Chaos Intrepid: In Her Shoes

Prompt the Eleventh: Oh the Irony

Oh the Irony -

“I don’t deserve this.” Chaos stared out at the lights moving beyond the curtains. He could see the edge of the stage, hear the crowd.

“Shhhh,” hushed the production assistant, unfortunate bitch-body of back-stage late-night live television, “It’s nearly you. When I give the signal just wheel yourself up on stage please, Mr Intrepid.”

He shook his head, “No.”

“Mr Intrepid –”

“I only mean I’ll walk.” He grinned.

The flash of concern in her expression made him shake his head again. These people, really. They were all the same, so patronising, trying to treat him like a hero but every moment second-guessing him as an invalid because of the chair. He offered the lackey a second shadow of his grin and placed his hands on the arms of the chair, enjoying the fear that turned her pupils to pinpoints.

He could walk now but his stomach muscles were still weak and his stitches still sore. The doctor probably wouldn’t approve of him exercising himself even for such a short distance. But he wasn’t going to go on national television in a chair when he’d fought so hard to walk again.

Her face became pinched, slight colour rising in pale cheeks. “I really don’t think –”

Rolling his eyes, he eased himself onto his feet, rolled his shoulders.

“Mr Intrepid...”

Before he could snap at the whine creeping into the girl’s voice, a hand landed on his shoulder, “Behave Chaos. You do deserve this.”

Mathilda Lythwaite was the most beautiful woman he knew. In his eyes anyway. It wasn’t just that she had that figure, the solid fitness type: slim, fit, perfectly capable of following through on the vaguely veiled threat that he could see in her pretty eyes. It was that she could follow through on that warning. Without being cruel. Without being vicious or mean.

He wished he didn’t love her.

“Tilly, hun. Call this off?” He begged, one last time.

“No. You go on there and except that you did something worth rewarding.”

“But they’re telling everyone lies.”

“They’re truths to us.”

He knew he couldn’t win but he wanted to.

Ever since he’d died in Mathilda’s arms, she’d been insistent that he speak up as a journalist again, make sure everyone knew who he was.

Heaving a sigh and himself to his full, gangly height, he took up his new cane and grimaced. The weakness in his stomach from where the muscles were torn, where they were knitting and becoming new, didn’t stop him from doing much now that . But anyone watching him could tell it wasn’t a painless endeavour.

Once he thought that this was what he wanted. The lights. The stage. The celebrity. He craved the recognition.

“Thirty seconds!”

He squared his shoulders, blinked hard so his ears stopped ringing. He understood publicity now though. The fickle, violent thing.

He did not want this.

“A nightmare. Oh! My dream come true…”

“Quoting poetry again?” Tilly was at his elbow, “I’ll be right behind you, you know.”

“And me.”

Rosalie Harris stood beside them, wearing a dress that carefully hid the purple bruises that stained her upper body.

“I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Couldn’t miss it really. Boss wants to make it clear that the police were involved.”

The first genuine expression of amusement eased the lines in Chaos’ expression.

“Aaaand… You’re on!”

The girls gave him warm smiles, Lee’s  full of understanding.

He steadied himself once more.

Then he stepped into the light.

Word Count: 581