Electric Flame

2.22

I explained everything to him, from the perv Max and how uncomfortable he situated with me to the revealing outfits in which the four of us were forced to stride around.

I allowed my heinous memories to flow out like a waterfall from the first moment of unconsented verbal contact to the true breaking point. I confessed everything, and for some reason, I held zero regret.

By now, my face was flushed, eyes puffy and red and cheeks and lips swollen with tears. I began to shake uncontrollably with my synced whimpers. Never in my life had I felt so torn, so terrified, but I knew I was not alone. Dick was here for me, regardless of our mixed, bipolar emotions for each other. I strangely felt safe and at peace telling him this. It was as if he would make it all go away, as if he would kiss away the pain, the torture.

He stared at me in horror, against my wishes and to my dismay, but he wasn't scared for me. No it was so much worse than that.

"Oh, my god," Dick murmured in agony, blanking out at his bare hands as if he'd just murdered an innocent and their blood was slowly dripping, staining his palms permanently. "It's all my fault," he mumbled a little louder, his voice clearly shaky.

But I couldn't believe that Dick felt responsible.

"No, Dick." I shook my head vigorously, but he refused to accept it.

"If I would have never volunteered you for the mission, no one would've ever hurt you," he realized. Yeah, that was true, but how could he have known? How could anyone have predicted something like that?

And that's what I said next.

"How could you blame yourself? Can't you see that I'm not angry with you about that?" I asked him, knitting my eyebrows and trying to introduce him to my good pal reason. We'd been having a rocky relationship lately.

"But I'm angry with myself," he disclosed solemnly. "Not just angry, I'm disappointed." He fiddled with his hands in his lap, refusing to look at me. "I'm supposed to be a hero. I should have put myself up for the mission instead. Hand me a wig, (y/n), I'm taking your place."

I brought my hand up to his chin, raising it and giving him no other choice than to make eye contact. "Listen to me, Dick," I ordered as I began my lecture, my voice commanding and stern. "It's not your fault. I am talking to you right now, aren't I? I wouldn't speak to any of the other team members, but I'm opening up to you, which I'm still surprised about." A small smile pulled the corners of his lips.

"Well, yeah, but--"

"So stop claiming responsibility for something that you couldn't have prevented. That wretched man is the only one to blame," I commended, lowering my hand to his shoulder as I hovered on my knees.

My cheeks were still sticky, but my hair no longer stuck to my face like glue. I felt like I was encouraging a little eight-year-old boy who crashed to hop back on his bicycle and keep trying.

And in a way, I was.

And obviously, I was doing a hell of a job at it because he leaned down and kissed me. He kissed me like he had never kissed me before. His lips held so much power and longing, so apologizing and sincere. The way his soft lips moved against mine, his rough tongue to the roof of my mouth, made me want to escape, to get away, to run away and never look back, with him.

But I couldn't. As much as I truly wanted to, I just couldn't.

I loved Jason in one way or another. He always addressed me with respect and care. He praised the ground I walked on, treated me like a queen.

I couldn't betray him like this. I'd regret it. I couldn't be dishonest when all he'd ever been was loyal. But did I really love him like I loved Dick?