"Come on, come on, come on!" Sitting in a grungy, putrid gas station restroom that smelled like unforgiving ass felt like despair. Raw despair. Pain and confusion and panic. Frantically, May tapped the button to resend her text to T.

It read:

"I know I've been bugging you, and I'm not sure why things ended like how they did with us. But I need you! I need someone right now. Everything around me is falling apart and just got super weird. Please, please, please text me back."

It still would not go through. Making her way to Facebook, May opened their last conversation to see the tell-tale sign that T had blocked her. She was blocked on Instagram and Twitter, too. Slamming the phone to her forehead, May basked in the momentary irony of how she was planning to block T on everything anyway, herself—only they got to it, first.

"Oh, God I hate my life right now!"

All other options had run out. She was left with no choice but to send a text to Phoebe, who responded in a record twenty-five seconds:

"Girl, I got you. There's an Uber on the way!"

Only when the Uber arrived did it dawn on May that she had never even told Phoebe her location in the first place. Ignoring that peculiar little fact, she hopped into the back of the orange Toyota and hoped for a smooth ride. May's heart was a little settled at first that they sent out a kind, older man as a driver; this was someone who looked more like a grandfather figure than someone who would turn psycho and try to kidnap her.

Then again, he also bore a striking resemblance to Morgan Freeman, so she worried that her life was really turning into a work of fiction. Rather, a cinematic joke where her Uber driver would soon begin to narrate all of her going-ons and whatnot. That is to say, she was not threatened by him. It simply prompted her to later on post a quip to Tumblr which read: "I'm running away from my parents from a destiny I've never known, developed a random super-power, and I swear to God my Uber driver is about to start telling my story in the third-person."

As they got further from the suburbs and out to the rural woods again, she felt as though her heart was shitting itself. Crouching down in the back, May thought she was weightless, floating without gravity's presence whatsoever.

They drove up to a small campfire near an erected tent. Phoebe stood on her phone, her face glowing from the flames. Upon spotting the car, she rushed to May and the driver, waving her hand with a bright grin.

"I knew that pinging your phone with GPS would enable me saving your life one day!"

"You what?" May asked.

"Yeah, I did that last semester but it really comes in handy now, doesn't it?"

"Um. . ." Taking a series of calming breaths, May elected to ignore that peculiar little fact, too.

The two girls sat down around the fire. Quivering with thoughts bombaring her brain, May fell into a trance watching how the flames flickered.

Phoebe, on the other hand, was on her feet, looking like she might burst from excitement. "You're one of them! You're one—I can't believe this!"

"Yep."

"And you can fly?"

"I'm. . . not sure? It's kinda like a lazy glide."

"We'll work on that."

Yet May Taylor still couldn't tear her eyes away from the fire that danced in front of her. She watched the crackle of the wood inside be consumed from what looked like the inside out. Wrinkling her nose from the smoke, she thought intimately of how not that long ago, she laid in her bed, stuck from depression following the break-up. All she had to worry about then were her very normal catastrophes about the normal monstrosities of life. The plot her life followed may have been average, but it was predictable. Smooth. Her day-to-day life moved by in beats that were familiar to her, embodying a narrative which she could follow.

In short—it was not like this.

When she had sat in front of the fire for so long that she thought her stomach contents were boiling, May excused herself. She curled up in a spare sleeping bag that Phoebe just happened to have.

At a time like that, she couldn't even be bothered with thoughts of what bugs might appear to crawl all over her or share the sleeping space. Curling up, she assumed a position of protection with her arms around her body. The smell of the fire still lingered in her hair.

Much like how the hurt from how her dad and father lingered in her heart. Visiting the past, she thought back to summer vacations and playing the Wii together in the living room and what it was like to be the somewhat spoiled only child of two men who loved her dearly.

They said they were trying to protect me! Couldn't they have chosen another way to do it?

Then, she attempted to think about all the things she knew about her biological mother, which were few because the woman died young. Now? May knew why. It was genetic.

Snuggling her face further under the protection of the sleeping bag, she had to wonder just what it was anyway. What was she? What was her mother? Why were they that thing? How in the hell was it connected to all the weird stuff Phoebe was into and what did that mean for both of them? If her dad and father were so adament on keeping her locked up away from her own life—for her protection—what was going to happen to her? How could this be fixed? Could it?

The thoughts were too much to burden alone in her head, so they poured out of her mouth: "This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening!"

Noticing a shadow, she peeled a corner of the bag back to peek out. There stood Phoebe, eating a [brand name redacted] granola bar, crumbs going just about everywhere. One even bounced off of May's face as she set her gaze upward.

"You good or what?" Phoebe asked.

"No." May covered her head back up, after which she could feel pieces of granola bar littering the outside of the sleeping bag. "I just want to forget this whole thing ever happened!"

"That. . . might be impossible at this point."