Some NSFW language.

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T WANT YOUR HELP, UNLESS YOU CAN STOP IT!! I'd let you just take this from me if I could, PLEASE, stop trying to "help shape me" and just tell me who can make it stop!" I begged, for the sixth time that hour. Finally letting my neck give way, my face in my hands, hair falling to a near cloak, curtaining my rambunctious facial expressions of impatience with this conversation.

"One doesn't, just "accidentally" wake up with this kind of knowledge and power, alone, if it isn't energy palpable of the sorcery of deities, or some absolutely wack government experiment shit, kid. So, if you think someone as respected as me in this place, knows anyone who knows anything about how to honestly stop, let alone transfer that shit?? It's just not possible. I am fighting the urge to call a fucking crisis line in fear for my fucking sanity after what you just showed me. But I'd rather just be able to do that myself. And the way you keep just making it disappear JUST when I reach for it is really pissing me off. Just. Imagine you're me or something, do your fucking trickity-do-da, and give me whatchu make. I ain't even want the power, I just want you to learn to use it for the people who will actually help you back for helping them out..." He swirls the contents of his glass, the ice clinking as the cup rotates, and tries to push the sack of money between our feet underneath me, again, as if to show these requests wouldn't be demands unless I wasn't capable of ending him during his measured slow inhale....

"Look. You've been drinking ... But, the only people that happens to are always a certain kind of way.... Like you, again, no offense! And I'M STILL TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THE CORRELATION between that. I didn't even know THAT could happen until YOU started trying to "TEACH" me how to produce desires instead of necessities. And ever SINCE THEN, the local law enforcement, my landlord, AND SuperherosAnon, have ALL restricted my access to volunteer positions, I CAN'T EVEN GO HELP fight active crime of HARMFUL villains because YOUR midlife crisis somehow involves MY... whatever the fu-.... Astral.... pubescence...??? Ew... You know what, scrap that. I'm going to call it a metamorphosis like a butterfly.. even though it's not my BODY metamorphisising ... But speaking of puberty...." I shove the money bag back hard with both feet and jump out of the booth, and startle him with my quick jump up, before nodding my head towards the restroom sign. He crosses his arms, with an audible"Hmmph" and rolls his eyes back to the drink menu.

I have to pee.

As I'm washing my hands I peer into the mirror, and I have to look away quickly, in shame. I made eye contact with myself. That reflection is always so beautiful and strong, a fraud, I am ashamed of how beautiful that animated corpse I call my body looks back at me. I am ashamed that I see beauty in my body that does these things I can't seem to get control of or master, how could someone with so much power be so ungrateful, he's right about that.... I'm too sad. It's like mourning life for being to beautiful. Or mourning wealth for having too much money.

I'm selfish.

I take a deep breath, and head back out to the booth.... He left a card, a hefty tip, and the sack of money.

The card says "You are loved."

I run out to the parking lot and stall his truck by brainstorming ways to stop him from ditching me all the way on the outskirts of the furthest town from the central city we just came from. He's yelling in the truck before he hops out, while the aged door to the '69 Chevy, root beer brown truck creaks open, and he is hollering. "I LEFT THE DAMN SACK SO YOU COULD BUY A NEW RIDE."

"DON'T LEAVE ME LOVE CARDS AND MONEY AND BAIL LIKE THAT, JERK, I KNOW WHAT YOUR ANGLE IS!" I start shouting as I jog towards the open door.

"Love cards?? LOOK I have been know to kill other villains kid, that's a sign of support, no romance, you already know what I want romantically and you know you ain't it, and you insist you aren't making the thing disappear when it goes, so take the money, think about it, and when I find you next time, you can still say no. I grant you more respect than my son, who's older than you. Because you won't take a bribe but you got rejected by the damn underpants revenge nerds or whatever. Take it, build a bunker or some shit. Expect me later."

He flips me off, hops back into the truck, and turns the key several times, glaring at me in the side mirror. I focus on playing with the power on the open sign of the little diner bar, so his truck will start as I head back towards our table to grab the Kickstarter fund I just earned by a supposed supervillain, and contemplate having the money checked by the bank, shopping around for the cheapest hotel I can find.