Paper Masks

006. I'll Let Them Chew You Out

I jolted into awareness with gritted teeth and the taste of bile in my mouth. My hands grazed something indiscernible in the warmth of white.

It hurt too much for me to be dead.

Not that I knew what dying was like. Just that my ribs were alive and on fire, and every breath rolled through me with the trickle of sweat and the very deep sense that the last time I'd eaten was too long ago.

I wasn't sure if my eyes were open or closed. Light descended equally in every direction. My fingers felt around until the edge of whatever lay beneath me fell away.

When I rolled, my head tipped over the side. Hair invaded my sight.

I dry-heaved. Didn't fix much.

The floor spotted into view. I was pretty sure the interlaced lines belonged to the Plaza, but... somebody would have had to carry me. Somebody would have had to see me without the mask.

Somebody who knew where I lived.

This would be so much easier if I could throw up.

At least gravity helped. Mildly.

My head pounded. Ballad. What happened to him? Had he gotten back? Had he fallen as far as me?

In the distance, as if through deep, deep water, voices crashed into my temples. I tried to lift my chin from its position but found myself unable.

"Oh, you don't have to thank me," said a clipped tone I couldn't recognize. "I was in the city anyhow."

Was it odd that I knew the silence that followed was Alfie? He had a presence, I guessed, even in the state I was in. Maybe he even had his arms crossed and a blank canvas expression.

"Sure. I can take a look at those documents while I'm here," he said, like he wasn't actually listening. Footsteps neared me. His shadow stretched over the sheets underneath me.

"What are you going to—"

"I don't know, Violet." Hollow, recited words.

My empty chest absorbed them. As I gripped the cot, the room rushed into view. Somebody had given me Co-A; the walls bled with colour. A gold patch that cured injuries and induced drowsiness in return shone in the crook of my elbow.

"Alfie," I managed to say, though my tongue was limp, and my ears rang, and everything kept spinning.

The scrape of a door shutting told me Violet, his advisor, had left him to deal with me. Whatever that meant anymore.

"Please tell me there's a reason for this. Some explanation would be appreciated."

I rubbed my temples, squinting at him. I was right about his expression. He looked like he was giving me a lecture. And I deserved that.

"I'm sorry." It escaped in a croak.

He glanced at the chair beside the cot. Didn't sit. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I had a vision," I said before he could continue. "Honest. About me. In this suit. But I didn't even... I wasn't even sure if I was going to do this."

At first.

The room seeped with my sweat. I scratched the patch on my arm.

Alfie sighed. "But you did. You used the machine to make a villain's suit. You ruined my reputation. The family..." He stopped then, just short of 'the family name.' "Why?"

"I... I was just trying to make you proud of me."

"You think this gets you pride?"

We stared at one another like specimens in a laboratory. The longer he watched me, the more I was convinced he was looking at me as if for the first time.