Pete and I rolled up to Helena's friend's place in Brentwood Heights. This mansion wasn't just big, it was a monument to excess. Think white columns the size of sequoias and enough lawn to play miniature golf on. We stepped out onto the driveway, spotless enough to eat off.
"Oh boy," Pete let out a low, impressed whistle. "This place makes my auntie's mansion look like a crack den."
I snorted. "Yeah. Maybe we should've just grabbed some pizza."
"Word," Pete agreed, scratching his head with a grimace. "Just hope they got a decent selection of brews, or this might be a long night."
I grinned, carefully shutting the door of his faithful Honda, its worn frame groaning in protest.
We crunched across the gravel driveway, the air thrumming with a low bassline that vibrated in my chest.
People draped themselves across the plush white sofas like human decorations, colorful cocktails cradled in manicured hands.
Pushing open the oak doors, we were greeted by a wall of sound. Conversations overlapped, punctuated by shrieks of laughter and the rhythmic boom of the music. The air hung thick with the scent of Chanel No. 5, cigar smoke, and something vaguely herbal. The crowd was a dense tapestry of bodies, a swirling mass of designer clothes and flashy jewelry that seemed to mock our threadbare t-shirts and jeans.
Pete scanned the room, his eyes widening like someone who'd just spotted a ghost. "Whoa, Clark," he murmured. "We're way outta our league here, man."
I scanned the sea of faces too, searching for Helena's familiar features. No luck.
"Hold on a sec," I muttered, pulling my phone from my pocket. "I'll just shoot her a quick text."
"Hey, where are you? Just got here."
As we waited for her response, I took in the eclectic mix of partygoers around us. Drunken dancers swayed in rhythmic disarray. A group of guys with greased-back hair and loosened ties argued loudly about something that definitely wasn't astrophysics.
Just as I started to wonder if my text had gotten lost in the party vortex, my phone buzzed with Helena's reply.
"the magnifisent umbrla by the poo outsdie."
A grin tugged at my lips. "Seems like she's by the pool," I remarked to Pete.
We weaved through the crowd, dodging flailing limbs and weaving between couples locked in passionate embraces until we reached the edge of the party.
"See her anywhere?" Pete yelled over the music.
I focused my vision, looking past the surface, into the depths of the crowd. The world transformed into a surreal kaleidoscope. People morphed into glowing skeletons, their bones exposed in neon hues. Then, like a camera finding its focus, they snapped back to their full, flesh-and-blood forms. It was always a trip in a crowd this dense, but I was getting better at it.
"Found her," I said, flicking my vision back to normal. She stood near the giant, white pool umbrella, illuminated by the glow of tiki torches, swaying like a tipsy nymph.
Pete squinted. "Where, man? I don't see her."
I flashed him a smug grin. "Just follow my lead," I muttered, and pushed through the final throng of bodies.
Helena caught sight of us and stumbled our way.
"There you two are!" she slurred, a drink clutched loosely in her hand. "Took you long enough." Her hair, usually a cascade of dark curls, hung loose around her shoulders, framing eyes that sparkled with barely concealed intoxication.
I greeted her with a careful hug. As she pulled away, she swayed closer, her gaze locking onto mine. Before I could react, she leaned in, aiming for my lips. The kiss landed somewhere between my cheek and my jaw, sloppy and wet. My heart leaped. Memories of our last encounter flooded back, the taste of vanilla swirling in my head.
Pete broke the awkward silence with a grin. "Ah, Helena, life of the party, as always. Gotta say, your dance moves are top-tier, to say the least."
"Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet," she declared, dipping into a curtsy, and wobbling precariously on her high heels.
We chatted for a while, our laughter blending with the music. Helena leaned against me, swaying to the rhythm, the sequins of her dress twinkling under the party lights. Her arm draped over my shoulder, her warmth seeping through my t-shirt. Her fingers, delicate but clumsy, traced playful circles on my bicep, raising goosebumps on my skin.
Pete, ever the watchful wingman, elbowed me with a knowing smile. "Looks like someone's got a little somethin'-somethin' going on," he teased discreetly, a wink in his eye.
The playful touch sent a wave of heat through me. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was...different. New. Confusing as hell, considering Helena's current state. She was practically hanging off me now, her breath tickling my ear as she giggled nonsensically.
With a loud, drunken cackle, she threw herself onto my lap, her movements more enthusiasm than grace. "Gotta tell you somethin' real important," she mumbled, her words slurring together. "Super duper important... but I forget what it was..." Her brow furrowed in a comical attempt at concentration before dissolving back into a goofy grin.
I gently shifted her off my lap, my touch light on her waist as I tried to subtly guide her back to a more upright position. Pete raised an eyebrow at me, a mix of amusement and concern on his face. We locked eyes for a beat, and I offered a helpless shrug, torn between the giddy excitement of the moment and a nagging worry gnawing at the back of my mind.
"Hold this, boys!" Helena declared, thrusting her half-empty cocktail glass at Pete with a drunken flourish. "Gotta... gotta powder my nose. Be right back!"
She lurched to her feet, swaying precariously. Before I could protest, she was gone, swallowed by the throng of partygoers.
As she vanished into the crowd, Pete leaned closer, quirking an eyebrow. "Damn, Clark," he whistled. "Think Helena just upgraded from tipsy to full-on Drunkzilla."
I nodded in agreement. "You're not wrong. She wasn't this wasted at the Crow's Eye. And she barely even touched anything since we got here…"
Pete's tone shifted. "Alright, my friend," he drawled, "spill the dirt. What'd you wanna tell me about earlier?"
A warmth bloomed on my face. With a shy grin, I mumbled, "So, uh… believe it or not, it actually happened."
Pete's eyebrows shot up. "Happened? What happened, man? Did you finally lose it and fling Jake into orbit?"
I snorted, a nervous laugh escaping my lips. "No, no, not that kind of happened. Me and Helena…" I hesitated, searching for the right words. "We kissed."
Pete's jaw dropped, then his face split into a wide, toothy grin. "Oh snap, Clark! That's awesome, dude!" He threw his hands up in the air, nearly knocking over a passing waiter with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. A few people shot us curious glances, but Pete, oblivious, just launched into a celebratory dance.
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, and I couldn't help but join in. "Yeah, it was…unexpected. But, uh, definitely a good kind of unexpected."
"Well look at you!" Pete wrapped his arm around my neck, drawing me closer. I rolled with the movement, allowing myself to be pulled into his hold. "First kiss and no casualties. She's still in one piece," he added with a chuckle. "Can't say the same for her sanity, though."
A shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought of accidentally hurting her. "Yeah. Let's not even go there," I replied.
My gaze drifted across the crowd, landing on a table filled with fancy finger foods and champagne flutes. I snagged two frosty beers from an ice bucket, the condensation clinging to the bottles. Returning to Pete, I held one up.
"Here's to firsts," I said, raising my own bottle.
"Damn right! First gig, first smooch, and now we're living it up like rockstars."
We clinked our bottles together. But as I took a swig of the cold beer, a sliver of unease wormed its way into my gut. Helena had been gone for a considerable amount of time, and the memory of her earlier stumbles sent a jolt of unease through me.
"Relax, Clark," Pete reassured me, catching my anxious glances toward the glass door. "But hey, nature's calling for me too. Let's make a quick bathroom pit stop and check on her on the way."
The stench of alcohol and regret hung heavy in the air as we pushed open the bathroom door. A symphony of porcelain splashes and groans greeted us, punctuated by the concerned murmur, "Hold her hair back, Brenda!" Pete and I exchanged a look, the universal language of "Nope" passing silently between us.
Finally stumbling upon an unoccupied bathroom, a knot of worry tightened in my chest. Where the hell was Helena? I hoped she hadn't passed out somewhere. As Pete relieved himself, I fiddled with my phone, tapping out a frantic message, faster than anyone should be able to: "Hey, you okay? We're looking for you."
Scanning the room, my gaze swept over the bustling crowd, searching for any sign of her. I resisted the urge to peek behind closed doors, to intrude into others' conversations like some sort of paranoid stalker. I didn't want to pry, but the temptation to x-ray the whole house grew stronger with each passing moment.
Suddenly, my eyes landed on Tyler's usual crew. They were sprawled on a plush white sofa, their laughter erupting like a flock of drunken crows. My jaw clenched. The mere sight of them churned up memories of their endless taunts and jabs. Blood boiled beneath my skin, but I shoved it down. Not the time.
Despite my attempts to resist prying, my concern got the best of me. I focused my hearing, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of Helena's voice.
My ears were assaulted by a chorus of discordant sounds – the distant blare of a ship's horn in Gotham's harbor, the screech of tires from a speeding car, even the faint wail of a baby somewhere far off.
Tuning out the background noise, I honed in on the room. Heartbeats pulsed like drumbeats. The sharp hiss of a beer can opening sliced through the air, followed by the clinking of ice cubes in a glass. Snippets of conversation drifted past.
"...mplaining about the new Lexus her dad..."
"...ur eyebrows are on fleek!"
"..t was savage,"
Then, a single sentence froze me in my tracks. "...he'd roofie her. She had it coming, that b—" Jordan, Tyler's loyal attack dog, remarked casually.
A jolt of terror coursed through me, turning my blood to ice. He couldn't be talking about Helena. Dark scenarios flashed through my mind, fueled by Tyler's conspicuous absence and Helena's strange behavior. And then, as if on cue, raucous laughter erupted from his group. That couldn't be good.
Panic clawed at my throat. I had to find her.
I desperately scanned the crowd, peeling away layers of bodies and walls, searching every corner of the damn room. My senses went into overdrive, absorbing every sound, every smell, every heartbeat.
Then I heard it. A faint whimper slicing through the noise, chilling me to the bone. I froze. This couldn't be happening.
Time seemed to stretch as I zeroed in on the source, my pulse thundering in my ears.
"No… don't..." Helena's weak voice reached my ears, latching onto my soul. My heart clenched in my chest.
She was upstairs.
Every particle of my being implored me to burst into a sprint. But it was too risky in this crowd. Too many fragile bodies. Too many prying eyes. Ignoring every instinct to barrel through, I weaved through the crowd, every muscle screaming in protest as I forced myself to maintain a normal pace.
"Fuck off me… you..." Helena's pleas grew louder. I bounded up the stairs, a string of curses ripping through my clenched teeth. My footsteps danced on the edge of human limits, taking four at a time.
Finally, I reached the top, guided by the trail of sounds. I swung open the door, the lock giving way with a loud crack. The upper hinges ripped from the frame, but I paid them no mind. The crumpled handle slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor as I soaked in the horror show in front of me.
Helena laid on the carpet, hazy eyes filled with fear. Tyler loomed over her, pants down, a predatory smile on his face.
That was all my brain needed to lose its collective shit. My insides ignited like a goddamn inferno. My core felt like it was doused in gasoline and set on fire, logic and reason dumped out the window. Every protective instinct was amplified tenfold, screaming at me to unleash hell on earth.
The world around me took on a crimson hue as the pressure built in my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my head as if physical pressure could hold back the eruption. The scorching heat beneath my eyelids intensified, demanding release. I couldn't allow it. Letting go wouldn't just incinerate Tyler—but Helena, the house, and everything in a goddamn ten-block radius.
My hands curled into fists, tension radiating through my knuckles as I waged a silent war against my primal instincts. It would be all too easy to let that power loose, to obliterate Tyler from existence right then and there. But I choked down the urge to tear him apart, piece by agonizing piece, forcing myself to breathe.
My eyes snapped open, locking onto Tyler. His grin faltered as our eyes met. With a startled jolt, he scrambled to pull himself off Helena. His hands fumbled, hastily hoisting up his pants. But before he could take a full breath, I closed the distance between us.
I spun him around, grabbing his collar; the only way to prevent myself from crushing him like a can of soda. I tossed him across the room, relishing the sickening CRACK he made as he hit the wooden bed frame. Music to my ears. He deserved every ounce of pain, and more. If I had my way, this guy would be nothing but a mangled mess of flesh and bones.
It was tempting, letting my rage run wild and painting the walls with his regrets. But I knew that path would only drag me into my own worst nightmares.
Tyler crumpled to the floor, wincing in agony. A part of me wanted to carve life lessons into his conscience with my own nails. This was his lucky day. If I let my instincts take over, he would be a smear on the wall.
He managed to haul himself into a semi-upright position, grimacing in pain. I dashed towards him, lifting him off the ground. His eyes darted around the room like a cornered rat, while his feet dangled helplessly in the air.
"You fucking piece of shit," I hissed, the words scraping past gritted teeth. "I should fucking kill you."
"Clark, plea— " Tyler's voice squeaked.
"Save it." I scoffed, "Your bullshit sob story won't change a damn thing." I jammed my arm back and gave him a little shove against the wall, making sure he felt every inch of it. His pained expression was practically poetic.
"I-I never meant to hurt her," he choked out. I tightened my grip on his collar, my fingers trembling with restrained power, his legs still swinging inches from the floor.
"Like hell you didn't," I spat. "That's why you spiked her drink and were about to—" Heat flared behind my eyes, the pressure building up once more. I shut them for a moment, pushing back the rising fire.
"Y-your eyes…" His voice quivered, color draining from his face. He finally realized I wasn't bluffing. Panic had effectively wiped the smirk off his face, replacing it with sheer terror.
"Give me one good reason not to punch your fucking head in," I spat, looking back toward him. To emphasize my point, I smashed my fist against the wall inches from his head, sending a shower of rocks and plaster crumbling to the ground.
"No way... You... You can't be serious. How..." he stammered, his voice cracking. His eyes widened, desperately searching my face for any sign of weakness, a hint of hesitation, but finding none.
His bloodied lips twitched, as if he was about to offer up a last-ditch plea. As if words could undo what he'd done.
"Clark... is that... you?" Helena's voice, thick and slow, snapped me out of my rage. I was failing her. Every second I wasted on this puke stain was another moment she needed help. I needed to get a grip – for her sake.
Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to refocus. I summoned every ounce of self-control, channeling it to douse the flames of anger like a smoldering fire subsiding into embers.
With a muttered curse, I released my hold on Tyler, and he plummeted to the ground with a pathetic thud.
I turned my back on him, shielding Helena's eyes from his crumpled form. The last thing she needed was more confusion on top of the drugs coursing through her system.
Footsteps approached, breaking through my thoughts. Pete's hand appeared on the mangled door, forcefully pushing it aside. His eyes widened in surprise, registering the state of the entrance. "What the hell... happened?" he gasped.
Pete's eyes grew wider still as he took in the scene before him. Helena sprawled on the floor, looking like she might pass out any second, and Tyler, a disheveled mess nursing a busted lip.
I spared a quick glance at the wreckage of the door. But the sight of Helena, gasping for air, quickly refocused my priorities.
"We need to get her to the hospital," I said, urgency roughening my voice. "She's been drugged." Dropping to my knees I scooped Helena into my arms, carefully cradling her close. My gaze shifted to Tyler, with a cold glare. "This scumbag…" I trailed off, my voice sticking in my throat, "...almost had his way with her."
Pete nodded, mouth agape, eyes darting between Helena, Tyler, and me. He didn't need me to spell it out. One look at Helena's trembling form and the wrecked room told the whole damn story. He was probably wondering how the heck Tyler was still breathing. Without a word, he stepped aside, clearing the path for me to get Helena out of there.
The second I crossed the threshold, my legs pumped like pistons as I sprinted through the mansion. Adrenaline drowned out everything but the thudding of my heart and the need to get Helena somewhere safe. Gotham General Hospital was the first thought to pop into my head, but a nagging voice of reason interjected. Sterile walls, neon lights, doctors with their intrusive questions and needles—years of hiding my abnormal physiology had me running a mile from anything resembling a lab coat.
Hospitals were bad for business, and worse for freaking out Helena. Hours of poking and prodding, endless waiting rooms. She wouldn't want that. I needed a better plan.
And then it hit me. In the secret sanctuary beneath Helena's house, among the bat-shaped weaponry, I recalled seeing a well-stocked medical arsenal. And who better to handle that kind of stuff than the guy who probably patched up the Dark Knight himself after a particularly rough night? Alfred.
Decision made, I cast a quick glance around. Coast clear, I bolted, ripping my jeans in the process, directing my course towards Wayne Manor.