Breaking Point

You might have heard that the punishment should fit the crime. Usually, I would agree with you. In this case, though…

What can I say? I was kinda triggered, okay?

The man - just barely, probably not older than twenty - had been shouting at his girl all night. She just took it. Her face only held any hint of enjoyment when went off to some other part of the club. Drink refill, bathroom, or probably just to hit on some other chick while his girl wasn’t looking. Even then, her primary expression was one of relief.

Why was she still with him? Why hadn’t she just walked off after the first time he shouted? After he threatened her? Some people might not get it. I did.

That used to be me.

I held myself back until late in the night. This was supposed to be a spot of fun tonight, after all. Get away from the patrols and the investigations and the “serious responsibilities” that accompanied my particular gift.

As me and my gals were leaving the club, though, there they were. The guy shouting at his girl. Tale as old as time. She was hot. Could have had anyone. Even me, if she’d asked nice. Instead she was with this loser, pinned up against a moldy brick wall with his beer-soaked breath screaming in her face.

Lindsay must have seen the look in my eyes. She tugged more urgently at my arm. No reason to break the mood of this fun outing. That’s what she was thinking. She didn’t realize it had been spoiled for me hours ago.

I almost went with her. The rest of my gals were already piled into the waiting limo. Then a crack filled the air. The girl fell to her knees. The guy was winding up to slap her again.

I turned my gaze to Lindsay. She stopped pulling and fled to the limo. The door slammed. Whatever happened next, she wanted to act like she hadn’t been around to stop it. Because she knew she couldn’t.

I sat myself down against the wall of the alley. The air was rank, the ground grimey and piss-soaked. I needed to sit to focus, though, and soon enough my tenses were tuned out. The filth of the city faded away into the clear, glowing threads of thought and mind that humanity impressed into the aether.

Nearest to me, it was easy to pick out the vivid, red glow of anger in the asshole boyfriend. Time fled and lost meaning as I dove into his brain. A year ago, I would have stumbled and flailed. Now it was easy.

I could have done things differently. There were dark memories and trauma in there that I could have unraveled. Gerty had taught me how to be gentle. With a few more minutes and some patience, I could have calmed him. Maybe even made him better, set him on a different path in life.

There would be karmic payback for what I did to him instead. The thoughts I laid bare, the shredded fragments of personality, the new layers of paralyzing trauma I heaped into his mind. The things that left him collapsed, a gibbering wreck on the sidewalk. All the things I Wasn’t Supposed To Do. Both Gerty and the universe agreed on that point.

This is, right then? Right then, I didn’t really give a fuck.