"What's wrong with some light stabbing?"
Delving into vigilante-ism, Charlie Redmond has balance everything from her superhero neighbor to her math tests to her inability to talk about her feelings. Unlike her morally righteous co-worker, Spider-Man...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"What's wrong?" I groan into the phone. It had not been more than thirty minutes since my head touched the pillow, bones aching from the law enforcement pursuit I had been on. Though they were always wary of my poor trouble-bring some fingers, they became even bigger dicks with Voltage's justice doing activities. Something was brewing between the government and all masked vigilantes, or at least that's what Michelle said, during a conspiracy theory spiel at school.
"Why assume something is wrong?" Alex's voice anything, but tired, whispers to avoid waking his siblings.
"Sorry," I mumble, glancing at the phone, its light searing into my retinas. "I forget we have our casual three a.m. talks."
"So inconsiderate." A distinct tone tells me he's smiling. Blank silence fills the other side of the call, causing my eyes to droop. Not a moment before they close, there's a small sigh. "I can't sleep."
Everything in me screams tired as I force myself to stay conscious of the conversation. "The usual?"
"Yeah."
He's lucky that my voice is almost completely back to normal from the choking incident with the Avengers. "Any request?"
"Anything, but Taylor Swift."
"There goes all my music." Rolling to my side, I place my phone not too far from my pillow. Then, exaggeratingly loud, I clear my throat and recall a song. With an exhale, I feel a calm sense of spirit, dainty, soft, and sad. "Feet don't fail me now, take me to the finish line."
"Lana Del Rey?" A joking sense of arrogance touches the question. He owns a CD of hers though he claims is a relic of one of his older brother's past relationships, but he'd have thrown it out or sold it if he really didn't like it.
"Shut up, your melodramatic ass loves her." Though the words are a little rough, they are said with teasing affection. He responds with nothing, so I take my cue to continue. "Oh, my heart breaks every step that you take. But I'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine."
I continue singing down through the list of what-ever songs I remembered until faint snores were heard through the phone speaker. Then I drift to sleep thinking of the doomed relationship, sleeping with bruises and cuts, knowing it will be for nothing.
***
"Go Jackie," I holler as she moves across the field, her long stick thing in hand. Clapping less enthusiastically, Alex reclines back on the bleacher. Having finished his book a few minutes into lacrosse practice, he's spent the rest of it with surveying the place with equal judgment. "How's Octavia doing?"
"Fine," He sighs, though he slouches more. Victoria, his oldest younger sister, is entering a special door-slamming, break-out inducing time. "She's just going through teen stuff. Mood-swings the usual."
