You can see the way they look at you, even though they try to hide it. Quick, furtive glances wondering what happened, what changed. And you want to tell them, feel it welling up inside you every time they shy away from your gaze, but you don't. Instead, you keep it banked down, hidden away.
You know it should be amazing, this feeling. You can run faster, hear further, fly higher. You're strong, faster, better than before, than you've ever been. And you still can't tell them why.
Because you've seen that look on people's faces before and you never want to see it again. You've taken all the scorn and derision for this lifetime, you have no desire to take any more.
So you'll keep it a secret, keep it inside of you. And when you hear the voices crying out for help, when you know that there are a people half a world away who need you, you'll lock yourself into your room.
You say it's because you hate people watching you change, and that's true now more than ever. Because how do you explain it? You can explain it's still the bananas making Eric a hero. Can explain that it's still the bananas making you useful. But how do you explain that it's not because you're eating them? Not anymore, anyway.