Paresthesia Pt. 03

"Ladies and gentlemen," I say, "I apologize. You probably have done nothing to deserve this intrusion, but well, nobody really gets what they deserve."

I have to wait. I have to wait for the refractory period to die down. I can't sit and savor the shock and terror, that brief moment of confused panic that sits over each and every one of their faces. I just have to let it slide. I did get to see and tectonic hailstorm stilled. That has to count for something. The collection of people shopping for shiny things looks to me like I might hurt them. I won't. There are no heroes here.

I open my mouth to say some more of my grand soliloquy, but the alarms start to sound and drown out my words with their incessant screech.

"Hey," I shout to the man the counter, "Is there a way to turn those off?"

He looks to me and he looks nice. Sharp suit, probably the last guy on the shift for the whole place, a very nice paisley tie that goes blue to black. And he has a stud on his ear. Good for him. It looks very nice with the rings on his fingers. But all the primming and preening in the world cannot save him from that ugly shake of his head. He does not give me what I want, and so I have to live with a world that hates me. His nametag says Brandon. He is now my bestest buddy.

Through the gaps in the sirens, I hear more glass shattering. I hear laughs and cheers and awed noises of things taken but not earned. I keep my eyes to the people. None of them will try anything. As one being, they have chosen to freeze in place, discarding the attempts at fight or flight.

"Tell me something Brandon," I shout, "Do you like your job?"

He gives me a confused look.

"I mean, is the pay good? I have to imagine it would be if that's the dress code. Have to buy all that. And I bet you have multiple outfits. Hours can't be great if you're open now, but benefits, pay, lots of PTO. That sort of thing?"

He is still confused, but he shakes his head.

"Really? Can't say I'm surprised. Part of the reason I turned out this way, the working world being what it is."

I stand and they all shy away a bit more.

"I'm going to run you through some hypotheticals, buddy. Say this place gets robbed. By some very, very handsome and beautiful people. And they smash up everything and I mean everything. Glass everywhere. In fact, there is so much glass that it's hard to tell what's diamond and what's not. There's going to be inventory missing, and in all that chaos, it's going to be a bit difficult to understand exactly what went wrong."

Another display in full working order and I cannot have that. So, I don't. I bring the bat down and once again the world is full of razor snowflakes cascading in the air.

"Now, there is also a terribly overworked employee. Student loans, high rent, maybe a kid that might not be his, but he's stepping up and being a man. Unfortunately, being a man requires money. And the job that needs a suit doesn't pay enough to be a man."

He's starting to put the pieces together and comes to the conclusion I am leading him towards. One of the others is as well, but they're not on this journey with me.

"So here we are. Someone who is taking a lot of money and causing a rather chaotic situation. Someone who probably needs more money, or just wants to stick to the man in a rather financial way. The first is definitely going to be satisfied with their half of the store."

I smile and he puts it all together, tempting and pushing and pulling him over the edge to join the rest of the terrible sinners.

The thought happens and I finally, finally, get to experience that moment of transformation. I stop it all. Gray, every single goddamn thing in the world, is my favorite shade of gray. Time stands still and it is silent. No klaxon, no shatters, no booms, not even the dull thump of a heartbeat. It is silent as the grave's shade, deader than the darkest hour of night, and it is all mine.

It's surprise that takes Mr. Brandon the most. Surprise that this was in him. Surprise that the line of just take what I want was so thin. Surprise that the threat of law and order can ring so hollow. Not to say there is no excitement. Thousands of dollars in the palm of his hand, another in the left pocket, maybe even breaking into the tens with his right. Amount and weight, dollar signs and commas flowing through his gray matter. And it is his. By some divine right, above the law, above the moral, the fact that he took it and the rightful owner did not secure it, it is his. A line broken and the world is open to so much more than it was.

I sigh and let him have his fun. Intoxicating, it really is. I just hope he is smart enough to realize that he is the distraction by the time the cops show up. The cameras will tell a different story, but by then, well, it won't really matter.

---

The night is quiet. The sirens are all dead. The stars are still bright, although the clouds moving in block out most of their brilliance. I sigh and stretch and lay down on the roof of my warehouse, my cut of precious stones resting on my belly. Heavy, surprisingly. Either Violence is generous, unlikely, or it was a good haul all around.

The tiles on the roof are still holding the warmth the day gave freely. I am cold, mostly from my hair. It is wet and limp and back to the natural away from the green. There is a body next to me and it is close. It is tight. It is warm.

We're both back in our casual uniform. Maybe a few degrees below. She's in sweats. I have my thin linen pants. Don't like sweatpants. They trap too much heat and then my thighs feel weird. Part of me just wants to be naked. That would be nice. But I am not naked. The moon would probably take offense to that.

Hannah is silent. Not even the slight tremor and shake of her core trying to break the world. She is still. Completely and utterly still. She's not asleep, though. She'd be snoring if she was asleep. I squeeze her hand and it takes a long moment for her to squeeze back. But she does. And it's good. I kiss the crown of her head to no response. It still tastes a bit like the gel she uses to sculpt it. Not my favorite, but I would be worried if I liked the taste. Seems a weird thing to like.

"Are you getting hungry at all?" I ask, "Could see if that sandwich place is still open."

She hums the hum that means no. I'm not that hungry either. Still kind of want a sandwich. They have a good BLT and I might just get it for lunch tomorrow. Kind of waste of money, but it's a thought. Could also just go over there tomorrow. I got time.

"Cold?" I ask, "I can go get a blanket. Or we move inside."

She hums that same hum again and I do not know what to make of it. I want to pry, but that's always a hard read. She may want to be pried. She may not. So, the silence comes back and I think through the scenarios and the counter plays. So many endless possibilities. I let the moments come and flow through me. It only matters if I do not think of it in time.

"I'm having a bit of buyer's regret," Hannah sighs.

"Not sure if that's the right phrase, but alright," I say.

"I don't know what would be right, then. Just, I don't know. What if this was the wrong move? I mean, Solar's gone now, so that's a big plus on the other side. But that bridge has burned and then the rubble got burned again."

"Do you regret me?"

"Oh hell no. That's the one really good part. The best part. And if I go back, then this becomes a lot more difficult. We'd go back to those rooftop things where you touch me and I touch you and we don't sleep in the same bed."

"I'm pretty sure you can live somewhere else if you're on the Justice side of things."

"Nope, that policy changed a few years ago. Have to live in the provided housing. Granted, it's free, but still. You're out of the loop, Evan."

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really. You left before you would have crossed over from Junior. And even then, there's been a lot of changes once Solar got his promotion. And now he's in Vegas and some of those changes might change back."

She's silent again and I think I know the words that are coming next.

"You could come with me," she says. I don't say anything. I just let them sit and hang in the night sky.

"That'd be a good way to spin it right? Secret agent like, double crosses, intrigue. Might even be able to say you were a plant for some real long game cons."

I don't even think about it. I had my answer when it was still unsaid.

"If I left when it was good," I say, "Then I'm not going back when its bad."

"But we could change it from the inside," she says, "And I realize that is a dumb idea. How many times has that happened? Like zero. But we'd be together."

She sighs and huddles a bit closer. It is cold. I think we should go inside and climb under blankets and covers and sheets, but we are out here contemplating future career moves under the stars and we have no answers, no further things to say when the possibilities form to something more concrete.

Hannah nuzzles into my neck and I do not want to go inside anymore.

"Part of me hates you," she says, "Because you didn't go through with it."

"The full League?"

"Yeah. Y'know there was a whole hazing thing, right?"

I did not, but I do not say anything. I will learn in a moment.

"Had to take a full Solar Beam for like a minute. Took me two days to breathe right again. And you got to dodge that. And some other stuff. That's why I hate you."

"Was that the worst of it?"

"Physically yeah. Like, he never touched me, but I think that was mostly Kieran looking out for me. Deadman said some weird things, but he gets the old man excuse. Called me 'honey.' And he never actually did anything. He hit hard, but only during sparring. It was just the red tape. We had to show up when Solar said, wear what he wanted us to wear, get called the names he wanted to call us. And he's gone now. So, there's a chance, right?"

"Why did you want to take the Hall job?"

"There has to be a record or something of what Solar did. Cameras, logs, maybe he wrote a fucking diary. Granted, if we leak it, it probably won't stick, because the world sucks like that, but it's something. It's something. And the people who are supposed to want him to have a bad time basically said that it wasn't worth it. Even you. If we go back, in whatever way, we could find it."

I take a deep breath in and let the night fill me. Bad things happen at night. Theft, murder, dark alley things with knives and bats and guns. A siren finally goes off and I see the red and blue flash up on the other side of the river. Bad things always happen in the dark. I like doing bad things.

"I didn't say no. I just said I needed a reason. And that's a pretty good reason."

She immediately rolls onto me and I feel the tremor tighten and quake the roof through our bodies. It's her. It's always her and her energy that shakes the world and breaks things in the best way. It's amazing. Her hair still smells like the goo that gives it shape. She didn't wash it. It was just a quick rinse to have an excuse to change into something softer than ripped denim and an old concert tee for a band she doesn't listen to. But she wore it because it was in my closet and it fit her well enough.

I kiss her and she tastes like night air. She kisses me back and I imagine I taste much the same. Her hands are on my chest and I feel the rhythm of her heartbeat boom like a drum line machine gun.

"Thank you," she murmurs and the world says the words in the same bass drum line. She kisses me and holds me and I hold her back while the stars watch and shine. I kiss her and she tastes like earthquakes and breaking sound barriers. She tastes like gun shots and firework launchers. She holds me and it feels like the earth itself is shattering over me.

Those words feel so much better than anything she can pour into my body. There is a moment, a moment of stillness I take for myself. Gray, she is gray and hovering over me with the threat of ruin frozen still. Even now, even in the gray of the world that I make, she stares through me, into me, over me. She is pressure and weight and all sorts of heavy wonderful things. I do not move. I let the time sit still as she looks to me with the gray that is blue of her eyes. I give it back. I do not want to live here in the still moment anymore. I want what's next.

And it is glorious. The tremors and quakes rattle through me and it is wonderful. The start of the machinations, the beginning of the end. It is dark and the night is long and terrible, terrible things always happen at night.

The cord in her tightens and snaps and something deep breaks with her. She is over me and kissing me and touching me with the force of her body.

"Are you sure you want to do this here?" I ask, "Someone might fly over."

"Another wonderful little tidbit," she thrums, "Solar was the only one with that particular benefit."

"Can't you do that too?"

"Sort of. I jump good. That's it."

"Do I jump good?"

"No. You don't really jump that good. Batting cages and crowd work. That's about all your good at."

"Tongue and finger and hand things?"

"Y'know, I can't seem to recall if you are. I want to say yes, but I could be wrong."

She is smiling again. I like it when my Hannahs smile. Granted, this is the 'I'm being a shit' smile, but it's still one of her better ones. I like the one where she steals my food and pretends that she didn't, but she is still chewing. It comes with the sudden loss of food, and that's terrible. But it's worth it.

"I see what you're trying to do, Hannah," I sigh, "And it's not going to work."

"So, I guess we can just stop here and go to bed. I think I'm getting pretty tired actually. And I have a headache. And my period. And I stubbed my toe earlier. And I think I hear the doorbell."

I kiss her and suddenly all the things that might prevent us getting naked seem to vanish. Except the cold. That's still there. But it doesn't seem to be so bothersome right now. I have Hannah for a blanket and she is very good at being that.

My hands start to roam once more. Up to her chest, where once again, a bra is not to be found. Now that I think about it, I have never actually seen her put one on. Makes it so much easier for me. The swell and rolling hills, the rise and fall. My hands do not stop there. Up to her neck, up to her cheek, back down and across her spine. It does not stop. Her body flows like river current, carrying the endless debris of upstream. Her body moves and bends and tilts with my hands. It feels hard, baked clay hard and unyielding. Smooth glaze and hard fired kiln. She bends and cracks under my hands.

"Oh fine. You are good at hands things," she says.

I smile and I imagine that it is one of her favorites of mine. I am on her chest at the moment and I have no plans of moving too far away for the moment. I am there and she is with me. Her hands are on my chest, and they decide to keep going lower. I do not mind if that keeps going lower. They are on my stomach. They are on my hips. They are under my waistband and slowly pulling it all down. Cold, I am cold and that is certainly acceptable. I am going lower on her as well. Her stomach is taught and booming like thunder over the horizon. Her cord tightens under her navel, right along her spine. It moves the current of her body. Electrifying, magnetic, simply enthralling with the energy she carries at her deepest self.

As she touches me and the hard shaft. I touch her and the parted lips. She is warm. I am warm. She lets out a soft giggle that echoes like canyon song. I trace her shape, her lips, the part and open for me. Just the same, she does just the same with me. She puts just the softest touch of her cord pull into her fingertips. I shudder. It is the cold and it is her. It is her touch that does it to me, sends electricity through me and takes all sensation down into static fuzz. She giggles again and it echoes like a golden bell.

I part her one last time and enter. She gasps and holds her breath. The world holds its breath with her.

"Your fingers are cold," she hisses.

"I'm trying to warm them up," I say. She hums and now she is annoyed with me.

"Do a better job."

I will do a better job, but I need some time to get into the rhythm. It has to start slow. It has to keep moving with the flow of moment to moment. It is part and open and spread. It is slip and slither in and prod out. I am in her and she is over me, the chord thrum and the chill of the gray moment over the other and collapsing together.

A little bit of effort and she starts to lose control of the noise in her throat. It starts as slight gasps in the moment, little hitches and pauses. Once I find those, the pattern, the set and motion, it is the same play. And she likes it. She likes it and once again she finds the noises to make for me.

And I refuse to lapse into the silence. It comes from deep in my chest, the moan she pulls. It is long and wistful, lingering in the back of my throat, tip of my tongue, just on the edges of my lips. Noise, there is noise shared between us and it will not stop. I do not want it to stop. I sing for her and she sings for me and I am left in the cold of the night when all bad things happen.

She tightens and twitches over my fingers. She shifts and opens and closes, gripping and squeezing. It dances over my fingers. She dances over my fingers and it sits in my grasp. She sits in my grasp. I let it all dance and play within her, letting each and every second of this time slip on by as the world thinks it should. The world is allowed to be right for the moments I allow it to be. It's better for now to have each and every moment pass it ought to.

Hannah shudders over my fingers and her breath stops for a good terribly long moment.

"And you are good at finger things," she says with a grimaced grip and release, "Don't you dare stop. I'm so close."

I had no plans to stop. Although she certainly has. I am aching and hard and straining against the poor, poor hemline. I do take a moment to shift and let everything lie in a better place. Less in the way, and less crushing me.

Hannah is, though. She is tight with a vice grip over me. The thrum of her core does not make it any better. It shakes. It breaks. It threatens to snape my fingers in half and it does not stop. She does not stop. She keeps trying to bite and snap and shatter me. But I do not stop. She cannot make me stop.

I spread and prod and open her to me and she does let me stop. Her hands grip me and the nails rake my skin. She is scratching me and biting me and trying to break me. I refuse. I lay into her, letting more and more of my efforts into her. And she gasps and writhes on the roof to my music. She does not stop. I will not let her stop.

I feel her end come with the final pride and stroke. She goes still, so incredibly still. Stone stare in the moment of destruction still. She is quiet and still and for a moment, for a glorious moment, she looks at me with a devious smile. That one, that's my favorite.

And it's gone. It's gone with the terrible moment where the white blank takes over her mind. There is nothing, nothing at all except the white void she has lost herself in. I feel her release arc up my arm, stain her own fabrics keeping her inside, spill from her in the sharp breaking knot from her spinal column. Arcing and bending, trying to break herself in half from my fingers. She shudders and cannot stop. She shakes and cannot stop. Her fingers dig into my skin and I think she might be trying to break a bone or two.

By some miracle, it ends with me mostly in one piece. Hannah, slightly less so. Shambles and shards, loose and tired, still clinging to me with desire. She is panting. I can see the puffs of her breath hanging in the air. Cold, I am cold. She must be cold, too. Neither of us care.