Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

She Learned to Deal with The Devil

—

The first time I met her—

I was young.

I was foolish.

I was kidnapped.

Downside of having a prominent politician for a father? 

The money and reputation always enticed bad people with bad plans. 

—

I was thirteen.

I was supposed to be picked up from school by a driver that my father had sent, but apparently, the man had been intercepted, and a complete stranger picked me up instead. He had explained to me how my father was running late with a meeting with the governor, and I didn’t feel the need to question him further.

Father running late was usual. Father sending a random driver to pick me up was usual too. 

It took awhile for me to figure out that something was wrong. That the streets were starting to look unfamiliar. By the time that happened, it was too late.

The car I was in stopped at a gas station and as I was trying to talk to the driver, a masked man suddenly opened the car door next to me and slid in. He pushed me to give himself space to sit and roughly pressed a gun to my side. 

“Keep quiet or I’ll blow all your organs out,” he hissed at me, stopping the scream at the back of my throat.

I was terrified. 

So much so, that I did as he asked. I stayed quiet, my heart racing wildly in my chest. 

— 

By the time we reached our destination, I felt like my chest was ready to bust open. My hands were sweaty and clammy and my knees were shaking even though I was sitting down. 

“Move,” the man next to me ordered. Forcing myself to do as he commanded, I slid towards the door and carefully pushed it open.

“Faster,” he growled, following me. 

I forcibly stamped down the sob that wanted to escape my lips and blinked back the tears in my eyes. 

I moved faster. Jumped out of the car and looked up at the small house we had just pulled up to. It was squat and square, painted an ugly shade of cream with a droopy red roof. My eyes darted around, trying to take in and remember as much as I could. 

The driver got out of the car, and he had put a mask on. It didn’t matter. I already knew his face. 

Which scared me even more. 

I knew a face. His face. 

He grabbed my shoulder and started roughly shoving me towards the house.

—

I had been thrown into a small room, so hard that my head hit the wall with a loud smack. I reached up and carefully touched the tender spot before quickly looking around. The room looked like a pantry. The shelves were almost empty, just a couple of cans of beans, pasta boxes, and packs of instant noodles. There was a thin pillow and a threadbare blanket on the floor. 

“Enjoy our amenities, spoiled brat,” the driver barked as he closed and then locked the door behind me. 

When he was gone, and I was alone— I finally cried. As quietly as I could. I sat on the pillow and pulled the blanket up to my face, burying my tears into the scratchy cloth as my head throbbed from the pain of the earlier impact. 

—

I was woken by the sound of loud screaming and banging. Like people were hitting their fists against walls. I stood up in a hurry, clutching the blanket to my chest. 

Suddenly, the door to the room swung open. A man I didn’t recognize was on the other side, his eyes were wide, wild. And he quickly pulled me out of the room. 

“Run!” he ordered, pushing me down the hallway. 

I stumbled. My legs were shaking and my head was still hurting from earlier. I could not run, couldn’t even walk. I fell to the ground, and the man pushing me tripped over my waist.

“Fuck,” he snapped, kicking me as he scrambled to get up. 

I grabbed where he hit me and groaned in pain. What was going on? What’s happening? 

I laid on my back and looked up and— what was that? 

My eyes widened in shock. Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? That was hair. Long, dark hair falling from above. Something— someone was walking on the ceiling?!

I gasped. And suddenly the figure moved faster, it twisted in the middle of the air and it landed right next to the man on the floor. 

It was a woman. 

Pale skin, glowing green eyes, red lips. She lifted her foot and smashed it down on the man’s throat. His screaming turned into a soft gurgle. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even blink. 

“And here I thought I was just going to have a few snacks,” she then said, red lips curling into a smug smirk. “But apparently, I have crashed into a whole nest of snakes.” She twisted her foot and a loud crack sounded.

I flinched. 

The woman then leaned down, grabbed the man by the shoulder and effortlessly lifted him up. It was like watching a trainwreck, impossible to look away. With deadly grace, she suddenly leaned forward and clamped her jaws around the man’s neck. 

Sharp fangs sunk into the man’s neck and then— 

She was— 

Was she—

Drinking his blood? 

I vomited, the bile quickly rising up from my stomach. 

—

The man’s body dropped to the ground unceremoniously. The woman remained clean, impeccable. She licked her lips and then directed her attention back to me. 

“Hmm,” she said, “what do we have here? A little girl locked in a tiny room in a small house filled with strange men. How… awful.”

She paused and strode forward until she was standing over me. “You’d be the perfect dessert.” Her voice was smooth like glass, with a foreign lilt. 

I wanted to get away from her. To move. But I couldn’t. She wasn’t physically pinning me down, but her gaze— her aura. She was hypnotic, and the pain in my body lessened into a dull ache.

“Vampire,” I then said, having seen Twilight and enough B-rated horror movies to know or at least assume what kind of creature she was. 

She arched an amused brow. “What ever gave you that idea?” She asked, holding out her arms, as if to present herself. “Was it the fangs? The walking on the ceiling? The blood drinking? Or… The ironic shirt?”

At her words, I looked at the print on her shirt and saw, ‘You know what sucks? Vampires.’

Unbidden, a laugh escaped my lips. I was definitely dreaming. This was too much. Too, too much. 

“Please let me go,” I finally said, after a moment. “Please. Please let me go.” 

The woman tilted her head, as if considering it. “And what will I get in return? What would be worth giving you up? A sweet, sweet source of young blood?” 

I blinked. “My family has money,” I quickly answered. There. That’s what people always wanted. 

She shrugged. “So do I.”

I felt my chest tighten. I needed to come up with something. Anything. “Worship? I could worship you?” Vampires were pretty vain. They liked attention. They’d probably be stationed in front of a mirror if they could see their reflection.

She laughed. A harsh, sharp sound. “That would probably work on my brother, but no. I have no need for a follower.” 

A beat. A strong thrumming in my chest. My heart was drumming loud. Finally, I said, “love?” Blood from the heart, love from the heart. How could it not be equal? “I could love you.”

It was an offer made from a terrified and naive mind. One that made her laugh even harder. 

—

A moment passed. And then there was silence, so brittle. Broken by a soft “Oh,” from her. “You’re serious?” 

Was she considering it? I quickly nodded my head. Yes. If it saves me. Yes. I could love— I could love her. Like a friend. Like a sister. It would be hard, but it wouldn’t be impossible. 

She bent down and carefully eyed me, as if looking for signs of deception. I held her gaze as firmly as I could when she finally looked back into my eyes. 

Her eyes were luminescent. Glowing. I had not been imagining it before. They were beautiful. “What is your name?”

“K- Kara Danvers,” I hesitantly supplied. She nodded, accepting the answer. “My name is Lena,” she then said.

“Lena…” I echoed, as if testing the name. She continued to watch me. “It’s a beautiful name.”

She nodded again and stood back up. “Okay,” she stated, seeming to make her mind up about something.

“You have a deal then Kara Danvers,” she said, holding her hand out to me. “I will spare you your life… All you have to do is love me.”

I felt my heart stutter in my chest.

What have I gotten myself into?

There’s no backing out now though. Unless I wanted to die. 

I sighed, softly, and made myself reach up and take her hand. It was pale, cold, and firm— like ivory. “Yes.” I then said as she easily pulled me up.

All I have to do is love you.

—

A couple of days had passed since that night. Everybody asked me about what had happened: my parents, my friends, reporters, shrinks that my parents hired for me. I had only one answer for all of them. 

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know.”

I don’t know what happened. Or at least, what really happened. Was Lena real? Did I really see a vampire? 

Everything from that night was so hazy. And it didn’t help that after she had pulled me up, she knocked me out. Hours later, I woke up in the car I had been brought to the house in. The house itself was on fire, and the loud sirens of fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances pierced the air.

One of the officers found me and they quickly took me to the hospital to be examined. 

I didn’t see Lena again.

Not that day at least. 

But I thought about her every day. 

Wondering.

How do I love her?

—

Nightmares. 

Almost every night, I was plagued by nightmares. 

There was something very… terrifying about having your believed security and safety completely shattered. To be taken from my school. To be trapped by complete strangers. To be locked in a room and handled so carelessly. 

To have a normal day turn into an irreversibly abnormal one. 

And to, technically, be saved by a vampire? 

It was too much. Too, too much. And one would think that the image of Lena , gorging on the neck of a man, would be at the forefront of my nightmares, but it wasn’t. No. 

My nightmares were of being held at gunpoint— of being thrown into a tiny room, making me feel so claustrophobic and trapped that I started having panic attacks whenever I was enclosed in a room all by myself. My breathing and heart rate would race, my chest would tighten, my fingertips would tingle— and I even passed out a couple of times, to be found (thankfully) by my mother and then a teacher. 

My mother was very worried. My father was… inconvenienced. He had a name to uphold, and he would have a hard time doing that with a daughter suffering from PTSD. He couldn’t be bothered. He had meetings to go to, hands to shake. So he gave mother free reign to do what she felt she needed to take care of me. 

She started dropping me off and picking me up at school and other activities (I couldn’t trust another ‘driver’ anymore). She scoured the entirety of National City for a psychiatrist that I would actually talk to. She made me my favorite foods and made sure to buy me my favorite drinks. She helped me with my homework. Made sure that I kept up with my club activities. She—

She was suffocating me. After years of being either strictly policed to make sure we looked like the perfect family to being largely ignored when there are ‘important events for daddy, honey,’ her efforts seemed insincere. She was the perfect politician’s wife and now she was acting like she cared. 

It felt fake, like she was just making up for years of— I couldn’t even call it disregard or neglect or severe expectations— it was an awful mixture of it all. 

It made it even harder for me to breathe. And I tried so hard not to say anything, to buck under the pressure. But one afternoon after school, when she was scolding me about how I didn’t talk to my newest shrink, I couldn’t stop myself anymore. 

I snapped.

I was so angry, so scared. I started yelling, telling her she didn’t understand what I was going through. That she never did. That she never will. That what she was doing was just as bad as what the kidnappers did, pushing me into a tight box and expecting me to just sit still in it. Like a little doll. 

Tears started rolling down my eyes, and my mother looked crushed. I had never seen her look like that because of me. And it hurt, it hurt my chest. But I was so tired of it all. So I shouted at her to leave me alone and ran back to my bedroom, locking  the door behind me.

—

She didn’t come after me. 

And I buried myself in my bed and cried and cried and cried. I couldn’t do this much longer. I was starting to unravel. The lack of sleep was tearing me at the seams, and the pressure was making my chest so unbearably tight. I needed sleep. God, please, I needed sleep.

I reached into my pocket and carefully fished out the little bottle that I had stolen from my parents’ medicine cabinet, mother called them her ‘la-la land candy.’ The label said, ‘ALPRAZOLAM 0.5 MG. TABLETS. TAKE 1 TABLET BY MOUTH AT BEDTIME AS NEEDED FOR INSOMNIA.’ 

I grabbed the water bottle on my bedside table and quickly took one of the tablets, not caring that my stomach was empty. Then I buried myself in my bed again. I needed it to kick in, quick. I was already feeling my head throb and my chest squeeze and squeeze. My claustrophobia was kicking in. The door was closed. The window was locked. I wanted to open something, but I didn’t want my mother to come in— and I was scared of what could come in through my window.

In my fear, I pulled another tablet out of the bottle and gulped that down too before closing my eyes again. I was shaking so hard that I almost dropped the pill a few times and definitely spilled some water on myself. 

Part of me wished I would just pass out— and that the pills would keep me asleep afterwards. My hands were feeling numb and tingly. My head felt like it was going to explode. I think I was moaning or groaning— I wasn’t sure. There was a knocking on my door. I screamed at it to go away. To just please leave me alone. 

It sounded so sharp. Like knuckles on glass instead of wood. My head was starting to feel a little light, a little fuzzy. Was this the pill? Or was I just breathing too fast? 

A noise. 

I couldn’t really describe it. Like a loud click and a creak and a bang at the same time. It jolted my heart. I tried to move, but my limbs suddenly felt so heavy. Everything felt so heavy. 

What was that? 

What’s going on?

“You stupid, stupid girl.” I heard someone, something hiss at me from somewhere. “What the un-holy hell were you thinking? ” 

The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Did it sound like green? Like bright green? Or like white? Porcelain white? 

Were those hands on my shoulders? Pulling me— easily— to my side. What’s going on? Fingers that felt like ice dug into my shoulders, and then suddenly, pushed against my mouth. I tried to fight them, but they were too, too, too strong. And unrelenting, like they were on a mission. They pushed past my lips, undeterred by my biting teeth, and shoved themselves deep into my throat, quickly activating my gag reflex. 

I started vomiting. 

Whatever I swallowed rushed out. And then I was forced to vomit again. Until all I tasted was stomach acid, burning my throat. Then a wet cloth was being wiped on my face. And cool fingers were pushing back my hair, trailing a path along my temple, a welcomed contrast on my burning skin.

“Hush,” the voice suddenly said, now softer, more muted. “Hush, mo chuisle , you have been through too much. It is time for you to sleep. Sleep— do not worry. You will be safe. I am here. I will keep you safe.”

Safe.

That’s what my father promised me.

What my mother vowed to me.

What my shrinks told me.

That I am now safe. 

But I couldn’t believe them. 

But this time— this time— I felt a soft palm press itself against my cheek. 

This time, I did feel it. 

I felt safe.

So I finally— finally — fell asleep.

—

When I finally woke up, it was with a sour taste in my mouth and the ghost of a cold hand on my cheek. Sunlight was coming through the open window, I had slept through the night. The first time in… a long time— wait.

The window was open? 

I disentangled myself from my blanket and stumbled my way to the window. I looked over it and saw that the latch was— broken? Like it had just snapped in half from brute force. A shiver slid its way down my spine, and I looked around the room. 

The bottle I had stolen from my mom was gone. A sweatshirt I owned was in the trash bin next to my desk. I walked over to it and gingerly tried to pick it up, but it was wet with— what was that? Oh. Vomit. 

Last night. 

That voice. That touch. I reached up to cup my own cheek. Was she here? Last night? Did she make me throw up? 

I walked back to the window and looked out. Has she been watching me? 

Lena. 

She said she will keep me safe…

I felt my chest tighten again.

And then I heard a knock coming from my door, and my mom’s voice sounded from the other side, “honey? Can we talk? Please?” 

I blinked and turned around. 

Lena.

Did she save me again?

—

Mother started working with me more instead of just working on me like a project after that. She tried not to suffocate me and let me choose my own psychiatrist that I felt comfortable with. She was nice. An older lady with kind eyes and a soft smile.

She advised me to start keeping a journal, which I actually found to be very cathartic and relaxing, and she helped me slowly, but surely start to overcome my claustrophobia. And at night— 

At night, I kept my window open.

It made me feel safe. 

She made me feel safe.

And sometimes, I would write a note to her and put it on the windowsill before I would sleep. And every morning when I wake up, the note would be gone. Or sometimes, if I wrote a question, I would get an answering note. 

The first one I wrote was a couple of weeks after the night she broke her way into my room. I had simply written ‘Thank you, Lena’ on it. And the next few notes that followed were pretty similar. 

Thank you for watching over me.

I’m sorry I took those pills.

I hope you are staying safe.

Then, out of curiosity. The next ones had questions on them.

The sky was beautiful today. But I don’t think you were able to enjoy it? Does the sun burn you— or do you, you know, sparkle?

The response to that was short and a little insulting. It was:

Hahaha!

But it was also… comforting nonetheless, knowing that she was there, knowing that she was watching over me. So, undeterred, I asked her another question.

Glad you found that funny. What’s your favorite color?

A more direct question. One that she wouldn’t have to explain. 

Blue and red to see. And black to wear. 

Her handwriting was bold and strong, just like her, and I found myself reading her notes repeatedly, as if they would tell me more than just the words that were clear to see. And this exchange went on for a few more weeks, until one day, I stopped getting responses.

My notes still disappeared, but I no longer received one or two-sentence comebacks dripping with sarcasm or straightforward answers that gave no room for misinterpretation. 

And—

And it worried me

And some nights, I would softly whisper ‘Lena,’ out into the cool night air. Lena, where are you? 

But my only response was silence. And some nights, I would stay up and wait. And wait, watching the note that I left out, trying to catch even just a glimpse of my vampire savior. But in the end, she still didn’t show up, and the note would not be collected.

The note would only be collected when I was deep asleep. Not even when I would lay in bed and try to pretend to be asleep. 

And so I stopped trying to stay up. 

There was a part of me that worried that Lena wouldn’t be getting my notes, so I decided that I would just have to sleep, just so she would continue to do so. And another part of me knew that she would prefer me to actually be resting anyway. Even if I didn’t get answers, even if I didn’t get to know more of her— 

It was going to be okay.

She was keeping me safe, and I… I was finally sleeping and resting so well. 

So it was going to be okay.

I would keep writing her notes, and she would keep watching over me, like my own guardian angel. 

And this continued. 

Night after night.

Week after week.

Month after month.

And year after year.

Until.

Until…

—

I was 17 years old. 

I was finishing up my last year in highschool, and I was more than excited. I had received a few more random notes here and there from Lena since then, and I had kept each one in a beautiful wooden jewelry box that my mother had given me. 

The window stayed unlocked and opened every night, and all my notes (though I no longer wrote daily but once a week after the first year) still disappeared by the morning. And some nights— some nights— I would hear a voice, or voices, from the outside. Soft, hushed voices, talking casually as if in easy conversation. And instead of feeling afraid, they only made me feel more secure. Especially the one with the familiar foreign lilt.

— 

Nicole was my best friend in highschool. She was sweet and bubbly, and had an infinite amount of energy for someone who was only 4 feet and 10 inches tall. And unlike me, she was very popular and part of the cheerleading team. 

I was less known: a member of the chess club, the debate club, and the women’s varsity basketball team, and we had only become friends because she needed a Physics tutor, and I had gotten assigned to her. And though I preferred to just stay at home and read, she was an extrovert who believed that everybody should live everyday to the fullest and party as often as possible. 

So one Friday night a few weeks before graduation, she dragged me to a small party being hosted by a few football players. It was not one of their usual celebratory fiestas where the whole house and surrounding pool and lawns were filled with a multitude of teenagers exuding sweat and excitement and chugging beer illegally and relentlessly like if they stopped drinking, their lives would cease to have meaning—

“Stop thinking so hard,” Nicole had told me as she pulled me into the house. “I can hear you from all the way over here.”

“What?” I protested as I closed the door behind me. “How would you even—”

“That crinkle is a dead give away,” she said with a fond smile. “Come on, Kar, loosen up a little! We’re seniors. We’re graduating! It’s gonna be alright! Life’s not gonna explode just because we had some fun!” 

“That’s right!” Quarterback James Olsen seconded as he held out two red solo cups. “Loosen up, B-ball girl,” he said with a cocky grin, “you might actually get something if you do.” 

“Excuse me?” I asked, raising a brow as I ignored the drinks he offered. 

“I said—”

“Stop, Jimmy,” Nicole then said, grabbing the cups from his hands. “Don’t be such a dick to my friend.” 

“Okay, okay,” James then said, holding up his hands in a placating manner. “I’ll be nice. But do enjoy the drinks. And there’s more in the kitchen if you need them.”

I watched him leave and tried my best not to throw one of the cups after him. 

“I’m sorry, Kar,” Nicole then said, “James is usually pretty nice. But he does have his moments.” 

“Yeah, moments,” I said, flatly.

Nicole pouted at me and then held out a drink. “Have a drink with your best buddy at least?” she asked, widening her eyes into the most manipulative puppy dog face she had in her arsenal. 

“Gah,” I said, taking the drink. “Fine, just— just put that away!” 

She smirked smugly, used to getting what she wanted from me. “Good! Now bottom’s up!”

And I drank with her, quickly drinking so that I wouldn't have to keep the taste in my mouth longer than I had to.

I hated beer. Hated the taste of it. And this one, this one was especially awful.

I just didn’t know then just how awful it really was.

—

My stomach was cramping. My mouth was dry and my eyes felt prickly. My vision was getting hazy and there was a heavy throbbing in my head. I had lost Nicole, and I was currently stumbling my way down a hallway on the second floor.

I braced myself against the next door I reached and frantically tried to twist the door knob, but my hands felt like pool noodles, unmanageable and thick. What happened? The drinks? I only had one, being the designated driver and all, no matter how much Nicole insisted— and she— Nicole had drunk quite a bit. 

Most of us had gathered in the large living room. James Olsen (the QB), Morgan Edge (the center), and Don McQueen (one of the guards), Brandi Lovin (head cheerleader), Stacey Godsey (second-in-command of the cheerleading team), Nicole, and me. 

Brandi was playing music, and Stacey had draped herself all over Don, both of them trying to shover their tongues in each other’s throats. James and Morgan were talking amongst themselves quietly. And Nicole was happily telling me about the new book she was reading called ‘Sophie’s World.”

It was in the middle of her description of the pre-Socratic philosophical ideas that she suddenly slumped forward and almost fell on me. I caught her and quickly sat her back up. Then, with the medical emergency training I had received (and asked for after… after being kidnapped years ago), I started to shake her a bit to see if that would perk her up. 

It didn’t work. 

Trying to keep my cool, I carefully placed two of my fingers against the pulsepoint on her neck and felt a slow but steady beat. By this time, James and Morgan had gotten up and come over. 

“Woah, is she okay?” Morgan asked, his voice strangely flat. I ignored them and carefully laid her back on the couch we were on before placing one hand on her chest and one under her nose. 

A beat. Two. Her chest rose and fell, and I felt a short woosh of air coming out her nostrils. 

She was still breathing, good. 

Without another word, I took out my phone and was about to dial 911 when James suddenly grabbed my wrist. 

“What do you think you’re doing, you fucking dyke?” He asked, his voice suddenly cold and cruel. I turned to stare at him, and he tightened his grip on me. Angry. Desperate. There was something very wrong here.

“Are you kidding me, James?” I burst out. “I’m calling 911. Nicole just passed out. It could be something serious. And fuck you for you calling me that.” 

I was about to make a move when Morgan suddenly grabbed my elbow. I looked over and Brandi was slumped over the chair she was in and Stacey— Stacey was just sitting there on Don and coldly eyeing Brandi’s unconscious body. 

“I don’t think you understand what’s going on here now, bitch ,” Morgan said, almost spitting in my face. My head was starting to hurt, my mouth was getting dry. Shit. I needed to call 911. Something was definitely wrong. 

With no hesitation, I thought back to my self-defense classes and forcibly slammed my forehead as hard as I could against Morgan’s, hitting him so hard that he let me go and stumbled back. Then, I twisted my body and viciously kicked James between the legs. And when he went down, I grabbed his head and brought my knee up hard to his face. 

He fell back, surprised, his nose bleeding. And before they could do anything else, I bolted. 

I ran. 

—

I had run to the front door first, but it was locked and heavy. And with my head starting to get fuzzy, I didn’t feel like I could break it down. So I decided to go upstairs, find somewhere to hide and call 911. 

And so there I was, trying to open a door, clumsily and shakily with my pool noodle hands. And then I heard voices behind me. James and Morgan. I started to panic, my heart beating wildly in my chest. I needed to get into the room, to hide— 

Please, open! Please open! Please just open! 

I was about to ram my shoulder into the door when it suddenly opened, and I fell in. I had expected to fall to the hard floor, but instead I fell into a pair of slender but strong arms that caught me and carefully stood me up. 

“We really need to stop meeting like this,” a smooth, familiar voice chided as a pair of unforgettable, glowing green eyes set themselves on me. I swallowed, thickly. Was I hallucinating? I reached up and gently cupped Lena’s cool cheek, my thumb almost brushing the edge of her red lips. 

“Lena,” I slowly breathed out. Was she real? I felt myself hope deeply that she was. She, who made me feel so safe, so secure. I knew then that I was going to be okay. 

“Kara,” she responded with an amused curve to her lips. “How am I to believe that you love me when you are constantly surrounded by trash?” 

And after those words escaped her lips, I heard two loud thuds coming from down the hallway. I flinched, and Lena effortlessly drew me up against her. I had gotten much taller since we last saw each other, now about 5’5, with a slim and athletic build thanks to karate and basketball. But I still felt so small, especially when her eyes took on an intense, almost hungry, shine. 

“Such…bad little boys that you have forsaken me so quickly for,” she sighed, mocking and deadly. She reached up and possessively placed her hand over my own, her cool touch sending a shiver down my spine. “Shall I kill them all?” 

I knew it was no idle threat. That she would happily devour the blood and souls of everyone in the house, but Nicole— shit, Nicole. “No-no,” I shakily mustered, trying to think through the fog in my head caused by whatever they spiked the drinks with and my utter disbelief in seeing Lena again. 

“Have to— call the police, ambulance. They drugged us.” My lips felt numb, and it was hard to get words out. I didn’t even know if she could understand me. But the amusement in her eyes flickered and then vanished, to be replaced by steely determination.

“I know,” she suddenly said, nodding her head. “I already called them. Anonymously. They should be here soon.” 

“Nicole?” I carefully worded out, not being able to say the rest: is she okay? Is she still breathing? Has she woken up? 

Lena sighed and, with inhuman speed and strength, picked me up in her arms with great ease. I instinctively wrapped my arms around her strong neck and held tight, or as tightly as I could with my arms that still felt floppy and thick. My vision was starting to get hazier, and I felt my chest tighten. 

It reminded me of that day so many years ago. Like I was that little girl again, trapped in a pantry. But Lena— Lena ’s strong arms held fast around me, and I was able to slowly calm my heart and my breathing. 

We finally arrived in the living room. Everyone had been knocked out: James and Morgan in the upstairs hallways, Brandi and Nicole still where they were, and Don and Stacey slumped over each other. And there, near the fireplace, stood a tall, beautiful brunette with rich, olive-toned skin dressed in a a stylish black pantsuit with a white silk blouse. She looked like she had just walked out of a business meeting with the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. 

And Lena— well, now that I was looking, looked like that sharply dressed and dashing CEO of a Fortune 500 company. She was dressed quite differently from when I last saw her. She had on a dark burgundy blazer over a red, lacy top that showed off flawless, porcelain skin. Her neck was elegant, her jaw sharp. Her make-up was immaculate, and her lips— 

“Is Nicole okay, Sam?” Lena asked, interrupting my train of thought. I followed her gaze and looked at the only other upright person in the room. Sam shook her head, a grim expression on her face. “Her heartbeat is slowing down. And her fingertips are turning blue. I made her throw up a couple of times, but even that didn’t work. Whatever she consumed, her body has already processed enough to be deadly.” 

Lena gazed back down at me and then carefully placed me on one of the seats in the room. “The ambulance is near,” she said in explanation, “we have to go. We can’t be caught here.” 

Hit with a sudden fear at knowing that Lena was about to leave me, I tried to hold onto her tighter. But it was no use, my limbs were getting heavier and so were my eyelids. 

“Please,” I croaked, my throat dry and hoarse. “Lena, please don’t go.” 

She gently held and squeezed my reaching hands and said, “I won’t, Kara. I’ll be here the whole time, you’ll be okay, mo chuisle. Just close your eyes.”

And then the sound of sirens pierced the air.

And then Lena was gone. 

And my eyes closed.

—

When I woke up, I was in the hospital. My stomach had been pumped and an IV was flushing my system with fluids. My mom and father were in my room: mom holding my hand and father on the phone in the corner, talking to ‘governor this’ and ‘senator that.’

The moment I opened my eyes, I had tried to look for Lena, but she wasn’t there. And my chest quickly tightened, I asked my mom what the time was, and she told me it was 10 AM the following day, Saturday, and that I was in the Medical ICU of the National City Hospital. 

She told me about what else happened last night, about how we were all found unconscious in the Olsen’s home. Then her voice started to falter and become hesitant, something that even father noticed. He got off the phone and came over to hold her hand and put his other hand on top of mine and mom’s hands. 

Then mom began to tell me about Nicole. She had lost her pulse when the ambulance finally arrived, and they quickly started performing life saving measures. And while they were doing that, Brandi had started having seizure-like movement. Thankfully, the other ambulance had arrived, and they didn’t have to divide their efforts for too long. But— but it wasn’t enough.

Nicole was young and healthy, so they worked on her, hard. They probably cracked a few ribs with vigorous compressions, tried to flush her out with bags of fluid, gave her all the life-saving medications, inserted a tube down her throat to keep her breathing, to get the blue out of her fingertips— but Nicole...

Nicole died. 

In the Emergency Department, in a room so cold and white and a complete opposite of her. I couldn’t stop myself, I started sobbing. Crying right into my sheets. No. No. No. Then they told me that Brandi was still alive, in another room here in the ICU. How they had seen her parents, distraught and devastated, because Brandi was almost completely unresponsive. With a breathing machine and multiple medications to keep her… alive— or was it even that? 

The tears kept falling from my eyes, until— until— mom told me about how the others had been found unconscious too and were taken to the ER as well. And they said that somebody had come and attacked us and poisoned us. It made me sick. I got so angry, starting shouting that it was their fault! They were the ones who did this. 

“They poisoned us, mom! They probably didn’t think it would kill us, but those— those f-fuckers did this! They killed Nicole! They are killing Brandi! James and Morgan grabbed me an—”

“Woah, woah,” father suddenly said, a look of disbelief twisting his face. “Those are very strong accusations, sweetheart. Reputation damaging ones. Especially for prominent families like the Olsens—you know they own the local media. And the Edges! They own the most sought-after real estate development business, and you definitely know—”

Of course I knew. I knew the McQueens that owned and ran the biggest store franchise were his strongest supporters. All of those families were supporters of his, and the Godseys were too, even if they weren’t as high up on the social ladder. But what the actual fuck?!

“Nicole died ,” I angrily cut into his self-serving explanation. “My best friend died! They killed her! Dad, that is wrong! Or do you even know what is right from wrong anymore?” 

My father looked at me like I had slapped him, and he opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mom looked between me and him worriedly, her own eyes wet with tears. 

A long moment passed, and he stood up and left the room. 

He never did answer that question. And mom— mom was torn. We had gotten closer, much closer throughout the years, but she was still definitely the senator’s wife. 

She rubbed her thumb over my knuckles and told me everything was going to be okay. 

But it wasn’t. 

And she lied. 

—

A week had passed since then. 

And Brandi had died late last night. 

I had cried until I had no more tears to shed. I had tried, tried so hard to get something to happen, but father remained unmoved, and mother was just as unsuccessful. The Olsens, Edges, McQueens, and Godseys banded together to keep their children safe and perpetuated the lie that some other anonymous person or persons attacked and poisoned us while we were just having innocent highschool fun.

It sickened me. 

It sickened me so much. 

Lies, everywhere. Not a single bit of truth. I had tried to go to the local police myself, but they treated me more as an annoying nuisance than anything else. Told me that I was remembering things wrong because I was ‘too drugged up.’ 

I had never been more frustrated…

And Nicole was still dead.

—

That night, a little before midnight, I sat in front of my open window and started calling out, “Lena, Lena, Lena!” Both my parents were at a charity ball, so I didn’t care about being loud. A few seconds passed, and I started calling out again, “Lena! Lena! Please come? I need to talk to you.”

A long period of silence and then suddenly, there she was, landing almost soundlessly on a thick branch about ten feet away from my window. And then, in the blink of an eye, she was on my windowsill, crouched down, her glowing green eyes sweeping around me. 

“Hmm. Yes, mo chuisle , you called?” She peered into my room. “It seems like you’re not in danger, so, am I to believe that this is actually a social call? How novel.”

That name she called me.

She had called me that before, and it sounded so strangely beautiful coming from her. It sounded… right. And I didn’t think I meant the pronunciation or accent, I wasn’t sure, but it just felt right. And I really wondered what it meant, but I was distracted by what she was wearing.

A tight-fitting snake-print dress with white and orange accents on a dark background with an elegantly folded neckline. The hem slid up her slender legs at her actions and showed off a lot of skin— a lot of flawless skin. Her thighs, her calves, her feet that were in a pair of closed, pointed toe pumps that looked like they were made from genuine Italian leather. They all came together to create a very distracting—

“Kara?” she said, snapping me out of my stupor as she stepped into the room and lightly tugged her dress down. I felt a twinge of something I didn’t understand, and I shook my head to clear my thoughts. 

I took a deep breath and then said, “thank you.” And before I could say anything else, she released a long-suffering sigh and leaned back on the window behind her before tilting her head to the side, as if unimpressed. 

“Well,” she shrugged. “I suppose that is the closest to love I will get for now.” She paused, her usually vivid green eyes seeming to darken as she watched me searchingly with her half-lidded gaze. 

“Tell me, Kara,” she then said after a time, her red lips suddenly curling into an unamused smirk. “How many times do I have to save your life before you fulfill your part of the bargain?”

I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment and shame, remembering the deal I had made so many years ago in an attempt to save my life. A deal that apparently kept on giving because here Lena was again, saving my life for the third time. I looked down, unable to hold her gaze, and brokenly whispered, “I… I am sorry. I’m just… I’m just not there yet.” 

A deep sigh came from her, and I hesitantly looked back up. She looked more tired than angry, and I couldn’t help but voice out what I have been thinking for a while, “but I am close. Very. I definitely care about you,” I paused, searched her face as she did mine, and in finding no change, continued, “and I think about you. A lot.” 

A change. A softening in the curve of her lips, a lightening in her exquisite green eyes. I felt warmth flush my cheeks again, this time, more out of just embarrassment. And as shy as I felt, I knew I needed to tell her this, and well, once I started, it was like my mouth didn’t know when to stop.

“I think about you all the time,” I confessed, in a soft, even tone. “I think about you when I wake up, if you’ve taken my note. Left one. If you hide from the sun, or can stay in it. I think about you when I go to sleep, if you’re watching me. Listening to me. If you sit on my windowsill sometimes, try to get close to me.”

With every word that passed my lips, I felt more and more vulnerable, like I was peeling off cover after cover, until there would be nothing left. “I think about you when you’re there, and even more so when you’re not. I think about you when I see the colors red and blue, your favorites. And I wonder if you like roses or blueberries. I think about you when I touch something cold or see a flash of green.” 

I smiled, the curl of my lips driven by a certain and undeniable fondness. “I read your notes almost daily, religiously, even after all this time, wanting to know as much about you as I can. And then even more.” I slowly stood up and took a step forward and then another, removing the space between us. 

“I think about you all the time, Lena,” I then repeated when we were finally just a few inches away from each other. “And I thank you. I thank you for saving my life.”

She watched me, assessing, calculating. Then finally, after a long moment, she nodded her head. “You are welcome,” she said, taking in my earnest words and gaze. 

A pause. “I am sorry your friend, Nicole, died.” 

And at her words, I fell apart again. And I started crying, though it was mostly dry sobs since I still hadn’t recovered from the previous times I had cried my tears out. And Lena, with no hesitation, grabbed me and pulled me into a fierce hug in the arms that always made me feel so secure.

And she held me as I cried again.

Cried for Nicole, cried for Brandi, cried for their families. 

Cried for us all.

—