Kismet clamped her noise-cancelling headphones tight over her ears and cranked the volume on her CD player up as loud as it would go. Death metal blared, screaming vocals and shredding guitars, but not nearly loud enough to shut out the voices. Not today anyway. She crowded onto the subway, shoulder to shoulder with her fellow Happsburg citizens.

The metal pole was slick under her sweaty palms. She clung to it. Not just to keep from wobbling as the subway train rattled down the track, but more as a tether.

Every brush against a person sent their thoughts screeching into her head - all their desires, secrets, and fears. When Kismet braved opening her eyes, neon-bright colours swirled around the train car in ribbons emanating off the other passengers, signaling an emotion or state of mind. Pastel trails whispered of commuters long since gone. The ribbons spiraled upwards, conjoining in a swirling aurora at the ceiling. The mass of colours boiled and rolled like a whirlpool.

Over the years she had come to identify the meanings of each, and even some combinations based on trial and error and the sensations that would overcome her when enveloped in them. Kismet's breath came in short, rapid bursts. She counted the people, the lights, the seats - blinking until the colours flickered and faded. The music pulled her in and she tried to focus on the words instead. If she couldn't stay present and grounded, at least she could be lost in her own mind instead of someone else's'.

When the train reached Kismet's stop, she got off, following the flow of the crowd, moving on autopilot. Almost nothing of the real world was comprehensible to her anymore. One foot landed in front of the other. At least her body was reliable. It could find the way home even when her mind might be elsewhere. Though sometimes it made some mistakes. Snapping in and out of reality, she was able to guide herself along once she made note of any landmarks to regain her bearings.

The messy graffiti on the subway station walls faded behind the glittering hues shading the full spectrum of human emotion.

Almost there.

Kismet trekked along, weaving around people on the sidewalk, careful not to let them touch her.

A torn poster advertising The Academy was tacked to one of the brick walls promising a haven for mutants. She had heard stories of Ivy - the headmaster was like some sort of vampire, sucking the life-force from any and all that dared to oppose her.

The other children in Kismet's group homes, and even some of the adults told boogey-man stories of Ivy; if you didn't eat your peas, if you didn't go to bed on time, or forgot your mittens at school - Ivy would come and suck you dry.

Though Kismet had also heard of the headmaster's immeasurable healing abilities. Perhaps even more than her wrath, Ivy's mercy was renowned. Even now, after the war, she healed all who asked. She traveled all of Gleodem and the rest of the world to tend to as many people as she could.

Some people, mutant and human alike, had even deified her.

Maybe The Academy wouldn't be so bad? Who would I even talk to? How can I approach a living-Goddess? Would she smite me?

Kismet wished she knew another mutant, someone who could tell her how to navigate that world. She didn't dare reveal herself to any humans in order to ask.

The commute from her job at the bookstore to home was not long, but it wiped her out even still. Kismet chewed the soggy and torn ends of her sweater cuffs as she reached her apartment building. It was a former warehouse, shaped like a plain brick square. The windows on the upper floors housing the apartments were small and narrow. The art gallery on the bottom floor had windows that spanned floor to ceiling, granting a glimpse of the rotating exhibits within.

Sometimes when Kismet was in a better mood, she liked to go and see what was on display. The best pieces hummed with lingering intent and passion with subtle notes of brewing emotions; anything from betrayal to lust. It formed an energetic fingerprint; something left behind by the creator that was unique to each piece.

In this state of mind, it was best to avoid it all together and dash directly to the loft. All she wanted was to hole up in bed under the covers until she could muster up the strength to think straight again. These severe episodes usually passed once she rested or ate, preferably both. Kismet twisted a strand of curly brown hair with her right index finger and nibbled on her left sleeve. She trudged up the iron staircase.

The hallway stank of stale cat pee. One of her neighbors, Miss. Pelly, had twenty kitties inside just one apartment. They helped with the mice, so that was nice at least. The kindly older woman tried to help them, but had become overwhelmed. Litter boxes over flowed and she poured kibble on the floor in a pile. Every stray in the art district slipped in and out of her window near the fire escape. None of her cats were neutered. They were an excuse to never leave the apartment.

The neighbor at the other end of the hall, Mr. Lyle, collected slugs for no reason other than to have them. He let them crawl on the walls, watching them for hours. Sometimes he built salt mazes on the living room floor.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She knew far too much about people she had never met. Their sadness, their loneliness, their lost hopes and dreams drifted behind her mind's eye. Their pain often became hers. Untangling herself from them all was near impossible. Kismet likened herself to a sticky fly trap. By the end of the day she was full. Sometimes even her dreams were not her own.

Kismet twisted the heavy iron knob to her apartment, glad it was unlocked so she didn't have to fumble with the keys. She clicked off her CD player and rested her headphones behind her head.

The pendulum lights were on, illuminating the industrial style space. The black metal contrasted against the russet masonry. Fully open concept, even their bedroom was in the same room, separated from the living-room side by a long partition.

There was nowhere to hide.

"You're home," Kevin said from the sofa. His voice was flat. It was less of an exclamation of excitement, and more a statement of fact.

"I'm going to bed," she said, hurrying to cross the room.

"It's only six o'clock. You haven't even cooked dinner yet," he said and looked around at her. His brown eyes were sharp, speaking over his otherwise soft tone. "Stay up a little while longer? I haven't seen you all day."

"I shouldn't. My head is - I'm having one of those days," she said, in a light, airy way, almost laughing at herself. She couldn't believe she was being so ridiculous. This was utterly embarrassing. The alternative was to completely fall apart...

But he wants me. He actually asked for once.

"Maybe watching a show or something will help. I'll stay up for an episode."

"There," he said with a grin. The smile softened the sharp edges of his face.

Kevin sat up and scooched over to make room for her, but she sat at the other end of the sofa. She pulled her legs up and scrunched.

"Ok, pick something," Kismet said. It needed to be quick. She didn't want to scroll through selections forever.

He groaned in exasperation. "Why do you have to be like this?"

She blinked, surprised. Satin curtains of mud-purple disdain wafted from his body. It drifted toward the ceiling like fading smoke.

"Well!" he snapped. "Don't just stare at me. I hate when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" Genuinely confused, she looked away, unsure of what to do with her face or her body anymore.

How can I arrange myself to make it better? To disappear?

"Maybe I should go to bed if I'm bothering you."

"No, I want you to stay. We never spend any time together," he grumbled and moved closer. Though they didn't physically touch, the pressure of his presence pushed in. Even seated, he loomed over her.

Reflexively, Kismet leaned closer to the arm of the sofa.

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about," he exclaimed in frustration. Red fireworks sparked through his churning purple aura. "Can't you be normal? All I want to do is hold my girlfriend like -"

She stared, unable to hear him anymore. His voice faded. The details of his body blurred and Kevin morphed into a solid plum-shape like a shadow person. His words transformed into burbles - like her head was somewhere deep underwater. Her heart roared a whoosh of blood in her ears.

All at once, a tidal-bore of thoughts rushed her mind. The voices of her neighbors spanning a block over flooded in, deafening her into an unintelligible swarm.

Kevin's muffled speech escalated, growing louder and more urgent, but she still couldn't understand. There was no way to make sense of what he was saying through the crushing waves of thoughts dragging her under.

A blobby arm extended toward her. Kismet froze in terror. Maybe she was begging please, not to touch her, or maybe that was only in her head... When the Kevin-blob connected, the world shut off. She was immediately transported. Images flashing too quickly to catch flickered inside her mind like rapidly switching TV channels. Then they solidified and she realized with horror, she was observing Kevin's memories.

It was strange to see the world through his eyes. He sat in his work cubicle, fiddling with sticky notes and grinding his teeth. Then he was chatting with Jane in the breakroom. The woman smiled, tilting her head and tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. A delicate hand touched Kevin's as she giggled and Kismet felt the stirring inside of him.

Kevin and Jane squashed into the supply closet. Kismet wanted to scream, but her voice was trapped. This was not her body. He pressed Jane against the shelves and their mouths were all over each other. Through Kevin, she tasted the salt on the other woman's skin, the scrape of her teeth against the soft flesh of his throat. Kevin inhaled the faint scent of her lingering perfume. Mango, or maybe passion fruit. Her body was familiar beneath his hands. His girlfriend was not this well defined. What was he still doing with Kismet anyway when he could clearly be with someone so much better?

Somehow Kismet found herself. The white, hot, heat of betrayal was enough to finally rip her from the vision.

Her living room snapped to stunning clarity. Kevin towered over her, but the previous anger and annoyance written across his face was replaced with concern.

"What the hell was that?" he asked. "Should we call for a doctor? You were totally catatonic -"

Nausea overwhelmed her and she burst from the couch, running for the bathroom. Her whole body shook. A chill settled into her bones like she'd never be warm again. Kevin stood in the doorway as she vomited in the toilet.

"I think we should go to the hospital," he said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Something is really wrong with you."

Kismet sat on the cold tile floor. Tasting bile in her mouth. Unshed tears stung her eyes.

"I'm fine," she said and forced herself to stand on wobbling legs. Numb. Everything was numb. She couldn't stand being in her own skin. "I just need to go to bed."

"Kismet -"

She didn't respond. All of her energy was used to drag herself to the bed. Kismet flopped onto the mattress fully clothed and crawled under the duvet. Finally closing her eyes, she didn't sleep. Kevin attempted speaking with her, trying to convince her to go to the hospital, but she couldn't be bothered to say anything. Eventually, he grew frustrated and marched off.

Hours later, the lights went out. Kevin crawled into bed. When Kismet was certain he was asleep, she slipped out. The CD player was the only thing she bothered to take and she was careful to close the front door quietly behind herself. The click of the lock made her flinch. She realized her keys were still inside. It didn't matter. She wasn't coming back.