Podcast of a Teenage Super-Villian

Chapter Twenty: Revenge is Underrated

Song choice: The Mariner's Revenge Song—The Decemberists. The story itself has nothing to do with what's going on here, but it's a wicked good tune to write about revenge with. 

Chip's fists swing, trembling at his sides. Max's blood is hot as it oozes against him, his body heavy and his breathing soft, regular. Chip can't explain the anger at his knife being lost in the mud, not in a logical way. He can't explain the wanting for Max to be awake, in pain, either.

In dreams, Chip had seen Max awake on an operating table. He'd seen scalpels and sharp, precise tools hanging from walls. He'd seen himself cutting, cutting. He'd seen himself causing his old friend so much pain. Heard the screams, saw the blood, and in the dream, it felt so good. To hurt Max more than he'd hurt him. To dispose of the body in little pieces, soaked with Chip's rage.

In the dream, it felt so so good. But Max's easy breathing, his delicate face, bruised and still smirking, made his chest ache. Once, it had been good. Their friendship and the clandestine touches, the slight grasps of shoulders, the rufflings of hair. The way Max became his voice. A silky, siren's voice, everything coming out of it respectable. "What Chip means is...," "Chip, actually, doesn't have time to do that. He's very busy," "No, Chip's a musician." People listened to that when it came out of Max. When Chip said the same things, they laughed. It had been good, until that night. And now Max lay there, vulnerable. Chip could kill him.

And still, even now, Max had control of him. Hurling a knife into Max's leg had done nothing, except now they had to figure out how to fix the gaping hole in his leg, because now, the supervillain dying was a bad thing.

"Maybe there isn't anyone." Kai's voice is so strained, so real and harsh compared to his usual one, which is all happy chirps and every sentence ended with an exclamation mark. "Maybe he just said that to get at you, Chip. And Finn."

Finn's teeth are grit. He's eyeing the lump on Chip's shoulder with some kind of fire, something glowing.

"Can't risk it." He's so warm. That smirk is so harsh on his dollish features, the tear-drop face and button nose. Chip undoes the rope around his neck so that maybe his superhuman healing will help. He tosses it to Finn. "In case he wakes up and tries to kill me." 

The boys stumble through the overgrowth, crunching sticks and splashing mud. They had to run, Kai squeezing Finn's hand, Chip having to stare down at his feet, his chest heaving. He couldn't think. He couldn't look at Max's peaceful face. When they finally get to the car, mud-soaked and cussing at the sleeping figure, Chip flings him into the back seat. He rips his own his hoodie off and ties it tightly around the wound, which is still bleeding. Maybe he should've done that miles back. Oops.

Max's hand creeps on top of Chip's. Chip freezes for a second, paralyzed as Max's eyes slide open. They're so brilliantly black when he looks into them, it's like looking into the void. A very warm, very kind-seeming void.

"Thanks for carrying me." He winks.

Chip opens his mouth to scream. And already, before he can get one sharp sound out, Max wraps his hands around his face. Tightening, squeezing. Chip 'mmfs!' and stomps the car a couple of times. "What, did you think you could just try to kill me and it would be okay? You will never, ever get rid of me, do you understand?" Max's voice is hardly human, a hissing sound. 

And Max slinks  back against the seat, let his eyes fall lazily shut, just as the boys wrenched open the back doors. Finn throws the rope back and Kai shouts, squeezing against Max and the open door. Chip shouts and yanks Max's hands together, wringing the rope around his wrists. "Wake up! I'm not playing with you! Tell me where he is!"

Max feigns sleep, his eyelashes fluttering against a soft cheek. Already, color slips out of his face. The skin's now looking alabaster. Chip yanks the rope tight, jerks his shoulders hard. "Stop it!"