TW// Abuse and slight pedophilia 

So I needed to write a short narrative about a superhero I created for school, and I ended up writing over 2000 words, and essentially started a new story. So yeah, enjoy :) Also I know I changed tense many times, I can't be bothered to fix it.

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I felt numb.

I always felt numb at these events. The classy outfits they'll never wear again. The expensive drinks that took years of labour. The conversations that not so subtly mentions how superior they are to the Trackers. It's suffocating.

The Trackers. The poor workers that maintain the train and the tracks in the terrible city we call Rainy Train. These men, women, and often children, are forced upon hours of labour. Manning the trains, sorting the tickets, making sure each station looks as clean as a palace. Hundreds die each year due to their job, whether that be from accidents on the tracks, or plain starvation. But I suppose that's how society works. The millionaires - or Buyers - get to buy the trains and profit from its use, while the less fortunate are forced to work till the day they die.

Of course some of the lucky Trackers are able to earn enough to start a business. They generally don't have any family, and end up fight for themselves. That's how it works in this world, sad but true. However, they can only achieve this if they have a skill the buyers would appreciate, like baking or dress making. If Buyers aren't interested, their business is doomed.

A kiss on my on my cheek brought me out of my trance. It was my husband. Of course it was him. 

"Darling, Mr Oak would love to have a chat with you." He smiled as he talked. He always smiled the same way at these events, like he owned the whole bloody world.

I pressed my lips together in to a thin line, working hard to unfurrow my brow as my husband pulled me through the crowd.

My husband - Dave Goodman. He's just like the rest of them. Spoiled from the day he was born, was practically handed his own train by his parents; almost as if it was just some common toy. But no, a real working train. Newest model, of course. And, like every other Buyer in this pathetic city, sat back and watched the money roll in. Naturally, the Buyers have to give some to the Trackers who are actually doing all the work, but it's never enough.

I met Goodman at his unveiling ceremony. Us Trackers - that's right, I too was a Tracker - were always forced to attend. Forced to see who provides our life for us. I was at the front with my Sister. She was only four at the time, and was so excited to see a real-life train; little did she know she would soon grow to hate them. Goodman's eyes caught mine, and his smile grew a little wider. When the ceremony ended, I went back with my Mother and my Sister to our one roomed house. We were extremely poor. So it was quite a surprise when the Dave Goodman knocked on our door!

He only wanted to speak with me. Commented on my beauty, and how he couldn't keep his mind off of me. I felt sick. Then he asked to be with me. I politely declined, though I wanted to curse the bloody house down at him. How dare this older man come and ask me to be his pretty little mistress, just to be cast away like the others. His expression turned annoyed quickly, like he had never been told no before. But then he smiled wide again, a smile I already hated. He decided to ask again, only this time for my hand in marriage. Before I could decline yet again, he said that my family would be able to come with me. Looking around my tiny, dirty home, and my starving family, I knew I only had one choice. I was only sixteen at the time.

Luckily, I've been able to keep my name - Rhiley Smith. No matter who I'm married to, I will always be Rhiley Smith, a Tracker.

Goodman's grip was tight on my hand. It's always tight. Like he's scared I'll run away if he lets go. I'm never sure if he's ever loved me, or if I'm just his pretty little wife. His dedication to keep me close often makes me think he cares, but his mistresses say otherwise.

My husband continued to pull me through the sparkling lit room of self-entitled people, over to the worst of all - Lachlyn Oak. A pompous douche. Only twenty-two, and yet more successful than half the people here. He loves to go down to the Trackers area and show off his wealth, yet again reminding them how worthless they are. He makes me sick, and he knows it. He purposely brings it up, just to see how mad I can get. He knows I care about the Trackers; I hate how they're treated. I imagine that's what he wants to have a little chat about.

Out onto the balcony, with a jaw dropping view of Rainy Train, as the dazzling lights appeared as stars. Though the view is ruined with Oak standing smugly above it all, like a cruel king overlooking the slaves of his kingdom. I hate that smug smirk. I hate his glossy, shoulder length hair; how dare he be able to pull that of. I hate his stupid grey suit. Always grey, sometimes a shimmering silver if he really wants people to pay attention to him. Maybe he does it to match his piercing grey eyes.

"Ah, Ms Rhiley Smith! So glad you could join me." I wish I could slap that stupid smile off his face. "Come! Admire this alluring view with me."

"I'll leave you two to be." My husband finally let go of my hand, though I quickly missed the stability. But it's just what Oak is after, he knows I let go easier when we're alone.

He chuckled, hand running through his hair, "Wow sweetheart, if looks could kill."

"I wish they could." I snap back without thinking. God! How did he already get under my skin!?

"How sweet," he mocked, "I bet everyone here would dead already, if that was the case."

I bite my lip, making sure I stay silent. His eyes linger on my bit lip, and determination filled his eyes; determination to make me squeal. So he continued.

"Nice hair. That's what? The tenth style this month?"

In reality, it's only the sixth, but there's no point correcting him. Six haircuts and dyes in one month is pretty bad. Each time I get overly frustrated with the life I've married into, I cut my hair. I take all my anger out on hacking pieces off with no order or fashion. When done and calmed down, I see the mess I've become in the mirror. So many times I've wanted to walk out; show the stuck-up society who I actually am. Not just some pretty wife. But my Mother and Sister always come to mind. So I go to the Middle.

The Middle is for the Trackers that have gotten successful with their businesses. There's a beautiful salon there that I practically live at. The main stylist there, Liv, she somehow saves the mess I've made of myself. I end up changing the colour as well, just to feel different. Last was this gorgeous emerald green, now it's an ombre of brown to a fiery orange. I think this one might be my favourite. Although my latest meltdown caused even a struggle for Liv. She tried her best, but I really fucked up this time with weird bang type strands at the front, and thin strands at the back.

Am I aware this is damaging my hair? Yes. But that's what happens when you've been in a loveless marriage for the past five years, you start to losing things you have control over. My hair? It's mine, and mine alone. But of course he always makes sure to comment on it.

"Don't get me wrong, I do like it. Matches your fiery personality." Oak scrunches his nose and smirked. I hate his stupid face.

"Yeah, well at least I know how to get a haircut!" I fire back. So much for staying silent. It wasn't even worth it; I know it doesn't get to him. My comments never do.

So it came as no surprise when he just laughed it off.

"Oh sweetheart, you do make me laugh! Although, Ms Rhiley Smith, at least I look like I belong up here. You, on the other hand, look just like one of those pathetic Trackers. Always a mess."

How dare he!?

Fire pulsed through my veins, leaving my hand tingly with the sensation. This always happens; every time he speaks, every time I get mad, it's always like fire. It makes me want to cut my hair; be destructive. But I promised Liv I'd keep this style for more than a couple of days.

But his words are under my skin, creating a fiery anger.

"I mean really, it's almost as if you wanted everyone to know how disgusting you were."

You shut your fucking mouth!

Stay calm.

"Working in those tattered clothes."

We'll see how good your bloody suit looks when I'm done with you!

Ignoring the prickling in my hand, sharper now. Like wisps of fire begging to be let out. Just. Stay. Calm.

"Too poor to even look presentable. I mean, it's bad enough they act like common slaves, they don't have to look the part as well.

I'm going to ki-

Whoa! No, I'm calm. Calm. I can taste blood on my lips from how hard I'm biting down, but I refuse to shout out. I refuse to give him the satisfaction he desperately desires. But the prickling is growing hotter and hotter.

Oak still smirked, stepping close to get right in my face. He could hardly contain the joy I'm causing him. I could feel his breath on me, and it just encouraged the fire shooting down my veins, into my prickling hands. His eyes glanced back down to my lips, smirk growing wider.

"But no matter what, you'll always be one of them," he spits, "a vile Tracker." A slight pause, almost like he's questioning whether he should continue. "Just like those pathetic women you call family."

It all happened so fast.

I felt myself explode.

I screamed, "Shut it!"

And at the impact, I thrust my arms down, a thundering warmth passed through my hands, and the smell of smoke quickly came into my senses. There was a bright orange light, and then nothing.

Oak had taken a step back.

My fiery anger had quickly been replaced with cold fear. I dared myself to look down at what had come out of me, and saw large scorch marks on the balcony's floor. More panicked than before, I quickly turned around to see if anyone from inside the party had seen. Seen.. seen what exactly? Fire?

I breathed a little calmer at the sight of the guests still absorbed by the party. A few stares had me unsettled, but they turned away quick enough.

"Wow"

That's all Oak could croak out, his face unreadable. Impressed? Mocking? A little scared? God he's infuriating! Why did he have to be the one to see that!? See my anger in physical form, all because of him!

Flustered and annoyed, I went to turn away. I don't know what I'd do if he angered me again, and I really don't want to find out. Not with all these witnesses. So I escape out into a sea of people, begging for an exit.

But I'm forcefully taken by the hand and dragged into an empty hallway. A sharp slap comes across my face before I properly register what's happening. 

"What the fuck  were you thinking!?" Goodman hissed, "Raising your voice at a respected Buyer! I brought you and your sniveling family into this lifestyle; I can quickly throw you back!"

Tears threatened to spill over my red cheek, but I wasn't about to show Goodman I was weak. I've learnt to stay numb with him, it's the only way to survive. So I am smart enough to not snap back at his remarks. Hold my tongue, and let him treat me like shit; that's how our marriage works.

His face is red and angry, though I hope he doesn't know the extent of it. What I actually did in front of Oak.

"You are very lucky Mr Oak doesn't throw you out himself!" He articulated every word. He was furious. "Someone needs to teach you some manners."

He snarled, raising his hand to slap me again, when someone cleared their throat behind him. There stood Oak, his eyes dark, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Mr Oak, I greatly apologise for my wife's actions. I assure you she will be punished and taught how to appropriately act at formal gatherings."

Oak took a step forward, that stupid smirk appearing yet again, "Well, Mr Dave Goodman, I would be very happy to teach the girl myself."

I clenched my fist, screaming on the inside. Bullshit classes with Oak, I don't deserve that kind of torture.

But Goodman was thrilled with the idea.

"That sounds lovely! How about you come by the manor tomorrow, around two o'clock?"

Oak smiled, "Perfect", eyes flickering to me, then turned back into the party.

Goodman glared at me, telling me to go home. So I swiftly walked though the winding road of this manor, all the way to the exit and started to walk home. It was agonising walking in these heals, but I'm sure more pain is yet to come.

Goodman was furious, and he didn't even know about the fire. The fire. What was that? Did it really come out of me? Well, I hope my outburst is worth the anger I'll receive when my husband comes home. Hopefully he'll be so drunk he forgets. 

And then there's Oak. Why would he want to personally tutor me? On manners no less? Does he just want to cause me anger, enough to burn down the manor and get me and my family sent back to the Trackers? Is he really that evil?

I wish all my questions could be answered now, but all I can do it wait for tomorrow to come.

A Different Perspective

Fire powers.

How... interesting.

This will be very fun indeed.

My eye was caught on her for most of the night. Wearing a tight black dress, with spaghetti straps holding it up. It's like she was trying to torture me.

And then her hair, god it made her intoxicating.

It's no wonder he got her as fast as he could.

And to see her outburst, when no one else could care less, its captivating.

I'm thrilled to finally bring out my powers. Let's dance, you and I girl. See who wins. Fire? Or Metal?

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Sorry if this was boring, I'm completely open to constructive criticism!