Chapter 7

Vi peered out the peephole. “Oh, it’s just your friend.”

“My friend?” I opened the door to find Jay standing there, holding takeout Chinese.

“I saw you were working late, and…” he began, but then stopped. “Kate, are you all right? What happened?”

I half-smiled, wondering just how horrific my face looked. The gash was sore, but it finally stopped bleeding. I knew it would look worse in the morning, once the bruising set in.

I didn’t realize I was hungry until the delicious aroma of Kung Pao hit me. I invited him in and introduced him to Viola.

When Vi looked away, I noticed him mouthing the words, “Anime girl?”

I nodded, smiling. He winced, still observing my wounds.

“Does it really look that bad?” I fished out a compact mirror from my purse and saw for myself. My left eye was already starting to swell from the punch, while my right cheek was busted open from the backhand. I did look like a fucking mess.

Jay tentatively reached for my injured cheek, and I felt an enormous amount of heat, like it radiated from his hand. He only touched his fingertips lightly against it for a moment, but even after his hand left my face, the warmth continued.

“I’m sorry,” he said, as he withdrew completely. “It looks like it really hurts. Are you okay?”

Vi looked down, as she twirled her multi-colored hair around her finger. “Kate, do you uh, want me to split?”

“I…I brought enough food for everyone,” Jay said. “I didn’t know what she was in the mood for.” He blushed, and I could tell he was more than a little uneasy with two women.

“But I didn’t realize you had company,” he continued, as he adjusted his tinted glasses farther up along his nose. “If you want, I’ll just leave the food here, and I’ll—”

“Don’t be silly!” Vi took hold of his arm and led him to my tiny dining room table. She turned back to me and winked.

I waited until after we ate to retell the gruesome story once more, but with a few less details, omitting the part where I killed Chad. Jay had this pained look on his face the whole time I spoke, so I didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable.

“I can’t believe he did that. I mean, I knew he was a creep, but to try to…” He trailed off, looking totally disgusted. “He’s really going to hear it from me tomorrow,” he muttered.

Viola stifled a laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about Chad anymore,” she sang softly.

I stomped her foot under the table, but she just smirked at me.

“What?” Jay asked, confused.

“Nothing,” I said. “Vi is just being a tart.”

She stuck her tongue out at me. “Fine, then. I’m not going to just sit here and be insulted.” She headed for the door. “Thanks for the food… Jay, is it?”

“You, uh, you don’t have to leave, do you?” he asked her.

She turned back and her ponytails bounced into place, settling in a breathtaking cascade of strawberry blond, purple, and blue against her shirt. I wondered what it must be like to be so effortlessly beautiful. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Her smile only unnerved him more, and his cheeks became flushed again.

“I’ll check back on you later, Kate,” she said. “Nice meeting you, Jay.”

“You too,” he said, looking down.

And then she left us alone with each other. I thought he didn’t want her to go because he had some kind of crush on her. To say Vi is a natural flirt is somewhat of an understatement – she enjoyed toying with men, pushing their buttons. But it soon became clear from his fidgeting that he was uncomfortable being alone with me. He tried to covertly hide his hands under the table, but I noticed him wiping his palms on his pants.

“Is, uh, everything okay?” I asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“It’s fine, everything’s fine,” he said, his voice nearly cracking. “I just…. I…” He bit his lip, and then it happened. It was as if I were opening my eyes to see for the first time, as natural as breathing the air around me. At first, I didn’t understand the picture that appeared in my head. Then I realized what I was seeing. His thoughts. Just like I did with Chad in the hospital.

In his mind, he pictured us sitting together on my couch. He faced me, and his hand touched my wounded eye. It surprised me, to see something so innocent, so innocuous. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Do you want to go to the living room? Maybe there’s something on TV,” I said.

He nodded.

Once we settled on the couch and I turned on the television, I heard him take a deep breath and then exhale. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

“Look, I hope this doesn’t sound weird or creepy, but would it be all right if I cleaned out your wound?” he asked, motioning to the gash under my eye. “I have some first aid training.”

“It’s fine,” I said, feeling embarrassed by my condition, and not wanting to be any trouble. But the picture I saw in his mind before returned, only this time his other hand was on my injured cheek.

“Please let me do this for you,” he said softly. He was so deliberate and sincere; I had no choice but to comply. I nodded and led the way to my bathroom.

It took me a second to locate my meager first aid supplies from underneath the sink. I removed my glasses to make it easier to clean the gash out. His eyes caught mine and he gasped.

“Your eyes…” he whispered.

“No, it’s okay,” I said, looking away. “It’s not...because of the… It’s…” Nothing even remotely plausible leapt to mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a jerk about it. I have astigmatism too,” he said nervously.

“Yeah, it’s uh, kind of a new thing for me,” I said, relieved. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it didn’t make sense, I knew astigmatism didn’t make your eyes all cloudy. But at the same time, I wasn’t about to argue and have to explain my condition.

He carefully placed a band-aid on my wounded cheek but left his hand there afterwards. Though it barely touched my skin, the heat that seemed to be generating from his hand was amazing. He exhaled. In his mind, I saw the most beautiful shade of reddish-purple swirling around in a spiral pattern. I felt this weird tingle in my skin, and the heat somehow increased in intensity. Then it started to pulsate. The sensation didn’t hurt, but it kinda freaked me out. I pulled away from him.

“What the fuck?” I put my hand over the wound, which was hot and a little moist. What was he doing?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just…” He looked away, fidgeting. It was clear he was struggling for words. I wanted to know what was going through his head, but I was understandably reluctant to actually try to use my power. Friends are just too hard to come by. The only thing that came through was a frenzied recollection of first aid scenarios, images from books he’d read, no doubt.

“I was putting some light, uh, pressure on the wound,” he said, still not meeting my eyes. “I-I read somewhere that—”

He’s an even shittier liar than I am, I thought. Sufficiently creeped out, I said, “I think you should leave.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and moved past me. I felt a pang of guilt, but my wound was still pulsating.

“I really hope you feel better, Kate,” he said, on his way out of my apartment.

I sighed in relief. Though I appreciated his company, I just wanted to be left alone. I wondered if there was anything on the internet about my “condition.” I grabbed my laptop and searched for abilities and superpowers, but most of the hits were about comic books or crappy superhero movies. I found one news article in the archives, a consolidated database of older national news. It was something from around the turn of the century, in a small Texas town called Cannondale. Apparently, a slew of teenagers and some adults were affected with various abilities, but the article wasn’t definitive on how they obtained the powers. There was a note that it was contained, whatever the hell that meant. I closed my laptop and sprawled out on my couch. Nothing on TV, so I just left it on a reality show. A solid fifty years after they first surfaced, reality shows still existed, and they were more popular than ever. Although the topic of people addicted to feeding ducks was totally riveting, in a matter of minutes I drifted off to sleep.

The nightmare I had was only slightly less bizarre than my life had been over the past couple of days. I couldn’t remember all of it, only a gargantuan snake, a failed attempt at seduction, and a penguin named Herbert, drinking tea.

The sound of an incoming text message beeped from my cell. I stretched and yawned, shaking off the last bits of sleep. It was late, 11 o’clock. Pickle didn’t move from his spot on the couch when I got up, only took a moment to give me the stink eye for disturbing his favorite sleeping position of a catball behind my knees.

The text was from Vi, she wanted to make sure I was all right being alone tonight. I texted her back that I was fine, and I would see her tomorrow. Though I was feeling lonely, it wasn’t female companionship I desired. After the nightmare, the lack of sex ache within me had only intensified. I was tempted to hit up a bar, see if I could find any desirable men. The thought of what kind of guys would be hanging out at a bar on a weeknight made me chuckle. What the hell, I thought. I could try my power out (carefully) on a stranger. If nothing else, it should be interesting.

Interesting was not the word. Hopeless was more like it. I hit up three bars: the first two had either idiot twenty-somethings trying to get smashed or fifty-somethings escaping their wives. The third bar had a couple of prospects, but I learned quickly that with the power to read minds came a depressing reality – the unadulterated truth. One dude that I thought was into me was actually thinking, “Man what happened to her? Is she into that kinda stuff?” All the while he smiled casually at me. The other guy was thinking about his ex and comparing my ass to hers. And then he went through the rest of my features, one by one, detailing everything that was less than perfect. I felt so judged and inadequate. Is this what happens every time I date? I shuddered and left him mid-sentence, not even bothering to say goodbye. How could I even think about sex with thoughts like that running through his head? Talk about a mood killer…

I returned home, annoyed and depressed at the same time, but happy I was able to use my power without killing anyone. In the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The reflection resembled my general feeling - even the waves in my hair didn’t bother trying anymore. The wound on my cheek seemed to be doing a lot better. I tentatively touched it, wondering how much it had swollen. It was hardly tender, let alone puffy. I gently peeled the band-aid off. The gash was gone, with only a small scar remaining. I stumbled back in disbelief, bumping the toilet and nearly falling into it.

“What the fuck is going on?” I wondered aloud. Is it possible… Do I have Wolverine regenerative powers too?