Page 106 of Misted

Hawk

Pain is only a phase. You are permanent.

I standin front of the mirror and take a puff of smoke while inspecting my wound. I wince when slapping the waterproof plaster on.

There was a moment in time when pain didn’t exist in my vocabulary. Or any of the Zeroes. We were invincible robots and Hades’ treasured army.

But if feeling no pain means ceasing to exist, then what’s the point of being invincible?

I press on the wound hard until pain shoots through my veins and fucking consumes me.

Pain is proof that I’m alive. That none of this is a dream.

That Mist actually returned for me.

I throw the half-finished cigarette in the sink and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I can see that fucked up boy who loved her and sacrificed everything for her.

And for what?

I jam my fist at him because I don’t want him out. If I feel that pain again, it’ll fucking undo me this time.

Not that I stopped feeling it for fifteen years.

The door creaks open before red strands peek in from the bathroom’s threshold.

Mist is only in a T-shirt. My fucking T-shirt.

A primal possessiveness wrenches me by the gut at seeing her wear my clothes and knowing she smells of me.

Although baggy, the T-shirt barely reaches the middle of her creamy, white thighs. Her hair is dishevelled, but she didn’t tie it, letting it fall in waves to the middle of her back.

Hugging the doorframe, she fidgets, rubbing one bare foot against her calf.

Dark hazel eyes peek at me from underneath her thick lashes as if shy or… what exactly? She’s been driving me fucking crazy since she showed up yesterday night. She’s anything but the Mist who went through hell and beyond to avoid and push me away.

“Can I join you?” she asks quietly. Meaning the shower, I suppose, since I’m standing half naked in front of it.

“Hawk!” She shrieks when her eyes fall on my bleeding knuckles.

Mist runs towards me with such deep concern over her features that it fucks me up.

Before she can touch me, I grab her hair in my fist and pull back so her head is tilted and I’m staring straight at her paling face. She releases a gasp but doesn’t attempt to free herself.

“What the fuck are you playing?” My words are biting and so is my hold on her hair, but I’m going fucking crazy anticipating the moment she’ll flip me the finger and stab me in the bloody back. Again.

Her smaller hands surround mine, and her mouth opens, magnifying the teardrop in her upper lip. “Since when did I play with you?”

“That’s the right fucking question. You never played, so why now?”

“I’m not playing. I just…” She swallows, her throat working, and I’m so aware of how her hardened nipples strain against the T-shirt. My fist clenches to rip it off and feast on everything.

“I just want to be with you.” Her voice lowers as she stares at the floor like she’s confessing her deepest, darkest secrets.

Both my heart and body believe her. Both of those fuckers would go to hell and back for her. But following them in the past never did me any good.

I shove her away and step back. “Did Ink tell you to play a sick game with me?”

The petty bastard holds grudges and if he found out I purposefully tried to delay his release from The Pit, he might’ve teamed up with Mist to hurt me in the worst way possible.