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Blood.
It was everywhere.
Underneath her nails. Knuckles, shoes, hair.
Everywhere.
Pants, legs, nose.
Eyes. Cheeks. Face.
Face.
On the ground.
There were chunks of blood near her shoes. It made her sick.
A mangled corpse in front of her. Arms bent at weird angles, head split open, and she couldn't look away.
It was like a car accident.
Her hands were covered in blood, and she shook. A tiny cut around her neck. That's all. Everything else was–
Oh God.
She went overboard.
What had she done?
She fell to her knees. What had she done? What had she done?
Someone was behind her, she knew it. Someone had seen her do it. What was happening?
He dragged her away from the body. She screamed and yelled and cried all the while.
She was a murderer. She killed someone. She killed someone and she—
Hands grabbed her own and rubbed them, “It's okay,” he soothed.
How can you say that?
He saw it. He saw it all. Droplets of blood were on his face. His boots were stained with it.
Her chest compressed, hitching, lungs on fire. So on fire, like a forest.
Tears smeared with the blood. He patted her back, letting her sob into his shoulder. Tugging at the back of his shirt, a finger lifted so he wouldn't float away.
Sirens blared in the background. Blinking red and blue as it got nearer and nearer.
“It's okay,” he said again, quieter that time.
He took out a cloth and whipped her face and neck. Sitting next to her as a tall man approached them. He wore a black uniform and held a blank face that scared her.
He asked her questions, but as it went on she couldn't answer. Her throat poured out another sob and a whimper, bending down so her tears would hit the concrete sidewalk.
Her classmate talked to the cop with a shakiness in his voice, rubbing circles into her back.
“Some man,” he hesitated, “Tried to—Tried to rob her.”
The cop hummed, scratching something in the notebook he held. She couldn't be bothered to listen to the rest of the conversation.
I killed someone. I killed someone and I'm going to get arrested, and that cop is going to arrest us and. Her breathing quickened; a lightheadedness seeped through her head.
It was self-defense. It was! That man put a knife to her throat, and it was just self-defense!
Bile rose into her mouth, lurching forward as she threw up. She shook so hard it felt like her back gave way.
They were led into the police car.
No handcuffs.
She swayed as she got into the car.
The drive felt too long and too short at the same time. Sunlight flicked in between the trees; the blood on her clothes drying. She felt numb, unable to focus her eyes as she stared at nothing.
It's over.
It's all over.
Another cop was talking to her.
In the station.
Saying something about calling her parents and oh no no no no!
Not them.
They can't.
She shouted, shaking the chair with her body, cotton in her ears. They can't see her like this. Know what she had done.
How can she be a hero now?
You weren't supposed to kill a criminal unless it was necessary.
The slightest touch and she sent that man 30 meters in the air and let him fall.
To his death.
For trying to rob her.
How could she be a hero?
“Calm down, miss,” they said and oh god their voice was so distant.
How?
How?
The station was suffocating. Stale and gray and so small yet so big.
She couldn't breathe and her stomach hurt, and her clothes were covered in dried blood.
Some of it wasn't even dried.
“No!” She yelled, almost screamed.
There was a flash of something in the cop’s eyes. Fear?
“They can't—” her voice cracked, “I killed someone!”
That face.
Parts of his brain got on her shoes.
It was like a horror movie. She was the bad guy. She killed someone, she killed someone, murdered them, murdered them, and sent them flying.
The cop sighed, like he didn't care, “Kid—”
With that she stopped listening. Not intentionally.
Never.
Spread. Across the floor.
Broken limbs.
Eyes clouded. Almost popped from their sockets.
She can't.
She can't get that face out of her head.
Was that not important?
She should see that for the rest of her life. To remember what she did.
That she was a fake hero.
“Ma’am it's okay,” someone else’s voice came along, “Breath.”
Breath.
Breath.
She choked on her own saliva.
What would her teachers think?
What would her friends think?
Would they understand?
Blame her?
Say everything was okay?
Comfort her? Hug her?
Would her parents do that?
Breath.
Breath.
Would they see her as a monster?
She went too far. She released him when she had known it would be fatal.
How could she have done that?
Why?
How long had it been?
Her parents brought a change of clothes.
She couldn't look them in the face as she took them. How could she?
She felt such shame.
They tried telling her it wasn't her fault. That she just panicked.
She knew that.
Said that this wouldn't be a stain on her record. That everything was going to be okay.
It was a onetime incident. An accident. A freak accident.
“Accident?” She flung her arm, mumbling incoherently.
Her classmate got questioned after her. While she was fiddling with her thumps as her parents did paperwork, she could hear him shouting at the officer. About what she couldn't figure out.
He was getting overly aggressive for some reason.
Not like aggressive aggressive, just defensive aggressive.
“It was an accident!” He yelled.
She couldn't see what was going on, but there was a loud bang and that was that.
He was sent out.
He smiled at her. Giving her a thumbs down as he stuck his tongue out through his teeth.
Maybe some people would understand.
She cried.
And cried.
And cried some more.
Those looks. They knew.
Who told them?
He did.
There was guilt in those red eyes. He told them. Told them everything.
He…
“It slipped,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I'm sorry.”
She cried some more.
Some looked at her with sympathy. Pity. Fear. Fear. Fear.
Fear that she would do the same to them.
Could've done it to them.
One whispered to another, “Can't believe she could do that!”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Whispers. Everywhere. Surrounding her.
She could kill me too.
She cried a lot more that night.
“I'd never!” She shouted in her bed.
Never.
Never.
Never.
Never.
Never.
Never.
Never!
She was so sure of it.
But when the class had to train together nobody but one wanted to be paired with her.
He smiled.
“Ready?”
She tried not to use her quirk.
He ended up a few meters in the air and she freaked out.
He fell, but he was okay.
He was okay.
Not even a bruise.
She was shaking, looking over him a few times.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
He’s fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
“I'm fine.”
Are you?
She was on the verge of tears.
Villain.
Murderer.
Killer.
Killer.
Killer.
He hugged her.
Tight.
“I'm okay.”
…
“You're okay.”