them and I?

But then, a clambering bang! popped in the air and my heart gave a start into my throat. I swung around on my heels and held up my hands, ready for a fight, but came to a stop when I saw a familiar face.

"Lila?!"

"YOU WENT ON A DATE WITH ARNOLDDDDDD?!"

Ohhhh boy.

---

Oh boy is right, poor Helga

Anyway, so there we have it, the 21st chapter! It took a ridiculously large amount of time for a breather chapter but as I've said, I've just been so exhausted and busy with my new job. Oh, and I had a slightly nasty case of writer's block; obviously, I've already written up outlines (especially for this chapter which was planned eons ago) but actually writing it out in a way that I'm satisified with is tiresome, honestly.

But yeah, so that was that, what did y'all think? I'm trying to keep these characters as realistic as possible without them becoming annoying but I find it's really difficult and unrealistic to depict people without them displaying annoying traits, specifically the backwards and forwards steps Helga continues to take. Personally, I like them because she's young and stressed and Helga, she's not going to get everything right the first time and I think she needs to have a few things hammered into her beore she can fully grasp it.

Rhonda, on the other hand, boy oh boy, are things going to continue to get more interesting with her there. She definitely changes things, that's for certain. It's fairly calm and synced up with just Lila and Helga but Rhonda adds a fire that if anything will liven things up. I'm especially excited to write bonding scenes between her and Helga because something I've found from typing up my outlines is that the relationship that'll develop between them is very different to the one Helga has with Lila. The way Rhonda will show her support differs greatly and I'm so excited to get there!

But anyway, that's enough with the rambling, let's get to the reviews!

Kryten: Yes, intangibility! I'm super proud of her powers and can't wait to continue showing it! I'm curious, what do you mean by changing direction? But yes, I plan on exploring what she'll be able to do with her newfound abilities once she gets used to them!

acosta perez jose ramiro: Thank you, I'm happy with it as well! Rhonda has a lot to learn, that's for sure! And Nel is a whole situation in of itself, so we'll have to see how that unravels! Thanks for reviewing!

miladyswords: Hey there! Genuinely, so excited to get into why they're Rhonda's powers; all of the Guardians have reasons behind why their powers are the way they are, and Rhonda's reasons are my favourite, hands down! And yes, taking defensive powers and making them offensive is my favourite thing and I genuinely think she'll be a terrifying but very talented Guardian in the future! Switching perspectives is always so refreshing because it's nice to get out of Helga's overcrowded mind and get a more rounded view of what's actually happening, especially when it concerns Blue Jay, as you said! Thank you for reviewing!

Anyway, so that's it for me folks! No idea how long it'll take for the next chapter; technically not much fighting action but still more then this, not a breather episode (y'all know Helga, she doesn't know the meaning of take it easy). Will try my best to continue writing when I can! Until then, peace out! 💙