One would think that after nearly three years of this shit, after all the crap you’ve gone through, seen and done, you’d have been prepared for just about anything, but that’s not the case. Hell, if you’re being honest, it’s hardly ever the case, but God knows that you wish it was. Maybe then you’d have been better prepared for the epic shitstorm that has befallen you. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have spent the large majority of your day hiding out in your basement, just trying not to fucking lose it at every turn.
This wasn’t something you signed up for. Sure, there were times in the past when you used to look at Billy and Tommy and Cassie and America and think about how small you seemed in comparison to all of them. It’s hard to think you can matter when at the end of the day, you’re just a feeble human with some pointy sticks and good vision, who pals around with aliens and powered people and other dimensional badasses. Basically everyone you know has some sort of qualification to be a superhero, not just a bad habit of not knowing when to quit. And okay, it’d be a lie to say that you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to have powers, at least every now and then; you’ve wondered how it would feel, how it would make things different, if maybe it’d make you feel a little less disposable.
You’re not wondering so much anymore, though. Now, all you want is to turn it off, to stop feeling, because it seems a lot like everything has been turned up to eleven. If you weren’t so busy having a moodswing every five minutes, then maybe you’d find some sort of twisted humor in the fact that you, a well known emotional wreck, was struck by sudden-onset empathy.
What’s worse is that not only are you picking up on the emotions of every person passing by your house on the street, but you’re also honing in on your dogs. They’re worried about you and they’re sad and nervous because you’re acting so erratically. Naturally, this just worries you and makes your heart sink, and it quickly turns into a vicious cycle of back and forths until you inadvertently shift into Sven and wind up panicking for twenty solid minutes because you can’t shift back.
All you want is some facet of normalcy, something that will help you shut it all out. You need something comfortable, something tangible that will help you block out all the bullshit. Despite yourself, you ask if you can come over, even though you know it’s a terrible idea. You’ve been on a fucking collision course since the day he came back into your life and you know that it can’t, that it won’t end well, that you’re only going to get hurt again. You keep coming closer and then pushing him away, reminding him that nothing can happen between you two. The truth is that you keep trying to forgive him for what happened, because whether or not you’re willing to admit it to yourself, you still love him, but you still can’t let go of it. You just don’t know if you can trust him.
Still, you leave your house, knowing all of that. Everything is fucked, and chances are, you’re only going to make it worse, but you just can't bring yourself to give a shit right now.