Chapter 7 - One of Us

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"Uh, well, you can feel free to make it a little more...homey," Dr. Banner said, waving his hands around as he glanced around the room. Kamala had already gotten her own room across the hall, and Dr. Banner was showing me the room I was going to be staying in until the end of this fiasco. 

"Uh, thanks," I said quietly, sitting on the bunk in the entrance.

"You good? You've seemed kinda...out of it since the, uh, incident,"

"Uh, yeah, it's nothing," I lied.

"Ok. Ok. Good, so...yeah," he started to leave when I finally voiced what was gnawing at my insides.

"What if it's real?" I whispered. 

"What, sorry? What was that?" he came a little closer so he could hear me.

"The cure. What if it's real? I mean--I mean it looks real. What if I could be normal again?" I speculated, standing back up. 

"Well, you know. It ah...it doesn't work like that," he said, crossing his arms as he shook his head, leaning against the wall.

"I mean, you saw them. It looks like it really hurts, but...but maybe that's worth it?" I felt scared, that childish fear I had felt during A-Day festering inside me.

"Abila..." he started.

"I never really fit in. I was just that weird kid in the back with a missing mom.  I mean, uh, superheroes were my world, and I was a girl who read comic books and liked superheroes which everyone thought was weird and they pushed me away. If I could just have proved I was normal, then everything would just be...doesn't matter. Now, look at me. I'm a freak,"

"Woah, you're not a...what you did back there..." I wasn't really looking at him, disgusting bubbling up and mixing with the fear and anxiety. "Hey!" he moved closer, trying to get in my line of view, and I glanced up.

"What you did back there took a lot of guts. It was stupid...but it still took guts. Especially with your...added...issue. And not a lot of people could, you know, do that," he coaxed.

"I never should've gone," I muttered.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, not catching my sentence.

"That stupid contest. If I hadn't gone, my dad would still be here and I wouldn't have to be looking over my shoulder in case they find out who I am," I said.

"Looking over your shoulder?" he asked, confused.

"There's an ABP on me," I admitted.

"Why?" I bit the inside of my cheek before blurting it out.

"Because I'm a murderer!" I hated the word. It felt like lead on my tongue. But it was the truth.

"Whoa, I-I'm sure you're..."

"I lost control, SHE got out, and she killed. Because that what SHE does. She's a demon. And it's my fault, because I was stupid and got emotional about my dad,"

"Whoa! Hey! You were upset, that's perfectly normal,"

"I should've learned my lesson. If I had, those people would still be with their families," I said, guilt lacing my tone.

"Don't say that. It's not your fault. Kid...kid, I know how you feel. I was in the same spot for a while. But you'll figure it out. And the first step towards that is accepting that this is your life now. For better or for worse,"

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