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Clytie

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She watches him, sometimes.

 

She knows she’s not supposed to, because he is Evil and she is Good and they just don’t mix, but sometimes…

 

She’s not sure when the claws went from frightening to interesting, or his red skin from awful to exotic, his voice from terrible to hypnotic. In fact, she’s not sure of anything until she wakes up to the sound of the hotline and freezes, instead of entering the battle.

 

He’s horrible, he’s evil, he’s wrong, he’s beautiful, she sings to herself as she bites her lip. Horrible, evil, wrong, beautiful, she hums as she lets him tear down a skyscraper.

 

Horrible, evil, wrong, beautiful, she chants as she pummels him in the stomach. She relishes these little fights. They’re all the contact she gets with him. She’s in trouble and she doesn’t even know how it began.

 

She learns not to hesitate. She teaches herself to be steel. She figures out how to hurt him so maybe he’ll stop being so terrifyingly handsome.

 

It’s not until he clenches his claw around her neck and gives her throat a slow, long lick that she realizes maybe she’s not the only one here who’s sick.