If Im Not Traumatizing People On The Internet Am I Even A Writer

If I’m not traumatizing people on the internet am I even a writer

"You are my sunshine," their breath hitched, tongue going numb as another scream shattered the air.

"My only—"

What came next?

"You make me—"

Their cheeks were wet. What right did they have to cry? They weren't the one bleeding. They were the one singing a lullaby so they wouldn't hear—

The scream was louder this time, higher pitched with agony. They didn't know what could cause that kind of pain.

When skies are—

You never know—

There was a knife on the table, three feet from their hand.

What they had done, the way the horrible truth of it oozed out of their soul; it felt kind of like bleeding.

It felt like screaming under water.

It felt like dying.

If it was their fault, did it matter if it killed them, too?

There was a knife, three feet from their hand.

Their lover screamed again, vocal cords running raw.

Had there even been a choice? Yes, yes, always yes, but had there really?

Their hands were shaking. For some reason, the sight of them trembling drew a sob from their chest.

"Sunshine," they mumbled, but whatever words came after that were lost in their mouth.

There was a knife three feet from their hand.

The next time their lover screamed it cut off so abruptly they wondered if they had gone deaf. If their brain had simply turned off, stolen every sound in the air for protection.

Their lover didn't scream again.

There was a knife in their hand.

"They're alive," they whispered. "They're alive they're alive they're alive."

Say it enough and you believe it.

There was a knife in their hand.

The villain laughed.

Their hand clenched around the hilt.

If they saved their lover, their lover wouldn't forgive them. They knew that. How could they—the person they loved the most, the one person they trusted, had lured them in for the villain.

If their lover was dead—well.

There was a knife in their hand.

The villain was laughing.

And they were going to make sure the villain died painfully.

Maybe by the end of it, they would have something to actually cry about.

Their lover whimpered, a horrible wretched sound. It sounded like hope. It sounded like ‘I’m still here.’

They had a knife in their hand.

And they knew how to use it.

So they did.

“If you keep forcing me into these life or death situations I’m going to think you’re trying to woo me.”

The villain stopped.

“This is a hostage situation.”

“Yes, and you’re doing absolutely magnificent, but if you wanted my attention you could have just asked—“

“I kidnapped you.”

The hero smiled roguishly.

“Darling, I thrive on chaos. And since you aren’t actively hurting anyone, well,” they winked. “I see no reason to escape.”

The villain blinked.

“I’m not trying to woo you—“

“Sure you aren’t, babe,” the hero drawled, and the villain flushed at the idiocy of all of it. “In the meantime, why don’t you tell me all about your genius plans, and I’ll sit here and admire that pretty blush of yours.”

The villain flushed harder and tightened the ropes as the hero laughed and lounged back into the chair.

The city was quiet that night.

But the hero kept it safe—no matter their unusual methods.

“You cannot run from me. I made you,” the villain soothed. The hero balked, like a frightened horse, all jerky limbs and anxiety.

“You may have made me, but you haven’t kept me.”

The villain looked disappointed, then, as if the hero was a petulant child.

“A fact I hope to remedy.”

The hero bared their teeth.

“Keep hoping, then.”

And they fled.

“You’re a super villain.”

“And you’re gorgeous.”

“What?”

“Oh, sorry love, I thought we were stating facts.”

“You—“

“Called you gorgeous? Yes.”

“No—that’s not what I—god, you collapsed the bridge this morning.”

“Ah yes. I did that too. In more pressing matters, do you have a preference towards wine?”

“I don’t—“

“I’ll pick, then.”

“All those people—“

“Were unfortunate casualties. Look. Stop trying to call for help under the tablecloth, I can see you. Look at me. I am a villain, yes, but I would give you the world. A hero? They would give you up for the world. Do you really want to love someone who will never put you first?”

“…no.”

“Excellent. Now, do you like pasta?”

“Um. Yes?”

The super villain smiled.

In the end, loving them was easier than the civilian had thought.

“Don’t die.”

The sidekick’s hands pressed into the hero’s wound, and the hero blinked dizzily.

“What?”

“I said, don’t die.”

“I’m sorry, wait, who are you?”

The sidekick’s gaze had an intensity the hero didn’t know existed. Then, they grinned, and it was like sunshine.

“Your new sidekick. And I can’t be your sidekick if you have the audacity to die on my very first day, so don’t die.”

The hero blinked once more.

“Nice to meet you?”

“I’ll say nice to meet you when you stop bleeding out.”

—————————

“Don’t die,” the sidekick reminded the hero, half laughing, half serious.

The hero rolled their eyes with affection.

“Have I ever?”

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero glanced up.

“Relax, it’s just a graze. No bullet holes, see?”

They held their arms away from their body, twisting to show the lack of harm.

The sidekick sighed with something close to relief.

—————————

“Don’t-“

“Die, yes, I know,” the hero finished. The sidekick’s eyes narrowed.

The hero’s heart twisted.

“I won’t, I promise.”

The sidekick nodded, once.

—————————

“Don’t die.”

The hero sneezed, eyes bleary.

“It’s just a cold.”

“Yeah, and people die from those.”

The hero laughed, voice nasally.

“The agency would be thrilled to have cause of death ‘common cold’ written in my file, I’m sure of it.”

The sidekick threw a pillow at them, and brought them soup.

—————————

“Be careful, okay?”

The hero snapped their head up.

The sidekick blinked at the sudden movement, mouth still half open.

“What?”

The sidekick cleared their throat.

“I said be careful,” they gestured awkwardly with one hand. “It’s Supervillain. They don’t pull punches.”

The hero’s mouth was dry.

“Right. Yes.”

They strapped their last piece of gear on, and turned to leave.

“Oh, and hero,” the sidekick tried for nonchalance, smiling slightly. “Don’t die.”

The hero smiled back.

—————————

“You idiot,” the hero hissed, hands frantic. They didn’t know where to press, which wound to try and stop first. The sidekick coughed weakly.

“I had it handled,” the hero’s voice broke.

The sidekick managed a pained wheeze that might have been a laugh.

“Mhm. Yeah.”

“It’s Supervillain, why—“ the hero tipped their head upwards, tears slipping from their eyes.

The sidekick whimpered, slightly. “You could have gotten hurt.”

The hero pressed their hands onto the chest wound.

“And you getting hurt is okay?”

The sidekick didn’t answer. When the hero looked up, their eyes were closed.

“Hey, no no nonono don’t do this to me, sidekick, hey,” the hero scrambled, fingers slick with blood, heart pounding. “Don’t die.”

A curse, an oath, a command, a prayer.

Don’t die.

The sidekick, just barely, smiled, tugging the hero down to whisper into their ear. Just two words. The two words.

The hero sobbed, shaking their head, pushing back to find a pulse—

And found the silence of a waiting grave.

—————————

“Don’t die,” the hero said to themselves quietly, pressing a piece of gauze to their side.

The medic watched them intently, eyes soft, but didn’t say anything.

They knew. The whole goddamn base knew.

And that was the only thing that would come out of the hero’s mouth.

“Don’t. Die.”

The medic’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes watering, and they vanished out the door.

The hero realized, then, that their cheeks were wet.

Two words.

An oath. A prayer. A command.

“Don’t die,” They whispered, and for a moment, just a moment, they could pretend it was sidekick saying it.

The very first words they had said to the hero.

And their very last ones, too, pained hushed whispers in the hero’s ear, a final breath.

“Don’t die.”

The hero started sobbing, then.

And they didn’t stop.

Don’t.

Die