Truth Hurts (Dr. Mortum POV) (Patreon)

(Dr. Mortum viewpoint, the La Cantina scene. Need to gender for genderfuckery in this one. Male Mortum. Female Eden, romanced. Male Sidestep, Cyrus Becker, Retribution. Inner monologue translated from French. Partner is sick as a dog after traveling and I am dealing with jetlag so forgive the lateness of this. At least two different tests are covid negative si it's probably some other bug)

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A shadowy corner of a nondescript bar, in a perfectly average neighborhood of Los Diablos. Alone at a table sits a far from average man, pretending to be just well-off enough not to be bothered, but not enough to be robbed on the way home. It's a delicate balance to navigate the world while black, but at this point it's become an innate reflex while out in public. The glasses doesn't hide as much as they reveal whatever happens in the surroundings to the wearer.

Can't be careful enough. Not tonight.

It's an absurd thing to do, accepting the invitation to this meeting, but I suppose curiosity has already killed the cat. Still got a few lives left. Besides, it's just a bar. La Cantina. Perfectly average. Perfectly normal. Not the kind of place that would host a criminal conspiracy. No suspicious connections regarding the owner or the staff, a hint of conflict with the garbage union but that's to be expected as a restaurant. Can't have too much of a profit margin here, spent too much on rent in comparison to the prices they can charge. 

No. Stop. I already checked out the place, no need to self-soothe with logic. Instead, I pull out my phone to distract myself. It's at odds with my humble presentation, a phone with a screen is not something in everyone's hands, but I need to plug into the drone perched on the building opposite. I doubt it's an ambush, but I like to see what's coming. Experience has taught me that trusting people only gets you hurt in the end. And Retribution might be a paying customer, but they are still a villain. One who has fought to preserve their privacy. 

Why meet tonight? Is it that I have earned their trust? Did Eden put in a good word for me? Somehow I doubt it, there's a tinge of bitterness every time she speaks of her boss. Something buried there. Something familiar that gives me the urge to try to find leverage enough to dig my nails in and widen the crack. Walk away. Be free. Before something happens. Trust me, I know.

Trust. Do I trust Eden?

It's an absurd notion to bring something like that into what we have. I know it. She knows it. And yet I can see it in her smile, all delectable on my bed, tangled in the sheets. Stealing my clothes. Stealing my time. Stealing my food. Stealing my heart. As it is. Happiness is as absurd as the notion that it might last.

What if Retribution is here to tell me to back off? Would I do it? Would I kill them?

"We need to talk." A man's voice as a movement across from me rips my thoughts in half and I swear quietly to myself as I look up. Too much time spent in the lab, what is the use of taking precautions if I don't pay attention to them? Amateurish, let's hope I don't hang for that mistake.

The face is too scarred to be nondescript, too willfully bland to be real and I can feel my eyes starting to slide across it, features blending together and no. No. There is a familiarity there behind the furrows and the scars and that damnable mist I have to fight to perceive and I know this man. Know of him. Cyrus Becker. Formerly known as Sidestep. Former associate of Charge. Of the Rangers. Rumored savior of the city. More than once. I've heard enough rants about what happened to the Void to last me a lifetime. And he's here. Here.

"If this is some manner of trap the Rangers have arranged…" Did Eden betray me? Set me up? Was this a long-term plan only now coming to fruition? That makes no sense, she could have set me up months ago I've left myself open enough for a dozen betrayals but what if she was captured? Interrogated? Wasn't there rumors that Sidestep was a telepath? Charles thought so, but he wasn't the most reliable source…

"Eden told you the truth," he says with the kind of face that could lie about just having stabbed you in the stomach. "You know who I am." The last is said as if it is a secret shared, and I am forced to come to the conclusion that this is Retribution sitting in front of me.

Control. I reach into my pocket as I run calculations in my mind, not bothering to get them right, only to distract. I knew a telepath was a possibility when I came here because I wired the armor for psychic interface. Nothing has changed. Sidestep, though. Fuck. That was unexpected. One pill or two? I settle for one, it should blur things enough and the aftereffects of numbers are nasty enough that I don't want to overdose if I can help it.

"You shouldn't take those with alcohol." His forehead furrows, but is it concern for my health or an attempt to read my mind?

"There are a lot of things I shouldn't do, Monsieur Becker." I wash it down with the drink I had been nursing. "Like talking to you." Meeting Retribution was a calculated risk, having a conversation with Cyrus Fucking Becker was not on the list. Charge's former bosom-buddy.

"I brought your gun," he says, and I don't think I am imagining the hesitation. Was I not what he expected? Good. That puts us on more even ground.

Sidestep died in the Heartbreak incident. And yet he's here, looking like he's been through the grinder, masquerading as a villain. Stealing things. Or perhaps it's not a masquerade. Something must have happened, something I am unaware of. I saw the footage of Retribution vs Charge. That was not faked. There was real viciousness there, perhaps I just misread the motive. No need to prove themselves as a villain. Instead it must have been fueled by an old grudge. Friends turned enemies. A story as old as time. He looks as ready to pull the trigger as you did.

"So you really are her boss." I can't let myself make up scenarios, focus on the facts. This is the man Eden is afraid of. Don't underestimate him because he used to be a hero.

"I am." A weird twitch of his face. "Sort of."

"And you came here for what? Just to deliver my property? Or something else?" This makes no sense. If I took a risk, he took a bigger one. Showing me his true identity might be acceptable if he had been new. Unknown. Now he has handed me a sack of past connections and weak points and I don't understand why. And what I don't understand makes me twitchy.

"You deserve to know the truth." 

"The truth." I try to read his intentions but fail. The truth about him being a former hero? The truth about why he's turned villain? "That's valuable in our world." 

"And in short supply." He sips the drink, and I wonder if he's trying to read my mind. Or if he's stalling.

"Go on." Is this a trap after all? I don't look at my phone. That would be to show weakness.

"What kind of relationship do you think we have?" The question lands heavier than just making conversation but I can't for the life of me guess where he's going with this.

"We have a business relationship," I say carefully, adjusting my glasses. Nothing odd comes up on the scan. "You have always paid on time."

"We don't just have a business relationship." His face twitches again and he looks down. There's a pause. A sigh. "Please… please hear me out, and then you will get your gun. Whatever you decide to do afterward is fine with me."

"Talk then. Eden has been evasive about your true motives. I hope that whatever will come of this will not be taken out on her afterward?" 

"I would never do anything to hurt her." He sags in his chair, looking as innocent as the day is long but I know better than that. I know a curated facade when I see one and now that the numbers have taken hold it feels like I see him properly for the first time. 

He's scared.

I don't speak, instead I nod, trying to read the body language of a man more used to lies than honesty.

"I saved Eden's life," he admits, desperate for me to believe him. "But I couldn't save her mind." 

He wants me to believe him. Whatever is coming is bad enough that that it would be worse if I thought he was lying to me. But I don't say anything, instead I keep looking at him and right now my eyes are a more dangerous weapon than my words. He looks down before he continues speaking.

"I found her about three years ago in the hospital. In the…storage, I suppose you can call it, brain-dead and waiting for her organs to be harvested. Nameless. Faceless. Perfect." 

It's the way he says 'perfect' that makes me flinch and reach up to touch my glasses. Just a hint of tint to them to hide my eyes. The rest I can fake, but I don't trust myself right now. This is bad. But I don't think he is lying. I just don't know what it means for Eden.

"So I stole the body." He hesitates, voice faltering, and then he repeats, quickly, voice low with what might be shame. "I stole the body, and then I tried possessing it." 

Possess? I don't move but I keep adding up the clues and I don't like the picture I'm seeing. Breathe. Don't show the bastard anything.

"I'm sure you've already figured out I'm more than I was." He smiles. A sharp little thing, more truthful than all the regret he's been projecting so far. Proud. The bastard is proud. "I can break into people's minds and control them if their wills are weak enough. And this was a body with no will. No mind. I wasn't possessing a body, I was her. Things felt as natural as in my own body. No. Better." He swirls the whiskey in his glass and I see nothing but familiarity in the way he tilts his head slightly as he looks at me. If I trusted my legs I would have run. "I brought her back to life, I gave her a name, a place to live, a purpose."

"Brought her back to life…" My voice speaks but I'm not sure it's me. It's someone else, someone calm and collected who is analyzing the situation. Who takes the time to think about it instead of reacting institutionally. Instead of screaming in his face. 

"In a way. It's still me. My mind. When I'm in her, this body sleeps. Right now Eden is back in a coma, in her apartment." He keeps looking at my hands instead of my face. Good. Them I can control. "It was just supposed to be a mask. You know who I was. I can't just contact somebody to build what I need. I was a hero, nobody would believe me, and I'm not fool enough to assume nobody in the underworld knew my face."

"Some did," I say, because the waves he made didn't go unnoticed. Not by people who knew what to look for. "Knowledge is the most precious currency." He can't read my thoughts, if he had he would already have started running. Is he armed? Could I take him in a fight? Do I want to? Is he really…

"So I needed a mouthpiece. I needed to be charming, confident, not…" He laughs, an edge of hysteria to it. "Not this. Not me. I'm better now; it was worse back then. Interacting was hard. Death took its toll…." He presses a hand against his head as if it's hurting. Good. He should. "It was just supposed to be a job. I didn't mean to…" A shaky breath. "I didn't mean to fall in love with you." 

"You did what?" I can't keep still, not after that, not after this absurdity that is unfolding at the table. Is he really sitting here telling me that it's been him all along? Perched inside Eden's head like some vulture pulling strings? "How?"

"How do you think?" He smiles and looks away and there's an echo there of Eden with three drinks under her belt sad for some reason she won't tell me. Guess I know the reason now. "You're charming. Too charming. I fell too hard, too fast, and didn't know how to stop."

"You. You mean Eden." The distinction feels important somehow. Fingers in the dam to stop it from leaking while the crack just keep growing. This will drown us both. Dammit, why is he telling me this?

"We're the same. One mind. Two bodies. Mine is sadly a little more…" He shrugs, scratching one of his scarred hands. It's a familiar look, I've worn it often enough myself.

"Are you telling me that you kept hiding behind Eden because you think you're ugly?" I pick the kinder thing to say because I don't want this mirror held up in front of me. I don't want to sympathize or understand. I want to hate this man with my whole being and yet…

"No." He twitches like I had slapped him, fingers digging into his arm. "There are things I can't tell you."

"I thought that was why you were here." Is this what he's offering? Half-truths and denials? The bastard broke my world and he has the gall to sit here and say he can't tell me why?

"There are truths, and there are truths." His eyes shift, looking for an exit I don't intend to give him. Not after this. 

"And there are lies." I look straight at him, safe behind my tinted glasses. I can pick up his raised temperature, embarrassment or anger? I try to find Eden in the way he leans back on the chair, keeping his distance as I lean forward. "Like the ones you told me."

"That's just business, you know how it is." His voice cracks, the laugh is brittle and he won't meet my gaze. His fingers keep worrying the glass like Eden used to do, but he doesn't have the nails to pull it off.

"I know how it is," I say, loud enough that one of the other patrons briefly look my way before looking back as if someone had taken her head and physically averted her gaze. Nobody is looking at us now. All have gone quiet. Telepaths. And yet I can't keep my mouth shut. "And now you have decided to try to do what? Push the reset button? Is that what this is? You won't even tell me the truth!" I spit the last at his lying face.

"I can't," he protests, voice raised to match mine. "I mean it, I'm not doing this to manipulate you!"

"Please, give me the dignity of assuming that I know when I'm being played." It's not the first time, but I won't admit that. I survived that. I'll survive this. "Eden set out to manipulate me from the start, but that was fine because that is what people like us do." 

"But it became more than that, didn't it?" His voice has gone soft, begging for scraps. Begging for me to throw him a bone, to say I understand, that I still care. That I forgive. That I'll take him back. Little does he know I've been here before and won't make the same mistake.

"No." The word feels good. The stricken look on his face even better. "You just assumed it did." I put down my glass before looking at him once more. He looks hurt. Good. That feels good. "Give me the gun. Our business is concluded."

"I'm sorry." 

He slides the briefcase over with his foot, and I reach down to pick it up. Probably not wise, he might take rejection badly but right now I am too angry to care. In a way it would be simpler if he did try to hit me, a cleaner break.

As it is, it's hard not to look back as I stalk out of there without another word.

My composure lasts until I have turned the first corner. Then my breath grow quicker, half a laugh, half filled with tears. This can't be happening. It's absurd. I don't know who I met in there, but it can't be Eden. Sweet, confident Eden with her vicious sense of humor and world-weary swagger. Eyes too old for her age. She had a rough life, she used to joke. Haven't we all, I used to reply. Neither of us asked any questions.

Wasn't that the deal? Live in the moment? Have some fun? It wasn't like either of us wanted or could commit to anything more. Except. Except. My fingers fumble with the code to the briefcase, I didn't ask for it but my watch can handle that. Connect. Scan. Hyperventilate until the moment it opens.

Relief. Another choked laugh.

It's there. That wasn't a lie. My unfinished masterpiece back in my hand. Born with the help of one bastard, delivered back in my hands by another. Full circle. Moving on. My feet do at least, my heart keeps doing reruns of the bed we shared. 

Did I really not notice anything wrong? Did she?

Not like she was the only one with secrets. I never told her. Would she have minded? If I had, would this have come out earlier? Instead of us both wrapped up in lies pretending neither of us cared enough for the truth? We had fun. Right?

I shove the gun in my pocket and keep walking, leaving the briefcase on the ground. I don't need another reminder of Eden. We had fun. More fun than in years. More fun than in ever. I don't laugh enough. She said that. I agreed. Only temporary. But it wasn't, was it? I kept telling her to leave her job. That she was at risk. That she was being used. Little did I know how right I was. Was that why she was always so angry at her boss? Why she looked so scared when we talked about her leaving? Was it guilt and not fear? Did she wonder if she could tell me? Did she imagine what would happen? 

Did she imagine this?

Is that why she was afraid?

No. Not she. He. Not Eden. Cyrus. It's an absurdity I need to remember. He was who I really was kissing. Talking to. Laughing with. I quicken my step, my car is not far and right now I need speed. Outrun this mess before I make it worse and the what-if's starts to follow like flies. 

Movement!

"You." I spit out the word but it's not as venomous as I had planned as Cyrus grabs my coat and pulls me into an alley. Strong. Stronger than me. I don't want to investigate how I feel about that.

"We need to talk." His voice is rough, not with a threat but with a desperation that makes him dangerous.

"We talked," I say. I try to sound calm and controlled, but I can't. I've had half a block beating my emotions into submission but they won't lie down and die and now this bastard wants to dig his thumbs in again.

"Then we talk again," he says with the conviction of a fool who thinks something will change if you go through the same motions twice. But he lets me go so they won't.

I don't think I've ever pulled a gun as quickly as this, surprising Retribution who's been doing hand-to-hand fighting with Lady Argent, Sidestep who was known for second guessing his opponents bur right now he can't read my thoughts and I am angry enough to take stupid risks. It's under his chin as I press him up against the wall and the small sigh of surprised submission as he freezes makes me feel things.

"I should kill you," I hiss instead of examining whatever this is. My gun can't kill him, but he doesn't know that. I want him afraid.

"Don't do this," he whispers, and I can feel him tensing under my arm. Pressed against the wall. "You know I can take that from you anytime I want." 

"Then do it." I keep the gun jammed under his chin, my arm pressed against his chest. I can feel his breaths. Shallow. Tense. He's taller than Eden was. Slightly taller than me. For some reason that infuriates me. "Vas-y, tire, you bastard."

And then he moves. So fast.

And I pull the trigger. Reflexively.

The gun discharges with a familiar discordant hiss, and the world cracks in two. Ozone. Rotting meat and ammonia. The crack of crumbling bricks and a grating metal groan of pain. Cyrus is still here, scrambling back in fear as I am. The 4dcompression chamber hadn't been empty. 

It had been full.

"…Mon Dieu!" I can feel a familiar crawling up my veins, and my glasses shift spectrum to protect me. It can't be!

But it is.

There is a new shadow in the alley, right next to where Cyrus was held a moment ago, half buried in the wall, wrapped in eerie fluorescence. A distorted shadow, taller than a man but hunched like a twisted grasshopper, too many blades, too many limbs, face moving in ways it shouldn't.

The Catastrofiend. 

"..H.hh[b]R[/b]t…" The Catastrofiend hisses, in its familiar, guttural growl, like a chainsaw running on empty. The blades twitch, not the sleek sharpness and straight edges Charles installed, but jagged and bent, like lethal wreckage. Half of its body is still stuck in the wall, but there are cracks forming as the concrete strains to contain it. The mouth opens and opens, the jaws slitting apart upward, then sideways, the wet fleshy throat gray and discolored in the faint light. It's covered in spots, like mold, the skin cracked, the insides glowing faintly. It looks hurt. It looks wrong.

It looks MAD.

The wall cracks a little further and I am grateful that the numbers spare me from any psychic feedback. Someone must have shot it in self-defense, and then succumbed to their injuries. How long had it been in there before the gun was found and sold at the auction? By all rights it should be dead, but Charles had always said it was beyond such human concerns by now.

I hate that he might be proven right.

We're both backing away as the wall cracks. I should run, but I can't, that would mean turning my back and there's no loyalty there, no intellect to reason with, just a broken thing out to replace the biomass it has lost.

And I know how it does that.

I can't stop the whimper, and it swivels it's head towards me. Milky eyes. Broken sensors. Is the proximity sense still active or just the motion sensors? Damn Charles for putting me in this situation, I don't want to be here. I don't want to be meat.

And then it looks away. Straight at Cyrus who has moved sideways down the alley, away from me. With purpose. With threat. The mad bastard can't plan to do this, can he? Sidestep fought the Catastrofiend once but that was with Charge and no matter how much I hate to admit it, I'm no Charge. But he's smiling. No. Growling. And the Catastrofiend is looking at him as one hand gently removes the last bits of wall nearly fused with its gray flesh.

"gh..[b]Tz[/b]..Tzzt.[i]ee[/i].." The words are pushed out and I don't want to understand them but I do. Tasty. It has decided Cyrus is the better target here. Juicer. I don't think it's wrong. 

Cyrus keeps backing up, and the Catastrofiend follows, like a cat stalking a mouse. This is what I wanted, right? A chance to run? If I leave him here all loose ends will be wrapped up. The Catastrofiend will eat. I can go back to my old life, with no risk of any further interference. And Eden...

No. I squeeze the gun in my hand. Eden doesn't exist. He told the truth, it's too absurd to be a lie. It was never Eden. Just this bastard dressing up in borrowed clothes and skin pretending to be someone else. Someone better. 

He looks up, as if he heard my thoughts, hands up as if he's keeping the Catastrofiend at bay with sheer willpower. ~Run~ he mouths. His eyes widen as it moves, the small lapse in focus enough to ready it for a pounce.

"Non!" I scream, pulling the trigger again, hoping for a miracle. I'm not granted one, there's not enough energy to create a second portal, not after this long. All I did was get it's attention.

Shit.

I reach for my pocket, but I already know I will be too slow. So now I die. It's fitting, in a way. 

"No!" Cyrus echoes my earlier cry as he tackles me out of the way of the descending claws, a stupidly reckless move, true Sidestep rather than the villain he has become.

"Ooof." I fall heavily, breath torn from me and when I try to get it back the ammonia nearly makes me puke. Cyrus is on the ground, face contorted in pain, with a growing pool of blood under him. The Catastrofiend is standing over him, long tongue lapping at the blood on its blade, desperate for sustenance.

I have a moment to act.

Instead of running, I reach into my pocket and throws the scrambler I had ready in case I needed to escape from Retribution. Telepathic baffler, flashbang, olfactory assault, the whole sensory array. My glasses protects me from the light, the numbers from the baffler, and I have to hold my breath for the rest.

Instead of running away I run towards him. Towards Cyrus. The Catastrofiend is curled up in a ball, screeching in pain. Still weak. That gives us a chance. Me. Gives me a chance. 

"Come on you bastard, on your feet." I scream at Cyrus, but he doesn't hear me. His ears are ringing like mine are, and he's bleeding badly. I force him to his feet, his arm over my shoulder and then I run. No. Stumbles. 

It's not far to the car, thankfully he waited to the last moment before ambushing me. I can feel the warm blood soaking my suit jacket as the car unlocks and revs its engine as I approach. 

"You're paying for the suit. And for detailing. Blood on leather seats is disgusting." I ramble, but he shows no sign of hearing me. Going limp. No. Not on my watch. "Pay attention!" I slap him as the car backs up because I have no time to drag him in. His eyes focus somewhat as I push him into the seat before nearly sliding over the hood as I get behind the wheel.  

My ears slowly stop ringing as I speed down the road.

"Is it following us?" Cyrus mumbles as he pushes himself up to check in the rearview mirror.

"I don't think so."  I glance at him in concern. One hand is pressed against the wound in his shoulder, but it's only slowing the inevitable. That needs to be dealt with. "It seemed too confused for rational thought."

"It will heal," he mumbles, and for a moment I think he's talking about his wound. But he's not. "It always does."

"Thank you for saving my life back there." I swallow. I have to acknowledge that happened.

"Sorry for bleeding in your car." Cyrus face is gray and his breath shallow. He should be going into shock but he's still talking. Stubborn bastard. 

"Wouldn't be the first time that happened." I want to continue with a biting remark about sending the bill. But I don't. Instead my voice goes softer and I say "there's medgel in my pocket."

"Thank you." He reaches over with a wince, carefully pulling out the two round gelatin patties in their plastic coverings. 

I don't wince when he touches me.

Neither do I smile when he uses his teeth to tear the first one open like an animal, before pressing it against the wound. I pretend not to hear the gasp, but he's holding up better than I would. Not that I am that used to fights in the physical way. Not for years. Not like him. I suppose there's a reason for the scars.

I look out of the corner of my eye as he frees the second one in the same way, reaching back to press it against the entrance wound. Thankfully it is within reach, I'm not sure if it would be worse playing nursemaid or pulling over and risk the fiend catching up with us. I know how fast it can be.

"Do you always carry medgel with you?" Cyrus relaxes somewhat, both of us know that will stabilize the bleeding until he can contact a proper doctor. Someone not me.

"Of course." I check the mirror again before initiating the recall sequence for the drone. I will need it to check for anybody following.

"I still can't believe you tried to shoot me." The laugh is nervous, and he echoes my look in the mirror. 

"Oh, it wouldn't have killed you. I just wanted you out of my hair." It's no harm to admit that now. Whatever happened in that alley it solidified one truth between us Neither of us want the other dead.

"What happened? Where did it come from?" Cyrus pauses, then his voice goes low and clever like Eden's used to do. "Did it have anything to do with your gun?"

"Unfortunately, yes." I don't look at him, instead I keep driving. "It's not a disintegrator gun; it traps matter inside and reconstitutes it later." Why am I telling him this? He doesn't deserve to know my secrets, and yet I can't stop myself.

"Huh." There is a pause as he mulls over your words. "And why was the Catastrofiend in there?"

"I don't know, and quite frankly, the implications are frightening." How could it have survived that long? Nothing should have. Nothing sane. Or did Charles lie to me?

"So what happens now?" Cyrus sounds like he's afraid of my answer, and he's not alone in that. So I deflect, like a pro.

"I drop you off at a corner and then contact the LDPD and tell them they have a new problem in town." Easy. Logical. Cyrus will no doubt alert the Rangers. And then both of you can go back to pretending nothing happened between you.

"I meant between us." The bastard has the nerve to look right at me. Braver than I am, that's for sure.

"I need…" I drag the word out, staring at the road ahead. "I need to think about this." Because after this I'm not sure I can forget it. The anger has faded into a sick ball of pain and frustration. I sigh and steer the car to the curb, we are far away now that it should be safe and I don't want to talk about this right now.

"Can…" He corrects his stutter, steadying his voice. "Can… Eden come over later? To… talk." The utter arrogance of this man, thinking he can ask something like this from me.

"Give it a week," I say, softer than I should. I open his door by remote, a signal as strong as any that this is not a time for explanations or apologies.

Or goodbyes.

He gets out, and neither of us say anything as I close the door and head off down the road.

A few hours later I am as clean as I can be, freshly scrubbed and with my car at Anders' place. He can deal with blood, wouldn't be the firs time. First time it's not mine though.

I could have let him bleed out.

I throw myself on the bed in an impressive display of teenage heartbreak. It doesn't matter. Nobody is here to see. And nobody will be. How could I have been that stupid? Be fooled like that? Me? Of all people?

Did I want to be fooled? On some level? Was I just lonely?

No. I've been lonely for years, companionship is a small thing to give up in exchange for security and time to work. No more lab partners. No assistant staying long enough to get close. Nobody waiting in my bed.

Mother of God. I cover my face in my hands trying not to think about that. Was that all it took to take me down? Someone that made me feel like a man? Am I that easy? Falling for a smile and a wink, as artificial as mine ever was? I've paid a fortune to get to this point, and he did what? Kidnap a comatose body? What a laugh. It can't be true. It's a lie.

A lie to do what? Ruin his relationship with you? A lie doesn't make sense, only the truth does. No matter how unlikely. I've seen stranger things. I've made stranger things. Telepaths are... odd. Even for boosts. I know that. And I know it was a lie.

Still feel real. He had her smile. The way she cocked her head. Hit differently in a male body, but doesn't everything? If I had been in his shoes and had that kind of opportunity, would I take it? I'd like to think I wouldn't, but...

No. Don't do this. Don't ascribe my own motivations to him. Don't make apologies for what he did. It was wrong. It was bad. I know that. But was it wrong when I did it? No. It wasn't the same. And it wasn't for the same reasons. I didn't know. He did. It was planned. Willingly.

He's a bad man.

I've had enough of bad men. I've had enough of feeling used. Feeling weak. What am I going to do anyway? Walk up and kiss him? Would I even want to? No. We both liked the lie.

The truth can do nothing but hurt us.