I watch from my spot on the couch as she bustles around the kitchen, doing god knows what. Her hands always have to be moving, doing something, it's one of the many things we have in common.

I have to tell her. I know I do. There have been too many close calls. Too many instances of her opening a drawer I don't want her to, tuning into the news when a particularly telling snippet of me surfaces, or even just her long rants to our friends or family about how dangerous vigilatism is.

She's completely blind to how much she loathes me as she bustles around in our kitchen.

"Hey," I call out. "Come here a minute?"

She walks over, her steps barely making a sound, "You okay?"

Something inside me flinches. I'm about to ruin everything. I know it. I can stop it. But i won't, I cannot keep lying to her. She has given me every part of her with no hesitation and I have been selfish and cruel enough to hide myself from her.

I take her hand in both of mine looking up at her from the couch. "You're so beautiful." I whisper, I know after this she'll most likely never let me say it again. Her beuty demands to be acknowledged though, it always have. It's like a reaction I've always had to her, I'm unable to keep my endless string of thoughts from her.

She puts the back of her hand to my forehead.

I swat it away, soffing halfheartedly. "I'm not sick, I just love looking it you. I love you."

"I love you too." she says softly. "What's the matter? You're being weird."

I tug at her hand and she swiftly drops into the seat next to me, I glance up just once but when I see the worry gracing her face I can't take it. i look down at my feet like a coward.

"I've been lying to you."

Her body tenses beside me. I feel like I'm looking down at myself from above. Begging myself to stop. Begging myself to take it back, to tell her I'm joking, to take her face in my hands and apologize and let my lips wipe away the memory.

But none of that happens.

I chug along. I tell her about the accident I had when I was little. I tell her of the scars, and my parents fear, and the experiments. I leave out the pain, the endless pain. I want to spare her but my lips never stop moving. She needs to know.

The words flow out of me, ignoring the horror on her face.

"I'm the Savior." I end my speech quietly. I've never given the name much thought but in this moment I hate it with everything in me. What a stupid scam of a name. I'm not a savior. I'm a liar.

Our eyes meet and I see hurt and confusion and betrayal all mixing within them.

Not for the first time in my life I want to reverse time, I want to change everything about my biology. I want to be normal.

"I'm the Mysitic." She whispers gutterally. What?

The city's most notorious villain? Someone I've fought tirelessly against.

Someone I loathe endlessly, is the love of my life.

My world goes black.