I turn on my house lights as I walk though its doorway. I fling my purse to the side as I close the door. I pull off my oversized sweatpants before turning the lock. Under the sweatpants is another layer, my super suit. The super suit is for when I'm Intelegant. It comes with a mask too, but I took that off earlier; it's in my purse.

The costume, even though it was made to fit me perfectly, is uncomfortable. It's not the material that's making it crappy, it's the swelling bruises from Naturalist. On the bright side, I'm not breaking bones anymore. That used to happen a lot. Over the years I've armored myself up enough to withstand gunshots, attacked and super powered punches.

I start the process of taking the costume off in the corridor. I live alone in the middle of the forest so I’m sure no one will see. I just don’t feel like walking all the way to my room. It's like removing a layer of rock. Sometimes, I wish I had superpowers. If I did I wouldn't have to bury myself in all the supplies I've stuffed into the bulky costume.

With the costume laying on the floor I stroll to my purse. Every step aggravates the bruise blooming in my stomach.

The purse is on the floor. I need it. I can't get it without tensing the muscles under the bruise. What do I do now?

All I need from it is my contact holder. I might be able to find something else that works in the bathroom, but that's not a guarantee and I'll have to walk to get there. At least if I take my chances here, it'll be over quickly.

I lean down, ow, and grab the contact’s box. I pluck the brown pieces of plastic from my eyes and stick them where they belong. I don’t have to wear them, but as my alter-ego, I like to.

It’s hard to see my eyes through the costume's goggles, but if someone were to look close enough, I don’t want them noticing that my eyes are pink. Aif they did they might realize who I am, after all my family is the only one with the condition that causes pink eyes. Albinism runs in my family. It usually comes with a superpower that makes you a genius, but in my case, it didn’t. Maybe that’s why I go out galavanting as Intelegant? If that’s the reason, I really wish I had a superpower because if I did I wouldn’t have the ugly purple bruise decorating my abdomen.

It’s worse than what I usually get, but at least I didn’t break anything. It was very common when I first started fighting him. He was the first person I had to do hand to hand combat with and I was unprepared. I’m prepared now. I have giant ice packs and a plan to take the rest of the day off. I walk over to my kitchen and grab one of them.

I consider grabbing a second for the yellowing bruise on my back from our last fight but I decide against it. Doing that would make me feel like a baby and I’m not a baby. Babies don’t ignore being shot so they can look cool.

I’ve been shot a couple times as Intelegant, but most of them were towards the beginning of my career. I’ve never been seriously injured, but about a year into doing this, a police man shot me in the leg. At the time only my chest was armored so it made me bleed. Luckily, I was running away at the time so they didn’t see my injury or check into whether I’d left trace evidence. I still can’t believe I got away with that. I thought, at the very least, it’d lead to people figuring out that I’m not a super, but nope, that didn’t happen. Everyone still believes that I’m some mythical villain who can’t be defeated rather than a scared little rich girl.

Ice pack in hand, I go to my living room. The couch is calling my name. I wrap myself in the blanket laying across it and turn on the TV. What do watch? Right now, a man at a desk is spewing news at me and I don’t want to listen to that. I switch to my go-to show, a corny, romance anime. Bundled with my favorite show, I let my exhaustion overwhelm me.

“... I’ll never leave you!” the protagonist's love interest declares.

I snicker at the redundant sentiment. Everyone leaves, whether it be through choice or circumstance.

Maybe it’s thoughts like that that made me choose being a villain over being a hero? Now that I think about it, that’s a great reason to act as the villain. As the bad guy I’m never the victim. I am the terrifying villain that never gives up or backs down. I’m the fun loving Intelegant and as her, I don’t have to worry about everything. I love being my version of the villain and I don’t think I’d give it up for anything. She makes my life interesting and because of that I will never change her or anything about her.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

I chose this life. I choose to keep going out there in that ridiculous costume and acting silly to make people happy.

The villain in this show does it for the money, but not me. I don’t need money; after my parents died they left me money and a legacy that leaves me with no time to want anything. The money’s great but the legacy is stressful. Everyone has these expectations of me because of it. The worst part is being forced to take over my mother's business. One good thing about being in charge of Smalls Industries is that I do most of my work from home.

My mom worked from home the entire time she made and ran the company, but it’s still anxiety inducing; Intelegant is my solution for that. I do whatever I want, and then I “forget” to do whatever evil plan I made up. Because of that, I’ve become more of a running joke than a villain and honestly, I love it.

I love hearing the silly impressions of Intelegant my employees like to pull out when they’re trying to get on my good side and that one guy’s videos where he voices over me and Naturalist.

I’m her because she’s not perfect, she has flaws. She’s funny, allowed to make mistakes and most importantly her reputation doesn’t matter. After all, Intelegant isn’t me. As her, I’m silly and I don't have to worry about everything. People might not take me seriously as her, but it would be so much worse if people didn’t respect the real me. As her, my flaws have bright sides like the built-in surprise attack that comes with dealing with the people who think I’m not a real villain.

The people who hate my alter ego like to say I’m a fake villain. I think they’re looking at it wrong. I’m not a fake villain, I’m just a cartoon villain who doesn’t want to hurt people. The villains are much more interesting anyway.

Take the Little Mermaid as an example. Its villain is a cool sea witch. She lives alone and supports herself because everyone else doesn’t like her. Heck, her movie design is based off a drag queen. Who wouldn’t want to be like that, especially when you consider your other options. There’s a dull prince who marries someone because they sound nice, and a naive girl that gives up everything for a man she just met.

Now I’m in the mood to watch The Little Mermaid. While looking for that movie, I end up scrolling though several other modern adaptations of my favorite fairy tales.

Cinderella is another good example of a story where the villain is much more interesting than its hero. In all the adaptations Cinderella’s characterization stays the same, a pretty, young girl who is unable to make mistakes, act out or do anything out of line with societal expectations. Her step mother, on the other hand, defies every expectation. She started out as a single mother of two kids before marrying into a different family. Complex motivations drive her to treat her step daughter badly while striving to give her biological daughters the best life they could hope for. She’s harsh and mean, but unlike Cinderella, she feels human.

I find the movie I was originally looking for but, once I click on it, an ad opens.

“This winter! Meet the real Snow White,” the announcer declares.

I guess they’re making another Snow White remake. She’s another example of a boring hero, but rather than diving into why I hate her, I should do something. I’ve already laid here for ten minutes. I need to take a shower and eat before I let myself sleep.

Maybe before that, I’ll-

The thought is cut off by my rumbling stomach.

Fine, fine, I’ll get up. I can’t help but groan as I roll off the comfortable couch and step away from my warm blanket.

What should I eat? Looking around my kitchen, I don’t have much. I’ll have to hit the grocery store soon, actually, I might do that later today, if I’m feeling up to it.

Checking the fridge, I’ve got milk and butter which means I can make Mac and cheese.

If I really wanted to I could start the water boiling while I took a shower, but that’s a fire hazard so I won’t do that.

I know where the pots are, but I can’t seem to remember where I put the strainer. It’s not under the usual counter. Not by the oven either.

Maybe beside the fridge?

No, it’s not there, but something else is. Once I see it my heart starts pounding. What’s it doing here? I thought I threw it away.

With shaking fingers, I reach into the drawer and touch the apron that’s spawned my anxiety. It’s merely clothes, cheap cloth sewn together, but it feels like so much more.

I want to put it back and forget I ever saw it, but for some reason, I’m not doing that.

I grab the neck hole and let the rest of it fall. It’s tan, other than the small red splotches along the seams. They hand-sewed it. They had never done anything like this before and kept pricking their fingers. They were embarrassed that they didn’t have a better gift.

Part of me misses them, but only a small part. The rest of me hates them, almost as much as I hate myself for turning the kid that made this apron into the person who almost ruined both of us.

Thinking about it, a bitter laugh bubbles out of me. They started changing the day they gave me this. It was my fault, but I still hate them.

I know they can’t hear me, but I say it anyway. “I hate you so much.”