How do you know you've hit rock bottom? Is it when you're so beaten up that your big brother has to carry you? Or is it when your best friends are in danger and you can't do anything about it? Or heck, is it when you look out the window and know your city is a hellscape, but you're trapped as all get-out and can't fight the people doing the damage?

I don't know. You tell me.

Toby plops me down on my bed, and as I contemplate my uselessness, I feel like a whole lot of yuck and a whole lot of existential crisis.

Toby sighs, and I stare a little. I don't see him a lot. He's usually working extra shifts at the hospital, downing coffee after coffee so he can function during those eighteen hour days. When he comes home, shaky and baggy-eyed, he usually looks worse than I feel.

He glances over me, and I see the way he recoils, see the flash of fear in his eyes, dark like Mom's. "You know," he says, "Mom used to come home looking just like that, bruised up and hardly able to move. Dad too. I don't understand why you do what you do what you do. You could've died, Hev." My heart slams up against my ribs. Of course, he talks to me about this type stuff when my voice is shot, when I can hardly squeak out a line about my own best friend's kidnaping.. If my voice were back, I would be arguing, probably, but then again, I don't care.  They have Gatsby. Who cares about my jacked-up ribs and dead parents?  I have to save him, and I have to find Angelos, that's all that matters. "Need another aspirin?"

I've already had nine. If I weren't a super, my liver would bleed. "N-No." My head's all stuffed up, and my motor functions are almost gone. The roof of my mouth feels thick and bristly, like sandpaper.

I try to stand, but pain tears through my torso, like something inside me is cracking with every breath.

So, I sigh instead. The faded pink sheets are rough and unraveling and scratch my skin at the touch. I've had these since I was a little kid. I never needed new sheets or blankets; I never slept. "What are we going to do about Snare?"

"Huh?"

I have to repeat myself, shouting every syllable until my raw throat feels like it'll fall apart. I barely sound. He rubs his hair back and sighs, his face in his hands.

"I don't know. I shouldn't have done it, but you were dying." He slides his fingers down his skin and groans. "God, it was awful. I was like, like when Mom died."

 I remember that out of body experience thing I had. How could I forget? I remember what my mother said, about her dying in the coma thing. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge, and Toby gives me a sad, wry smile. "At least we cheated fate, even if we did it pretty dumbly."

"Oh, my God!" a girl shrieks. Toby whips to his feet, his hand grasping at the hip of his jacket where he carries his concealed sidearm, a .22 caliber pistol. I grab his arm, my jaw clenched up even though the pain that ignites there is excruciating. I know the voice. Of course, I do.

"You guys are so cool! And, like, old." Toby shoots me a glance, sighs, and drops his arm. The mattress coils squeak as he stands. I bite back a groan and ease after him, stab after stab of pain ripping inside as I try to struggle to the ground.

"Get out of my house," Toby growls when he leaves. I glance down at the dusty floor and drop off the bed's edge. Needless to say, landing on solid wood hurts. I yelp and clutch my side, gasping and moaning for breath. My teeth grind.

 My powers should've come back already, shouldn't they? It's like the universe hates me even more than usual.

"A corded phone? Really? How old are you?"

"Go home, Jaylin." Toby's voice is tired and aged.

"Hmm." She laughs quietly, and I wonder if that girl has something seriously wrong in the head. Other than the trauma of living with supervillains, though I suppose that would drive anyone bonkers. "I guess. . .three hundred years? Is that right?"

I drag myself across the wood floor, my skin stinging from the pressure. I grab the edge of the splintered chestnut dresser and heave myself to my feet. "Drop the zero. Add a four."

Jaylin sounds disappointed. "So you're just mortal age?"

"I think you ought to head back with the Fibbs. How'd you get into my house anyway?" I creep into the living room. Our apartment looks nothing like the Fibbs', and for good reason.

Gats and Angel are clean freaks. One pillow out of place and they go ballistic. Toby and I, well, not so much. The wallpaper peels, week-old pizza boxes, clumps of cat hair, and tissues covering the coffee table. The counter, too, filled with unfinished assignments and tax forms. There, Jaylin sits, stabbing in the keys of our barf-colored phone, the receiver beeping in her hand.

She winks at my brother. "A supervillain never tells her secrets. Ooh! What does this button do?" She pokes it, and messages start to play. The pissed tax man. The pissed tax man again. Panicked Mayor Curtis begging people to calm down and have faith in the heroes that saved them in the past. I raise an eyebrow. Interesting. Jaylin shakes her head and grins gleefully.

I hate her. Really, really hate her.

And yet.

She's a wildcard. If you asked me about her personality, I'd just shrug and go, "I don't know. It's always changing, like the weather. Like clouds. Her personality is clouds." She has my hackles raised.

She was such a cool person at school, like one of the guys. When we snuck whispers during Bio, she bragged about playing Dark Souls and only dying 386 times. And I thought, stupidly, 'Whoa! We can be friends, like girlfriends in all the chicklit Gats reads when he's pretending he doesn't know Angel and me. We can do girl stuff!' (Though, honestly, Angel and Gats kind of are like chicklit girlfriends. After all, Gats was the one who taught me how to use concealer and highlighter. "You want to use a brush. Those swabby things that come in the bottom of the discs are rubbish, okay? And then, basically, you start on the cheekbones and highlight them with broad, quick strokes—no, no. Here, I'll show you.")

But that could never happen, Jaylin and me being friends, because, of course, the one person that could be the fourth addition to the group, a girlfriend, had to be a psychotic supervillain.

I guess they were wrong. Three isn't a crowd, four is.

"Okay," Toby says, gently placing the phone back on the hook, "that's enough. Or do you have to push every button until you're satisfied enough to go back to the Fibbs?"

"Hmm," Jaylin says, rubbing the place where I hit her in last night's fight. "I don't know. Do you have any cookies? Juniper and Storm only keep the vegan stuff, and if you've ever had that, it sucks."

Toby nods and then shoots me an angry look over his shoulder when he sees me. He's probably mad I'm not recovering in bed or whatever. I shoot him a look back. Superheroes don't stay out of commission so long. "Uh, I can check. Heaven probably ate them, if ever we did." I shrug weakly. What can I say, I eat a lot to keep up my strength. Jaylin bats the receiver back off the hook, like a kitten. I lean on the heels of my bloodied socks.

And then, this silky voice sounds from the speaker. Jaylin hisses and drops the phone, toppling over the stool she was sitting upon.

Poison.

"Hello, angel. I have a proposition for you." I can hardly process his silky little voice. My mind is whirring. Too much. Too much to take. I roll my fingers into fists and clench hard. He laughs. I contemplate running up and punting the phone. "You superheroes are so tricky. Your brother and my father had a deal, and though it's one I'm sure you plan to keep, it's better to be safe than sorry. Isn't that right Luce?"

I fall back on my heels. I can't help it. I feel like I've been punched in the chest.

Silence ensues on the line.

"Lucy?"

Something hard breaks. I can hear the glass shatter, the rush of wind blowing past the phone. I trembling. I hear the sound of metal smashing, fabric tearing, gasping and short growls of pain.

'CRACK!' Angel swears under his breath, pseudo-swearing, and my heart feels like someone ripped it out of my chest and threw it. "Ah, spit!" His voice is a soft growl, something pained and weak. They took him. Those monsters took him. "Dumb plan. Look, Hev. I'll be fine. Get Gats. I'll figure a way out of this. I mean, yeah, I know that sounds bad, but I think I can handle this. I can try at least."

A strangled cry escapes my throat. Poison purrs, and his voice is something awful. Angel is still talking, trying to soothe me, when his words suddenly become muffled. I hear the violence play out, the banging and crashing and swearing. "You wouldn't want me to hurt him, would you? You have one da—"

"Screw you!" Jaylin shrieks, whipping to her feet and slamming her fist onto the phone. Sparks fly and the vinyl bursts, wires ripped and exposed and plastic flying.

Toby stares incredulously, his mouth flung open, his eyes blinking rapidly. "You broke my phone."

I hit the floor. Larry the Persian purrs and jumps off the couch, rubbing his fluffy white fur against my cheek. I yank him against my chest and pet him. Furiously. My chest heaves. 

My Gatsby. My Angel. My friends. My boys.

Jaylin grabs her face. "Okay, okay." She paces furiously. "You're a superhero, Heaven. What do you do when you have to save two guys from feuding gangs of supervillains? Heaven?"

Larry meows, glaring up at me with narrowed blue eyes. I squeeze him so hard he springs out of my arms and takes off. I'm shaking now, and I stare at the dusty floor, where my tears make tracks in the film. Oh, no. Oh, God, no. Not this. Not now. I try to remind myself that I am in control, that I can handle this, that I can handle anything.

"Heaven?" Jaylin stomps over. I don't look up. So much confusion and rage and pain. I can feel the disguise slipping, and the lies I tell myself won't hold up.

My throat tightens. This wasn't supposed to happen. They tell you you have to sacrifice to make a difference. Well, I did. I did and it accomplished nothing. And if I were dead, it still wouldn't mean a damn thing. My boys are gone.

And I cry, okay? That thing I thought I could never do, well, I do it.

I sob into my empty hands, the sounds croaky, muffled, and nearly silent. I'm supposed to be strong. For Angel, for Gats, for my city. But not now. As the tears stream down my face, and as Jaylin fixes me a disgusted look, it comes to me. Sharp like a stab in the chest, or, more appropriately, the neck.

The bastards finally broke me.

I fish a pen out of my pocket and stab the words into the floor. I don't give a damn about the condition of the estate anymore.

"Tell Poison I'll be there."

***
Hey, guys!
So sorry about the late update. I haven't been able to respond to comments in the past week since I haven't been able to get on a computer, but now that I have a phone, hopefully I'll be able to respond and update quicker.
Anyways, thank you for reading as always. Stay super, Starlighters!