What follows a secret?
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2 years ago
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The Wound
Sunlight filters through half-drawn blinds, casting soft, wavering shadows on the hardwood floor. A clock ticks rhythmically in the background, amplifying the tense silence. The air is thick and heavy with unsaid words and lingering suspicions.
The blonde woman with an athletic build and porcelain skin, seated on the edge of the couch, grips her hands tightly together, her knuckles white. Her face is a mix of betrayal and hurt as she stares down, refusing to meet his gaze. The black-haired man, in a red and black flannel jacket, stands by the doorway, his shoulders tense, a slight frown etched into his face as he shifts from foot to foot. His phone rests on the coffee table between them, an unspoken reminder of the messages she found.
"Who is she?" she finally says, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, searching for the right words, an explanation, or maybe just an excuse.
"Mia is just a friend; she works in another department now, though," he says, trying to downplay the situation. He looks at her face slowly, realizing it is making things worse.
"Why is she messaging you?" The woman echoes, her voice gaining strength as her hurt and confusion evolve into anger.
"We were just talking." The man says he is still trying to downplay and quell her feelings.
The woman let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "Talking? She's flirting with you, and you are flirting back."
The man slowly shakes his head. "No. It's not that, Justina."
"Don't gaslight me, Ken. Do you think I'm stupid?" Justina asks. "In I quote, you smelled so good today. Thank you for helping me out with the project. I would kiss you, but I know that's off-limits. Especially at work, wink emoji."
"She was just joking."
Justina crosses her arms, eyes narrowing on him. "That's one hell of a joke."
Ken lets out a heavy sigh and mimics her motion. "Hey, I backed off when you and that speed jerk were flirting on TV."
She turns her body slightly and adverts his eyes. "That was work."
"This is work."
She turns back to him, her eyes strained on his chest penetrating, revealing the rapid, forceful thump of his heart. "Ken? Your heart is beating fast, real fast."
Ken folds his arms as if he were forming a shield, even though deep down, he knows it wouldn't cover her view. "Of course it is; yours is probably beating fast, too, and stop X-raying me. I'm not your damn science experiment. I'm your husband."
Justina rolls her eyes and shakes her head slightly. "Husband? Heh, you have been looking at me differently ever since that day." She lets her eyes wander down to the floor. "Nothing's been the same; you won't even." She looks back up at Ken. "Touch me."
Ken adverts her eyes, rubbing his right hand on his lips. "I. It's just hard."
She keeps her eyes locked on him. "We don't even laugh together anymore. But you're here sending messages to this woman, laughing with her, sharing memes, and kissing emojis. What else are you sharing, huh?"
"You shouldn't go through my phone." The words slip out quickly, too defensively, and even he can hear his argument's weakness. He realizes it but is too deep to backtrack, so he presses forward, frustration and exasperation mixing in his tone.
She moves quicker than eyes could follow, grabbing his phone. "This phone." Justina waves in front of his face effortlessly before crushing it in her hand.
"Justina?" Ken exclaims, his hands stretched out in disbelief.
"Now, how you gonna message this whore!?" Justina yelled. Her voice was sharp, and each word was laced with raw intensity, rising and falling like waves crashing in a storm.
Her body leaned forward, shoulders tense, as if every part of her was pushing the words out, demanding to be heard. Her eyes blazed, unyielding, meeting Ken with a mixture of defiance and hurt that seemed to flare brighter with each shout.
"Stop," Ken says; he slowly steps to her, and his hands reach out.
"Don't touch me!" Justina yells, pushing him away; Ken flies backward, slamming into the wall. Their wedding picture falls, shattering on the ground. He slides down the wall next to the shattered picture frame. A slight crater of his body caked into the wall.
Ken grabs his head as blood trickles down. "Arghh fuck." He says, looking at the blood in his hands as his vision gets vision hazy. Justina covers her mouth and speeds towards him.
"Ken Ken. I'm." Justina says, but she is cut off as Ken raises his hand.
Ken holds his hand out, in frustration but also for protection. Although he knows he doesn't stand a chance against his wife, most wouldn't, especially when she is in this state. "Stop, you're mad, I get it. You think I'm fucking messing around with my co-worker, but I'm not." Ken says his vision is still woozy as he gets up. He leans on the wall as his legs shake.
Justina brings her hands down to her side. "I didn't mean to push you like that." Her face softens, and the hard lines of anger fade as regret settles; her brows draw together, casting a shadow over her eyes that now seem distant, lost in the weight of her actions.
"You could have killed me," Ken says; his face was tense, a conflicted mask of emotions, each one clashing and pulling at his features.
"Don't look at me like that. I didn't mean it."
Ken closes his eyes, realizing he must carefully choose his following words. "You need to be careful."
Justina looks away from him and his words. Her hands fidgeting, not knowing what to do next. "Oh, great, I can't be mad, I just want to be... It's not fair."
Ken looks up, digging in his brain for better words as his head buzzes. "No one, not even people without powers, should act that way. Especially the strongest women in the world."
Justina furiously points at him. "Don't lecture me; it was just a simple push, and it's not my fault."
"That, I'm human and can't take it."
"What, you wanna get back at me? Do it."
"No, I don't wanna hurt you,
"Then why are you pushing me away, doing things with this woman."
"I... I don't want any harm to come to you."
"I don't believe you ever since that day."
"That's not."
"I wish I were regular," Justina said as she walked toward the window and grabbed her belt from the wall... "You have no idea what's going through my head; you never even ask."
"Justina, wait," Ken begs before she flies out of the skylight of their apartment as the sunsets.
Justina was furious at herself, Ken, and their situation. She tapped the button on the belt now fashioned around her waist and instantly transformed into her Superhero identity, becoming Eternity. The thought repeated, "I just want to punch something." Her mind was clouded, and her demeanor slowly changed as if she was in a trance filled with anger.
Back at the apartment, Ken was cleaning his wound, wiping the blood from the back of his head. He goes to dispose of the bloody cloth, kicking down on the pedal to open his kitchen trash. He pauses as he sees an empty wine bottle in the trash. "Fuck." He mouths in a low voice and looks up at the skylight.
As the gala's glittering lights faded into the background, he strode out of the grand hall, his smile a practiced charm that clung even as the crowd thinned. His tuxedo was flawless, his every step exuding the confidence of a man who owned the room, who owned every room. The cameras snapped and flashed around him, capturing the philanthropist who'd just pledged a fortune to a cause he had likely decided on an hour ago. The man wore his generosity like a tailored suit, which could quickly be removed.
Beside him, his bodyguard moved silently, her tall, athletic frame cloaked in a dark suit that suggested protection more than elegance, her posture alert yet deferential. To the onlookers, she might have seemed just another paid shadow. This faceless protector blended into the background of his glittering life. But to her, this role was anything but ordinary; it was her second chance--her only chance. She kept her gaze forward, muscles tense beneath the smooth lines of her suit, fully aware of every movement around them, every sound, every subtle shift in his posture.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, smirking slightly, as if the very idea of needing her protection was an amusing formality. He was untouchable; he knew it and made sure she knew it. Yet there was an unspoken history between them, a thread woven from secrets and promises, from whispered dreams of escape and desperate bargains struck in dark places. But to everyone else, they were just employer and employee--he, the noble figurehead, and she, his silent shield.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice carrying a mocking lilt. "We're hardly in any danger here."
She said nothing, her face carefully blank, betraying neither the pride nor the tension that simmered beneath her calm exterior. In moments like this, she wasn't sure if her loyalty came from gratitude or necessity. She had once thought of leaving and had even managed for a time. But the bills had piled up, and the world had been less forgiving than the promises the man had woven for her years ago.
Now, she was back, a subtle fixture in his life that he could disregard when it suited him. He moved through the world as though he was invincible, and yet here she was, a reminder of the life he had pulled her from, a symbol of his arrogance cloaked in charity. One of the world's wealthiest and smartest men, Flynn Farr. The bodyguard was the super-powered villainess Dangerous, but Farr preferred to call her.
"Ultima dear, can you come here." Flynn smiles and gestures with his right hand, beckoning her closer.
"Don't." Dangerous mouths under her breath. "Yes, Mr. Farr." She grits her teeth as she walks closer to him.
Farr brazenly points at a woman in a tight turquoise dress being interviewed by reporters. "Don't you think her dress is tight in all the right places?" He says, eyebrow raised and smirking at Dangerous.
She rolls her eyes slowly and lets out a frustrated sigh. "I didn't even notice, Sir," Dangerous says.
