Scott Mason: Gay Superhero (boyxboy)

Chapter 34

I let myself subside into a daily routine. It had been the same the past two days:

1: Wake up for breakfast, veg out while my mom passed out in the corner.

2: Lunch (Turns out hospital jell-o isn't as bad as I thought it would be)

3: Dinner, along with Will bringing in the latest in my growing pile of unfinished assignments.

Time between meals was filled with counting the amount of squares on the ceiling. After that I studied the stippled patterns to see if I could make out any images. So far I had found a fox, hand, and leaf. Staring for too long made my head ache. All the while the mask was digging into my back from underneath my pillow.

Each night I tried to get into contact with Pitch, Nitroa, or Fusion. Tonight was no exception.

[~~~~~~~~~~]

As per my request, the window blinds were left open after dark so I could watch the snow fall. Orange light from street lamps cut a thick, warm rectangle out of the floor tiles. The door to the room had a small window that staff could peek into. Somewhere on the other side of that door, on another floor, my mom was working. The coast was clear—for the moment.

This was my last night in the hospital before my mom took me home. I was deemed good to go after Dr. Altman concluded that I wasn't going to faint whenever I stood up--I no longer saw stars where I was supposed to see my feet (if I didn't get up too fast).

I pulled my mask out and cradled it. Even though it had spend most of the time hidden under my pillow, it still felt cold. I swallowed. What if the same happened tonight?

I steeled myself and swung my legs over the bed. With careful steps I shuffled out from the covers and made my way to the restroom. My legs wobbled only a bit. I took it as a small victory.

The door to the restroom hissed as I slid it closed. I closed my eyes when I flicked on the light. It caused a bearable amount of pain, like the soreness that festers underneath skin before a blemish. I opened my eyes to a small mirror that hung above the sink.

I'd seen better days. I couldn't help but look at my face every time I used the restroom. All the moonlit escapades that I took over the past year couldn't compare in injury count. My nose was a variety of colors, a couple which I never thought I would see on my body. Deep blues, purples, yellows—even a bit of green. The thin skin underneath my right eye had a slanted purple strip so dark it looked black. I set the mask down and traced my nose with my finger. The swelling had started to go down, and the hint of a crooked nose was starting to peek through.

I turned to look at the scar on my bicep. It was the only serious wound that didn't need any treatment: I had already cauterized it in my fight with Adam. The other cuts were on my forearms and one on my cheek. The amount of scarring that would result from this would set a personal record. I ducked my head to the sink and turned it on. The water I slurped from my hand tasted like metal.

My eyes snagged on the mask languishing on the linoleum. There was one thing that I hadn't considered. The mask ran on electrical components. It was possible that during the attack they got fried—or if there was a battery that it may have gotten drained by Blanch. I prayed that my powers somehow extended to what I was wore during the attack. If the mask was shorted out by the lightning...well, I didn't have a way to fix it anytime soon. The handle to the sink squealed as I shut it off.

I plucked the mask from the couch yet and stared into it. Goosebumps pricked at the back of my neck when I closed my eyes. With my power I probed the metallic components inside. No water seemed to have gotten through the machinery, and the battery seemed dead.