Powerful: A Powerless Story

‘I have my next gift for you.’

Plopping down on his bed, I clutch the surprise behind my back and watch him stride towards me. Ash clings to his hands and bleeds up his arms. My eyes run over the strands of black hair falling in his face above the shirt that clings tightly to his body. I swallow at the sight of him but force my flustering to a minimum.

His long legs reach me in a matter of moments. ‘I thought we decided on no more gifts. For your own sanity.’

‘You decided that.’ I shrug. ‘I decided to try to top the last one.’

‘You should know that I’m justifiably frightened.’

‘It’s nothing bad, I swear!’ I gesture to the empty mattress beside me. ‘All right, take a seat.’

The bed groans as he slowly sinks into it. ‘Now,’ I insist slowly, ‘close your eyes.’

He sighs before obeying. ‘Yes, very frightened.’

Ignoring him, I lift the gift between us, displaying it over my outstretched arms. ‘Okay, open!’

He peeks at me through his lashes, ensuring it’s safe before opening them fully. But once he has, his jaw follows, gaping slightly in awe.

‘It’s different to the vest I made Pae,’ I say hurriedly. ‘For starters, it’s black instead of green. I figured that was more your color.’ Draping the vest carefully in his arms, I point to the pockets lining it. ‘And yours is lined with more of that leftover leather, so you can stick some knives in there and without worrying about being stabbed!’

He shakes his head, running ash-stained fingers over each seam. ‘How are you so good?’

‘Well, Mama ensured I could stitch a straight line with my eyes closed, and pockets took some practice but—’

‘No,’ he cuts in softly, his laugh equally so. ‘You. How can one person be so good?’

The corner of my mouth tugs into a timid smile. ‘It’s not very hard when you’ve been practicing your whole life.’

He’s looking at me in that way he often does. As though he’s laying eyes on me for the first time, discovering something entirely foreign to gaze at. It’s this look that makes me feel as though I’m the only thing that has ever captured his attention.

Too soon, his gaze falls. His fingers dance over the fabric, faltering beneath one of the pockets. ‘What’s this?’

I smile sheepishly. ‘Oh, I left you a message.’

His eyes flick to mine before skimming over the embroidered purple thread. I’ve never been much good with my lettering, but the cursive is clean enough to read, at the very least.

‘See you in the sky,’ he murmurs, running his finger over the sentence and the accompanying stars I stitched beside it. His smile grows as he says, ‘Seems a little ominous, don’t you think?’

‘Not if you think of it fondly,’ I say simply.

‘You are quite the oddity, Dena.’

My smile is achingly large. ‘Why, thank you.’

‘No.’ He’s suddenly stoic. ‘Thank you, honey. I’ll wear it fondly.’

Our eyes lock for several slow seconds before I finally let the question slip out. ‘Why do you call me that?’ At his raised brow, I elaborate with a hurried, ‘Honey?’

‘I thought it was obvious.’ He shrugs, seemingly indifferent. ‘You are what you eat.’

I’m rendered speechless by this, and he takes the opportunity to continue. But only after he’s inched closer, filling me with warmth at the mere press of his body. I think I stop breathing when his hand lifts, slowly making its way towards my face.

I watch his throat bob as he brushes the bangs from my eyes, tickling my skin with the whisper of fingers. His breath stirs my hair, awakening the butterflies in my stomach, slicking the palms in my lap. Knuckles brush down the length of my cheek, and I’m too enthralled to wonder whether he’s left a trail of ash across my skin. When he speaks, I swear it’s to my very soul. ‘You are the sweetest thing I have never tasted.’ Another brush of his knuckles. ‘And I doubt I’ve craved anything more.’

Holy shit.

I’m not one for profanity, but my current situation seems to warrant it. I want to scream it, duck beneath his arm and run until I hit the Scorches. But I’m rooted to the spot, knee-deep in mutual feelings I hadn’t dreamed could be this vast.

And it terrifies me.

I’ve never been someone’s. And I have no idea how to be.

I’m so scared of doing it wrong, that I’m considering not doing it at all.

His feelings for me were reserved for daydreaming and delusional thinking. We were a fantasy I constructed in my head, wondering for weeks if it would ever become reality. And now that it has—

‘Plagues, these bangs!’ I jump away from his tempting touch, laughing nervously. ‘They are just always in my eyes – drives me crazy!’

He blinks at me, trying to interpret my sudden outburst. Fanning my hot face with a hand, I ramble on. ‘Pae usually cuts my bangs for me, which is why they are so crooked. Well, she likes to think it’s because I move around while she’s cutting, but I beg to differ. And she’s been so busy lately, so now they are long enough to continually stab me in the eyes—’

‘I’ll cut them.’

His words startle me into silence for several seconds. ‘You… You would do that?’

He scoffs in the sweetest way possible. ‘I practiced my skipping for you. This is nothing.’

Before I can stammer a response, he stands to dig around in a nearby cabinet. He’s then striding back to me, dusty scissors in hand. Sinking into the mattress beside me, he lifts the blades towards my face.

I lean away, laughing anxiously. ‘Okay, um, have you ever done this before?’

‘Cut hair? No.’ His voice is flat. ‘But I have plenty of experience in cutting things.’

‘Great.’ I squirm when the scissors grow closer.

‘All right, if you keep that up, I’ll stab you in the eye.’ The look of horror on my face must urge him to say, ‘No, not on purpose.’

‘Okay, okay.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I am calm and definitely not scared right now.’

‘That is convincing enough for me,’ he says, sarcastically cheery.

The first snip of hair has me biting my tongue. By the third, I’m giggling.

He sighs. ‘What now?’

‘Nothing,’ I snort. ‘Just tickles.’

‘Paedyn was right. These crooked bangs are all your doing.’

I cross my arms, attempting to sit still. ‘Maybe I like my bangs a little crooked. Adds character.’

‘Oh, you don’t need any more of that.’

He makes the final cut, letting the hair fall into my lap alongside the rest. I collect the ends of my curls into a palm, silently mourning their loss as though they felt each cut of the blade.

When I look back up at him, he slowly raises a hand towards me, giving me enough time to duck away. But instead, I still, allowing him to run his fingers through the freshly cut bangs.

‘Still crooked?’ I ask quietly.

He nods, smiling with the corner of his mouth. ‘Not if you tilt your head.’

The sorrow in his gaze has lessened with each passing day, and when I look at him now, all I see is contentment. Acceptance. I grin back, nodding to his shiny hair and each strand escaping the hastily tied strap. ‘Well, not all of us can have perfect hair.’

He laughs, and I shudder at the deep sound of it. ‘My hair is probably the least perfect thing about me.’ He gestures to the streak of silver peeking out amongst the black strands. ‘It’s marred by this streak of…’

His voice trails off when my fingers find that strip of silver. I trace the strands, memorize the feel of it beneath my fingertips. I can hear him breathing, feel him inching closer with each passing second.

‘I think it’s perfect,’ I whisper, smiling at the shining silver. ‘Like my little piece of Pae.’

His hand finds my waist, fingers firm in a way that has my head spinning. Right when I think I may combust at his touch, that hand of his begins traveling up my back to tug me towards him.

He pulls me close, and I’m suddenly, silently hoping he never stops. With his arm wrapped tightly round me, he leans forward until our foreheads brush. And that’s when he whispers, ‘I think you’re my little piece of perfection.’

My heart pounds at his words, at the feel of his hold and brush of his fingers.

I’ve spent my whole life wishing to be wanted. And here he is, begging me to let him.

I pull back just far enough to meet his eyes, finding reverence in his gaze. With a deep breath, all fear seems to fall away when I focus on him. When I abandon expectations and simply am.

He is my fantasy. This is my reality.

With that realization, all hesitation vanishes.

And I kiss him.

My hands cup his face, fingers splayed over proud cheekbones. It’s light, this kiss. Innocent and sweet. He kisses me gently, holds me protectively. His lips are soft against mine, tender and warm.

I pull back slightly, eyeing him through the bangs he just cut. But his gaze is on my lips, tracing the shape of them. The sight of it has my heart pounding wildly, my mind murmuring ideas that I’ve never had the courage to do before this moment.

His hand flexes against my back, forcing me to take a shaky breath. ‘I… I’m not very good at this, Mak,’ I stammer breathlessly. ‘I’m not used to the boys I like actually talking to me, let alone touching me like—’

‘Are you going to stop talking long enough to let me kiss you properly?’ His voice is breathless, eyes flicking down to my lips.

‘Um…’ I swallow, inching towards him. ‘Well, I haven’t quite met my word count for the—’

His lips crash into mine.

This kiss is quite the opposite of the first one we shared. His hands are in my hair, running down my neck. It is deep and drawn out and everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

He drops an arm round my waist, pulling me tight enough against him that I vaguely wonder if he can feel my thundering heart. Before I can talk myself out of it, I’ve swung a leg over both of his, finding myself suddenly perched on his lap.

He does something then. Something far more intimate than any kiss or touch so far. No, he pulls back far enough to let me see him smile.

It’s big and bright and beautifully his.

‘For me?’ I ask breathlessly, staring at his smile.

‘Every single one,’ he murmurs.

I kiss him fiercely. I kiss him the way I’ve fantasized kissing someone my whole life. I kiss him like it’s the end of a fairy tale.

A calloused hand cups my face while the other roams over my back. His lips move against mine as he breathes me in. And I gladly let him. Would gladly be more than a piece of his perfection. I could fill him completely, stuff him with my sentiment until he’s sick on it.

I would give him every piece of me if he only asked politely.

I pull back, breathing heavily.

Mak does the same, tipping his forehead against mine. A confession crawls up my throat, tearing at my sealed lips before finally spilling out. ‘I’m tripping into you, Mak.’

His thumb brushes across my cheek. ‘Tripping into me?’

I nod, breath shaky. ‘I don’t fall for someone. I trip uncontrollably towards them before inevitably hitting the ground.’

He smiles softly, the action delicate atop his stern features. His eyes wander over my face while his fingers tuck unruly hair behind my ear. ‘Well, I would catch you, Dena, but it seems we’re going down together.’

I blink at him, my smile widening. ‘Really?’

He nods slowly. ‘Really.’

I press my lips together, trying to hide my giddiness. I quickly fail and, instead, press a kiss to his lips. It’s a struggle to pry myself away from him after several seconds too long.

‘I have to go back to the castle tonight.’ My words fade into a giggle when he circles his arms round my waist, capturing my lips once again. I laugh against his mouth, barely able to get my next sentence out. ‘I still have to finish up—’

Another kiss cuts me off.

‘—Pae’s dress for—’

I initiate this kiss.

‘—the ball tomorrow,’ I finish with a dizzying smile.

I manage to climb from his lap before he can stop me. With my cloth bag quickly slung over my shoulder, I head for the door. Mak is on my heels, closing his arms around me from behind.

Giggling, I place my arms atop the ones he’s wrapped round my waist. ‘I was right,’ I say cheerily, ‘you’re not half as grumpy as you seem.’

I feel him straighten behind me. ‘Yeah, shit, what did you do to me?’

I laugh, turning to face him. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening.’ I jab a finger in his face. ‘At the Fort, remember?’

‘Oh, so I won’t be sleeping.’ He smiles sarcastically. ‘Can’t wait.’

I roll my eyes before teetering up on my toes to peck him on the cheek. He smiles sweetly, his cold exterior melting within a matter of moments.

When he suddenly lifts the hem of his shirt towards my face, I open my mouth to spew a question he’s already answering. ‘There’s ash on your face, hun. That might be my fault.’

I beam up at him until he’s finished cleaning my skin. And then I kiss him goodbye, soft and sweet.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ I whisper.

‘I’m counting down the hours, Dena.’