Page 77 of Pulse Zero
But I latch onto it.
“Do you still think about it?” It feels like I swallowed ahundred rose stems when I speak, thorns cutting up the inside of my throat. I smirk my way through it. “How that moment was stolen from us? How you were robbed of your first kiss with a man?”
Please say yes.
Please say you haven’t fucking had another.
I don’t tell him I still think about it, that I’ve neverstoppedthinking about it.
He doesn’t answer, just continues staring down at me. More tears well in my eyes, and his head tilts. I was already crying, so I’m sure he doesn’t think anything of it. I’m sure he can’t tell I’m thinking about it right now.
When he does finally speak, his voice is softer than it’s been since he walked through the door.
“You always were stubborn.”
“Occupational hazard of surviving you once already.”
His brow is furrowed deep. I’ve noticed that his shadows react instinctively when his anger spikes, but right now, they’re hesitating, like they’re waiting for him to decide how much further to push.
He exhales slowly, and I think maybe he’s not entirely sure hewantsto keep pushing.
“You ruined everything,” he says, even quieter than before.
I lift my head, raising my chin in the air. “And you’re still not killing me.”
For a moment, neither of us moves. Something I can’t read flickers over his face again. Then he retreats back a step as his shadows push forward, weaving their way across the floor toward me.
“You’re going to wish I had.”
But the way he says it…
It almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself.
War is loud. Itdrowns out everything else.
Gunfire. Explosions. The crackle of Ascended abilities ripping through the air like unstable weather. Orders shouted across comms. The constant movement of people trying to survive the next ten seconds.
It all fills your head until there’s no room left for anything quieter.
If there’s been one good thing to come out of my war with Bellrose Institute, it’s that.
For seven years, I’ve been busy. Busy building something from the wreckage of my life. Busy tearing down the system Malcolm built. Busy surviving long enough to take another swing at the people who turned me into a ghost.
War doesn’t leave much room for memory.
Most days, I wake up thinking about my next move. Strategy, targets, contacts. Every one of our safehouses and supplies. Who we can and can’t trust. Which Ascended we might be able to get to before the Institute finds them first.
Everything is so loud and constant.
Andnecessary.
Because the quiet moments are worse.
Those are the moments when the memories creep in, the thoughts of a life I led before this. Thoughts of…
Him.
There was never ahimbefore him, and I’ve tried to convince myself that I was simply mourning a curiosity I never got to truly fulfill, a sin I never got to fully taste. It’s ridiculous that the memories of a mere twenty-five days with him haven’t faded. Seven years is a long time, long enough that I should have forgotten the details by now.
