The Girl Who Would Be King(43)

“Hey…are you okay?”

I look at her. She has big clear green eyes. She reminds me of someone. I think she’s the first person I’ve really looked in the eye since Joan. It must be as intense for her as it is for me, because she breathes in a little bit and draws back. Her hand flutters away from my shoulder. I nod at her and hold up a hand suggesting she keep her distance. She scoots away from me, through the onslaught of feet until her back is up against the stone of a building. I put my hand to my burning chest, as if it can do something there, other than helplessly hold in what feels like an explosion about to come out through my chest like a bomb. I look at her again and she’s watching me – this strange expression on her face – as my body is again racked with heaving breaths. This time I throw up.

That gives me a wide berth in the foot traffic department.

After throwing up I feel a little better, even though the burning in my chest continues. I close my eyes and crouch into a catcher’s position on the sidewalk and suddenly have my bearings back – almost as quickly as they left me. Everything clears like the auto focus on a camera, the burning continues, but now it’s like it’s talking to me instead of ravaging me.

I stand up as people continue to walk around me, annoyed at the obstacle I am to them. I look over their heads, left and right, until a razor beam focus points where I should go, a small less crowded side street. My palms are sweaty and my mind is racing, but I don’t know if I could stop even if I wanted to. I run across the street and into a small bodega on a hidden corner. Just as I walk in, a man pulls a gun on the clerk at the counter. There’s no moment to be afraid this time because before I even know what’s happening and in perfect synch with the simple act of walking into the store, I swing my fist at the gunman. He never even sees me, although I’m not aware I’m moving any faster than normal. In one fluid movement, as his body crashes into a display eight feet away, I have the gun in my other hand. How I managed to get it from him is a blur, but feels like a perfectly executed math equation. And with its conclusion, the burning in my chest ceases as startlingly as it began. The clerk is saying something to me that I can’t hear. I put the gun on the counter and walk out the door. The woman from the busy street is the first and only thing I see when I come out of the store. She’s still sitting there, her back against a building, her view a direct line of sight into the store. Her green eyes are wide. She looks a lot like Alice from the home. I stare at her and she stares at me. I smile a little bit at the same time she does. And then I start running.

I know what I’m supposed to do now.

I don’t know why I didn’t have this sixth sense or whatever it is all along, but part of me thinks maybe it means I’m growing up, evolving into a real superhero. Like maybe the world knew I couldn’t handle it before, but now, now I’m finally becoming me and the world knows it – or maybe I’m just learning to listen to myself.

Either way, it’s the first time I’ve felt happy in a very long time.



•

I find myself incredibly bored in Los Angeles and with no brilliant idea about how to find my stone. I have visions of storming the LAPD, but have no idea which location, or if I’d be able to get in and out without getting captured. I still fear the idea of getting captured by the government – of being strapped down and experimented on. Sure, I’m well-nigh invincible but that doesn’t mean I can’t be taken captive – and live for what, like, forever? Spend forever being experimented on? I think not. I’ve seen the movies. I figure the farther I stay away from government agencies the better my chances are.

So instead I just try to lose myself in the little things for a while. I do all the things I’d been imagining. I go to the beach. And it’s cool, beautiful too, but I don’t feel much looking at the waves. I’d expected to be moved. To feel small in comparison to something so epic. But I don’t feel small, I feel only confusion. I have to admit that I’m a bit lost and for the millionth time, I’m forced to consider that maybe killing Delia was a mistake – not that killing her was a mistake – but that I should have waited until I got some answers first.

The other thing that’s annoying about the ocean is that it reminds me of Adrian. That’s super-annoying, actually. I’ve been thinking about him a lot. Wondering if he’s angry with me. I mean, surely he is – I killed his sister, and brutally at that – but I do believe he loved me, and I did spare his life. So, maybe, he’s also a little bit grateful. Maybe he’s missing me. Or maybe he’s already replaced me with some cute dumb bitch that won’t be so much trouble. You know, girls that won’t shoot him in the leg and wouldn’t have killed his sister. Whatever. Not my fault. He betrayed me first. I would have done anything for him, until that moment.