The Last Superhero (21 page)

Forget about me. Forget
about ever having dreams. The world's a cruel place and people with
dreams get skinned by reality and you can't walk around when your
skin is raw, when you're bleeding, when it stings, when it hurts,
when it itches and you can't scratch it.

Dreams cloud minds.

Dreams break hearts.

Some of us have consciously
decided to stop rowing our boats gently down that fucking stream.

Was there a turning point?

Maybe.

Maybe I don't remember.

Maybe it was dark, as it is
now.

Maybe it was during that
time I used to wake up with a hangover on a Wednesday.

Maybe it was before that,
when that ballet teacher told me I was getting too fat.

Maybe it was back when I'd
count to ten before kicking my way out of my locker after having been
shoved inside by those mean girl wannabes.

Maybe it was raining like it
is now.

Maybe I was crossing the
street.

Maybe I was entering the
park and searching for a spot where I could hide from it all and
light another cigarette because this one's soaked.

“
Giana.”

Maybe there was a voice
whispering behind me.

Maybe I turned around and
saw him with his wet hair glued to his face.

And maybe I said “I
need to spend the night with you. I need arms around me. I need
someone to hold onto, someone who won't let me fall, someone who can
stop the landslide.”

And maybe he took my hand
and we were encased in a bubble the rain couldn't penetrate.

And maybe he led my steps...

And maybe we made our
way....

And maybe we walked...

And maybe we crossed through
the gates...

And maybe, just maybe, at
some point I saw a shiny little thing lying in the gutter, being
tossed around by the rain, something I'd dropped so very long ago.

And maybe it was the key
that opened the door that would let me out.

21

Sunlight hits my face and
the moment I stir I realize I'm trapped between two arms and there's
a leg entwined with mine.

“
Good
morning,” a deep voice whispers in my ear and the feeling of
ease is instantaneous.

“
Hey.”
I stir and jeez does this skin-to-skin friction feel nice.

He kisses my forehead and
slides off the bed.

“
I'll
start on breakfast.”

Grab his wrist when he
passes by. “You stayed awake all night?”

He nods. Kisses my lips.
Exits the room.

Damn.

Trudge to the bathroom and
find my once-soaked clothes clean and dry.

Take a shower, try and look
presentable before entering the kitchen to the smell of coffee and
bacon and eggs and toast.

Last night is almost a blur
in my head and I wasn't even drunk.

Nevertheless, I feel
different. Changed. Don't know what or how or when.

“
Eat,”
he commands and it's not a threat.

Join me at the breakfast bar
and feel like a couple of kids.

With the smiles and the
winks and that whole being in love thing.

Letting go can't be forced,
letting go has to come from inside and some of us need a helping hand
with stuff like that. Not that we're weak, not that we're not enough
– we're certainly more than enough, and strong. But maybe we've
been strong for too long and then comes the time when you want your
knees to give in and for there to be someone to catch you.

“
This
is good.”

“
Thank
you.”

“
You
know, it shouldn't surprise me. Hell, I should be prepared by now.”
Questioning glance. “Mom. For the last five years, her hospital
visits have become something so frequent it's almost normal. Her
condition's worsened, but when she's out, she keeps acting like
nothing's happening and I've been so angry about it. All the time. I
didn't want to move out when I finished college because I had the
responsibility of taking care of her. It's been a constant in my
life. Worry. Worry that my mother doesn't take care of herself and I
have to be on top of her all the time. She's overwhelming to no end
but hates it when anyone gets in her face.”

“
What
do you mean with not taking care of herself?”

“
She
eats what she shouldn't, drinks what she shouldn't, doesn't rest
enough. Visiting that restaurant was what landed her in that
hospital.”

“
You
think that?”

“
I
know that. I could hear her breathing falter. I know her too well by
now. She's had this all her life but refuses to take it seriously.”

“
Some
people prefer to live in self-denial.”

“
Well,
that shouldn't be an option when you're fucking dying.”

He leans forward, searching
for my eyes. “She wants to go.”

Shut my eyes for a second
and breathe and go back to eating or I won't be able to down it, or
I'll say that I don't want to let her go, not yet.

She can be annoying and
embarrassing and boisterous and overwhelming, but she's still my
mother.

“
All
these years she's been trying to marry me off.” That makes
Steven jump.

“
What?”

“
She
became the matchmaker from hell. I don't think there's a guy from my
age range in a thousand mile radius I haven't at least had coffee
with. This guy's son, that other dude's kid. Had it been for her,
even the paperboy would've found himself stuck on a date with me.”

Steven chuckles.

“
Of
course, all I had to do was babble incoherently during the date and
they'd end up running away from me like I was the Black Death.”

“
I
should take you on a date.”

“
You've
listened to me babbling enough.”

“
Not
at all.”

Is he serious?

“
I
don't need dates, never cared for them. I prefer this.” Point
at my plate with my fork. “This is so much nicer than all the
dates I've been on put together.”

That's enough to draw a grin
on his face. “I like this.”

“
This
this?”

“
This
this.
Very much.”

Finish breakfast breathing
lighter. Have him walk me to the hospital to check on Mom.

Asleep. Out. Deep. Nothing
new, nothing to see.

Get my car out of the lot
and have Steven help me open the bookstore and then he's off to run
some errands and says he'll be around if I want to have lunch with
him.

I say “neat” and
feel all wicked when he kisses me as we stand in the middle of the
shop.

There's no one in it but us,
but it's got glass windows and who knows?

The day goes by without much
action until lunch when I close the shop so we can go to this café
Steven says he likes because their tables have embedded chessboards.

I'm awful at chess. Never
really learned it anyway

We eat and play at the same
time and is it awful or what.

Move a horse.

“
No,”
he protests.

“
What?
I did it right?

“
Yes,
but look.” He moves a bishop. “Checkmate.”

“
Whatever.
I told you I was no good at this.” I wipe off my side of the
table with a napkin. “And I'm getting tired of losing.”

“
I'll
let you win this time.” He rearranges the pieces, clear in his
intention.

I pull my mobile out to
check my emails. “That's what you said last time and I still
lost.”

“
If
it were a computer it would be easier for you to decipher, wouldn't
it?”

He's pointing at my phone.
Is that a move to make me feel guilty or something?

“
Probably.”

“
Kids
your age have forgotten how to use their brains, the raw materials
nature gives us. Like this.” He takes a knight in his hand.
“This place still uses wooden pieces. They're soft, they smell.
It's alive. Plastic will never have the essence wood has.”

“
Never.”
Dramatic gesture, throw my phone inside my bag. “You've got it
right, Mr. Wise Man.”

He stares at me from under
his eyebrows, stretches out his hand and the knight's hovering above
it.

Snatch it before anyone sees
it.

“
Are
you mad?”

“
What?!”

“
Someone
could see you.”

He goes pffffft and I swear
I want to slap that grin off his face.

“
No
one saw it.”

“
How
do you know?”

“
Relax.”

Relax? RELAX?

“
I'm
sorry, but I seem to be the only one concerned about keeping your
real identity hidden, Mr. Dennis.”

“
No
one saw it. Everybody's minding their own business. Take it easy.”

“
You
don't care, or do you?”

“
I
care. Especially about your face. You look so pretty when you're
angry.”

I feel my eyes roll back and
almost hit my brain. If he only knew there's someone on his tail,
goddammit.

Survey the café and
not see him there. Breathe.

“
What
is it, Giana? There's something bothering you and I know it's not
just your mother.”

“
I
worry about you, Steven. I worry that there may be people out there
who want to hurt you because of who you are.”

“
Hey.”
He's grabbed my hand now and is tugging on it. “Don't, please,
don't even think that. Most people don't even remember me and those
who do I've managed to dodge.”

“
Not
me. Not Mom.”

“
That's
because I've let you know who I am. I took a chance with you and,
your mother, well, she's made it clear that she means no harm.”

“
She'd
never.”

“
What
is it then? Do you mean any harm?”

“
Of
course not!”

“
There's
nothing to be afraid of, then.”

Well, there's Daphne, but
she would never reveal our secret.

His fingers are entwining
with mine and I sip the last of my iced tea while holding hands with
him over the table and there's no harm in any of it. None.

“
I
guess I made it through our date,” he says.

Sneaky little bastard.

“
This
was hardly a date.” Gather collective trash on one tray and
stack it.

“
And
why is that?” He takes it from my hands.

“
I
lost. If this were a date, you should've let me win. Every time.”