Maggie Kaprosch October 31, 2015 Third Time's the Charm You know how in superhero movies and comic books, the protagonist is about to save the whole city from mayhem when his girlfriend manages to get kidnapped by the bad guy and screws things up for everyone? Everyone in the movie theatre sits there completely annoyed and thinks, "Wow, this girl is so dumb. If was dating a famous super hero, I would never get kidnapped and doom the entire city. I would be an awesome girlfriend and kick some serious supervillain ass." You think that if some psychotic man in latex tights ever threatened your safety, you would open up a giant can of Whoop Ass and let the jackass have it. You think that you would help the superhero save the day, like his badass sidekick or something. Until you are the superhero's girlfriend, which I totally am at the moment. Actually, I'm much worse than the girlfriend in the movies and comic books. I'm like that dumb girl running around in her underwear in a horror movie. You know who I'm talking about—the girl who slowly walks toward the eerily lit basement door in an abandoned building while everyone watching screams at her to stop being so goddamned stupid. Yeah, I'm that girl. Because, unlike Gwen Stacey or Mary Jane or Lois Lane, I'm the dumbass chick who's managed to get herself kidnapped again for the third time. But, you know what? It's really not my fault.
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How was I supposed to know that while getting dressed for my senior prom, which is only like the most important day of my adolescent teenage life, I would be shot in the ass with a tranquilizer gun? Or that the asshole who shot me would proceed to roughly drag me out of my bedroom window, ripping the beautiful dress that I pretty much slaved away for? How was I supposed to fight back when my body refused to cooperate, completely numb from being shot by a fucking tranquilizer gun? When you think about it, the only person at fault here is Riptide—also known as my boyfriend, Matthew Hudson, who keeps letting psychopaths kidnap me. I mean, come on. I've already been kidnapped twice. You'd think that Matt would get with the program and figure out some way to protect me from the crazies. The guy is a superhero for Christ's sake! He's supposed to save people. Now, because of said superhero boyfriend, not only am I tied to a chair in the middle of an abandoned warehouse—which, hello, is completely overdone and cliché—but I'm also getting the stink eye from a hulking guy dressed up like Dr. Evil. Seriously, this guy is like his evil—or, I guess eviler—twin or something. His head is almost completely bald and he's wearing a dark grey coat. I'm half-‐expecting the guy to lift his pinky to his mouth at any given moment. Dr. Evil Wannabe starts to slowly creep towards me, his shoes scuffling against the floor. His dark coat hangs open and I catch a glimpse of the collection of guns hidden underneath. Well, shit. They're probably loaded. I bet Matt foiled one of his "I'm evil and I want to take over the world" plans and now Dr. Evil Wannabe is going to shoot me in the head to enact his revenge.
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Oh. My. God. I'm going to die young because Matt decided to do the right thing. This is so not fair. I bet other seventeen-‐year-‐old girls don't have to worry about these kinds of things when they start dating their boyfriends. I am so going to kill Matt if I get out of this alive. "Good evening, Ms. Baker." Dr. Evil Wannabe interrupts my murderous thoughts. He pulls up a chair and sits down directly in front of me. "I think it's about time you and I had a little chat." Oh, no. I know how these supposed "little chats" work. I've seen The Godfather. I know what happens next, and let me tell you, it's definitely does not include talking. It usually involves a lot of blood and violence. Dr. Evil Wannabe is probably going to cut off all of my fingers and mail them to Matt as a warning. Or was that in The Sopranos? Either way, I really don't feel like losing any body parts tonight. "Don't chop off my fingers!" I blurt out, wiggling my fingers for emphasis. "At least leave my wedding finger. I know I'm only seventeen but I'd like to think that I'll eventually get married someday and I would really love to have a finger to wear my wedding ring on." Dr. Evil scrunches his eyebrows together, like he's not quite sure how to handle my outburst. His gaze moves to my fingers, studying them. Shit, what if he had no plans to cut off my fingers? What if I just gave him the incentive to do so? God damnit. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut? I just want to get the hell out of this creepy warehouse. I want to be at Prom, dancing the night away to cheesy techno music with my friends and drinking cheap spiked punch in the school gym. Why can't I just have a normal high school experience—one that doesn't
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involve my life being endangered every five-‐seconds or having my poor phalanges threatened? Caroline, my best friend and all around pain in my ass, has never been kidnapped by psychopaths. She has the ultimate, ordinary high school life. It's probably because her boyfriend is the captain of the soccer team, which means he doesn't have too many enemies. I never should have dated Matt in the first place. I should have walked away the minute he moved in next door and flashed his megawatt smile at me. I should have ignored his cute dimples and ran in the opposite direction when he stopped a baseball from hitting me in the face. With his mind. I mean, seriously, who does shit like that? Obviously, not someone you should consider boyfriend material, that's for sure. "I have a few questions I would like to ask you, Ms. Baker." Dr. Evil Wannabe smiles at me, revealing two rows of slightly yellow teeth. I kind of want to lecture him on the importance of dental floss, but I have a feeling that wouldn't go over too well. "If you give me your full cooperation, I promise to return you to Mr. Hudson in one piece, fingers and all." I should probably be concerned about the "one piece" bit. Instead, I find myself irrationally pissed off for another reason, one that involves my whole life being completely and utterly ruined in one night. "What the hell is your problem?" I yell loudly, startling Dr. Evil Wannabe who visibly cringes at the sound of my shrill voice. "You should be ashamed of yourself!" "Excuse me?"
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Growing more pissed off by the second, I decide to release all of my teenage girl rage and let him have it. "Did you ever stop to think about how I feel would feel about this? Maybe, I don't like being kidnapped every time my boyfriend pisses some psycho off. Maybe, I slaved away for five months so I could afford this dress and can't believe some asshole had the nerve to rip it without a second thought! Maybe, I'm pissed off because I'm missing the most important night of my teenage life!" "My name is not Dr. Evil Wannabe!" He screams back at me and his face flushes five different shades of red. "I am the Commander Grenade, the world's most dangerous supervillain." "You've got to me shitting me!" I want to laugh at him. "Dude, I've never even heard of you. Do you even have a super power?" "You will be quiet or I will cut off all of your fingers." He glares at me. "Starting with your precious wedding finger!" "You already ruined my prom night! Now you want to ruin my wedding day? Can you stop thinking about your evil plans for, like, five seconds and think about how much of a dick your being? You're bullying a seventeen-‐year-‐old girl!" "I'm evil!" "You wish!" "You're not in any position to be arguing with me, Ms. Baker." Dr. Evil Wannabe— because, let's face it, there's no way I'm calling him Commander Grenade—pulls a gun out of his grey coat. "One more word and I swear to god, I will shoot a bullet into your head." My eyes widen and my pulse races. "Touch one hair on her head and I will end you," a masculine voice says.
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The familiar speech comes from somewhere behind me and I find myself wanting to turn around, momentarily forgetting that I am mad at him. All I can think is Matt's finally shown up to save the day. He's going to get me the hell out of this damn chair and take me far away from psycho Dr. Evil Wannabe. Well, it's about goddamn time! I hear Matt walking towards us, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty room. Soon enough, I see his tall frame come into view. His tanned skin is flushed pink and his breathing is slightly labored, no doubt the side effects of his flight over here. His dirty blonde hair, which is normally sticking in every direction, is combed to the side and he's wearing a black suit that, I'm not going to lie, fits him perfectly. I notice that his dark blue tie is the exact same shade as my dress and I can't help but smile. Dr. Evil Wannabe stands up from the chair and moves toward Matt, "Riptide, I'm so glad you showed up. You're just in time to save your precious girlfriend." We both speak at the same time. "Of course, I showed up." "I don't need him to save me! "Really?" Matt turns toward me. "From where I'm standing, it looks like you need my help." "I've go this under control." I respond as a piece of dark brown hair falls in front of my eyes. I try to blow it out of the way, with no avail. If my hair, which took almost two hours to style into some elegant messy bun thing, is fucked up in any way, someone is going to pay. Matt's looks like he is about to start laughing. "You're tied to a chair, Soph."
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"Details, details." "And he was threatening to shoot you in the face." "Only because he got all huffy about being called Dr. Evil Wannabe. Apparently, his name is Commander Grenade and he is the world's most terrifying supervillain." "Jesus, Sophie," Matt's says, running a hand through his blond hair. "It's like your asking him to shoot you." "It's not my fault he's made poor life choices." I shrug. "Will you two stop joking around?" Dr. Evil Wannabe interrupts, yelling at Matt and me. "I'm about five seconds away from shooting both of you in the face!" Matt eyes darken until they're completely clouded over. He turns towards around and faces Dr. Evil Wannabe, "Did you just threaten my girlfriend? Right in front of me? Are you serious? Ooh, Dr. Evil Wannabe is so going to get it. Matt thrusts his hand forward and opens his palm, focusing all of his energy on Dr. Evil Wannabe. My captor goes flying backwards and I hear his body give a sickening crack when he collides with the wall. He slowly slides downward and slumps over on the floor, groaning loudly. Matt shakes his head at the sight and then walks towards me. His eyes start to soften, regaining their deep blue coloring. His shoulders are tense and I can tell he is trying to calm down. "You were saying?" Matt asks. "Shut up and untie me."
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Matt leans toward me, his lips inches from my own and begins to untie the ropes binding my arms to the chair. Holy shit, this should be illegal in all fifty states. Is it possible to be all hot and bothered in life-‐threatening situations? I should probably try to sort out my priorities. Matt's just finished untying my right arm and is about to start working on the ropes around my legs, when it happens. Matt stiffens as a large piece of scrap metal is thrust through his stomach, stopping inches from my chest. It rips through the front of his dress shirt, glistening a deep red. He looks downward, as if he can't actually believe what he is seeing. My eyes widen in horror, but I can't look away. This isn't how the story goes. This isn't supposed to happen. Matt is supposed to fly in and save me from the bad guy. He's supposed to save the world. The superhero isn't supposed to get stabbed with a piece of scrap metal. The bad guy isn't supposed to win. This is all wrong. "Matt?" I can barely hear my own voice. I feel like I'm going to start crying at any moment. "I'm okay," he says, despite the fact that he has a piece of metal protruding from his stomach. I'm pretty sure that's the opposite of okay. "I just need to get it out." "Aren't you supposed to leave it there? So that you don't end up losing too much blood and dying?" "If I don't get it out, I won't heal."
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Excuse me? Did he just say heal? As in his body is capable of repairing itself after being stabbed by a large object? That's not possible. That's not—I guess, I shouldn't be too surprised at this point. I mean, he is a superhero… Matt grips the front of the metal and tries to pull it out, but he doesn't get the chance to remove it. Dr. Evil Wannabe grabs his shoulder and spins him around. He slams his head into Matt and tries to wrestle him to the floor. Matt's seems to sense the attack coming and manages to side step the hit. This dance continues until all I can see is a blur of limbs and fists. Why isn't Matt using his superpowers? My gaze falls on his bloody dress shirt and the piece of metal sticking out of his stomach and I realize he's too weak to use them. Well, shit. I struggle against the ropes that bind my legs to the chair, trying to untie them and escape so that I can save my boyfriend before he dies on prom night. My heart flutters when I feel myself loosing balance and then I'm tipping over. The chair breaks when it hits the ground and I sprawl out on the floor. I quickly pull my legs free of the loosened ropes. Okay, well that's a start. Now I just need to figure out a way to help Matt and so we can get the hell out of the place. That's when I see it. A gun is lying on the floor, about ten feet in front of me. It must have fallen out of Dr. Evil Wannabe's coat when he starting fighting Matt. I crawl closer to the gun, as stealthily as I can in a prom dress. The last thing I need is for Dr. Evil Wannabe to bust my ass and stab me with a piece of scrap metal. I pick up the gun and push myself onto my feet.
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"Stop!" I yell, pointing the gun at them. Dr. Evil Wannabe and Matt stop fighting each other and stare at me. My hands are shaking, the weight of the gun heavy in my hands. Shit, what if I actually have to shoot someone? "Step away from my boyfriend!" I point the gun at Dr. Evil Wannabe. "Now! Or I'll shoot you!" "I'd like to see you try, Miss Baker." Dr. Evil Wannabe ignores my threat and turns his sights on Matt. Matt's breathing is hitched and his normally tanned skin is pale. Sweat glistens on his face, making his skin look even lighter. My boyfriend might be a superhero—apparently with the ability to heal his own wounds—but even I'm not dumb enough to think he is okay right now. Dr. Evil Wannabe takes a step towards Matt, his dark eyes sinister. He's going to kill him. On my prom night. Yeah, I don't think so. My instincts kick in and I don't hesitate, pushing my finger down on the trigger. And then…nothing happens. My brows wrinkle in confusion and I try again. I push my finger down on the trigger but nothing changes. It won't shoot. What the hell? Is the gun defective? Did Dr. Evil Wannabe seriously buy broken guns? "Flip the safety off!" Matt shouts at me. What the hell is a safety? "I don't know what that is!" I scream at him, looking at the gun.
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This can’t be happening right now. He's going to die at the hands of a wannabe supervillain because I don't know how to shoot a gun. But, seriously. Why the hell should I know what the safety is? I'm only seventeen. Ah, shit. I'm a horrible girlfriend. "It's on the gun!" Matt says, trying to explain. His breathing is a little ragged, but I can't exactly blame him. The guys got piece of metal jammed through his stomach and he's fighting for his life. Literally. "No shit!" I respond, still desperately trying to find it. This is such bull. This doesn't happen in the movies. The girlfriend never has to deal with gun safety. She just picks it up and shoots the bad guy. I don't know why real life has to be so complicated. Growing extremely frustrated, I decide to go with my second best option. I pull my right hand back and then launch the stupid gun at Dr. Evil Wannabe's face. I was hoping to hit my mark, but I should have known my throwing arm wasn't up to par. Instead of hitting my intended target, the gun hits the ground a few feet in front of Dr. Evil Wannabe. A loud bang echoes through the warehouse as the gun goes off. Dr. Evil Wannabe lets out a wail and falls to the floor, clutching his thigh as a red stain grows on the front of his pants. Holy shit, I actually shot him. Kind of. Not in the way I was trying to. Figures the gun would decide to behave the minute it was out of my hands. "Matt!" I yell, running towards him. Matt groans and begins to sway back and forth on his feet. A small part of me kind of hopes he faints. That way, I can rag on him about it when we finally make it to prom. A bigger part of me realizes that would be an asshole move.
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I reach Matt before he has time to become a damsel in distress. He leans against my shoulder and slowly pulls the piece of scrap of metal out of his stomach, gritting his teeth in pain. When he finally manages to pull out the metal, he takes a deep breath and sighs in content. There's a giant hole in the front of his dress shirt and I watch as his broken skin begins to mend. A few seconds pass by and a huge grin makes its way onto my face. "Why are you smiling?" Matt looks at me. "We almost just died." "I just saved you!" I squeal, jumping up and down. I stop when I realize how sore my legs are. Being tied to a chair for a few hours can do that to your body. "I saved your ass and I don't even have superpowers!" "Whatever." Matt rolls his eyes and says, "You got lucky. You didn't even know what a safety was. How the hell do you not know how to shoot a gun?" "I've never had to use one before today," I reply. "Stop complaining. You're just mad because I saved your ass and you know it. Now thank me like a good boyfriend and take me to prom so I can dance the rest of the night away to crappy music." Matt shakes his head, which is his way of saying, "Why the hell am I dating a crazy person?" He grabs my hand and we start to walk toward the front door of the building, mindful to walk around Dr. Evil Wannabe's body. The dude is lying on the ground, his mouth partially open and emitting strange groaning sounds. I think he's even drooling a little bit. It's quite a sight to see. I look down and notice Matt's stomach wound is almost completely healed. I wonder how strange it will look when we walk into prom like this—Matt with a torn shirt and me
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with a ruined dress. I bet my hair is also all kinds of fucked up. We're like two peas in a got-‐ caught-‐in-‐a-‐tornado pod. "He's not going to bleed to death, is he?" I ask once we're finally out of the warehouse. The weather is much colder outside and I can't help but shiver as the chilly wind blows past us. "I didn't want to kill him. I just wanted to, you know, seriously maim him." "No, he's not going to bleed to death." Matt replies, taking off his jacket and placing it on my shoulders. "He'll probably just pass out from blood loss. I called the city police department before I got here. They'll come for him soon and lock him up." I nod, not really knowing what else to say. I'm just glad that I won't have to add "Super Villain Killer" to my list of achievements when I finally start working on college applications. I think it's safe to say that would be an interesting accomplishment to explain during interviews. When we finally make it onto the street, Matt stops walking and wraps a strong arm around my waist. It doesn't take me long to figure what he is about to do, and I take a few steps away from him. "Whoa there, Super Boy." I hold my hands up in front of my chest. "Can't we just take a cab to school?" "Where do you expect to find a cab around here?" Matt asks in disbelief. "Do you even know where we are?" Now that he's mentioned it, I realize I have absolutely no idea where we are. I wonder if we're still in California; nothing looks remotely familiar to me. Besides the empty
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warehouse, I just see miles of grass and road. Damnit. There's no way we'll be able to hail a cab in the middle of nowhere. I let out a sigh and take a step closer towards Matt. "I don't want to ruin my hair. It took me two hours to get it to stay like this. Do you know how many bobby-‐pins are currently stabbing into my scalp?" "You look beautiful." He laughs and wraps his arm around my waist once again, lifting me up bridal style. "Hold on." I give in, wrapping my arms around his neck. My eyes close on instinct and I bury my face in his jacket. I feel the familiar whoosh of air against my skin and my heart begins to flutter uncontrollably in my chest. The air gets colder as we get higher. My eyes flutter open and I decide to enjoy the moment while it lasts. If there is one perk to having a boyfriend who saves the world, this is it. Nothing beats flying.
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