44: LUKE

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She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. Or is she? It’s impossible to know for sure.

Her and Keira hit the showers at the same darn time every morning, during rush hour, for two different reasons. Keira wants a show. She really likes the audience. Ainsley just gives zero cares about nudity. She never has, and she’s proven that time and time again without the intention being to put on a show for me, yet here I am watching Hurricane Ainsley like it’s my favourite daytime drama, the only show I ever tune into on the regular.

She doesn’t look at me or make any fuss while dressing. No lingering at the wardrobe or purposeful movements meant to entice me to look. But, of course, I’m looking. I’m gaping at her like a little boy seeing snatch for the first time in my life.

And, to make matters worse, she slides that dress over her head without putting on one stitch of underwear. That has to be intentional. Right? Ugh, I can’t tell. I’m not sure what’s worse, her teasing me on purpose or doing it with no knowledge, and if she has no knowledge she’s doing it, why the ever living light didn’t she put on any underwear?

“I’m just about ready,” she reports.

Not to me. She never addresses me anymore unless it’s to say something hateful as heck, chuck whatever’s closest to grab, or use those beautiful darn hands to accost me, which, admittedly, is better than the silence. Any attention from her is better than none at all.

When she rearranged the room weeks ago, I felt a flood of relief. I’d half expected her not to come back. Why would she? She isn’t in danger like she was initially. She might not have tamed her sparks completely, but she’s exhibiting some control. Any wielder will do to pinch a turd now. She doesn’t need any of us anymore and least of all me. So, when I came in to find my single bed converted to a double, I was darn near giddy over it. That meant she wasn’t leaving, and not only was she not leaving, she was making my bed our bed.

She said some stuff about space, but it didn’t really register, not immediately. It felt like I won some agreement from her. She was going to wait like I asked. That wasn’t the case, obviously. Space to her means no more Ainsley sleep blankets, or chest pokes, or anything that might constitute a connection with her outside our sleep sharing, and even then, she’ll only hold my hand.

Only.

My.

Trawling.

Hand.

At first, she wrapped around me in her sleep, but she always woke up and pulled herself out of my hold despite my weeny wavelet protests, and it didn’t take long for her to break that habit either.

That’s not all. Oh, no. It’s just the tip of the iceberg. She’s stopped being in our room except to sleep, spending all her time at the Registry right up until it closes. That place is a waste of academy space. I always thought so. Now I know so.

Look, I’m not a complete rip. I’m glad she’s made new friends and tightened connections with old ones. She needs the support, but this crap with Beckett is getting out of hand. Speaking of hands, he’s handsy as heck which she seems to actually love. I suppose that makes sense as she’s very tactile in nature, but if she honestly thinks that relationship can go anywhere, she’s seriously deluded. It’s one thing trying to board me and failing. I’m a wielder. I’m built for receiving at least one of her sparks, and the others probably won’t screw me to death, just make me wildly uncomfortable. But he’s an Orderly, just a Regular dolt wearing a shiny title like that might make his minnow seem more appealing to swim with. She’s going to really hurt the punk, then she’ll never forgive herself. And the scummier part of me wants her to really, really hurt him because of those trawling hands.

She brushes her hair and leaves it hanging loose. No ponytail. What the actual light is happening? She always wears a ponytail, yet she’s left her long brown hair spilling over her bare shoulders like a waterfall begging me to stand under it. Only, I can’t. I just have to look at it, wishing I could feel it flowing over my chest like it used to while we slept.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Keira hops out from her tent like she’s meant to give her approval. She tilts her head to the side before fishing through one of her drawers for something, handing it to Ainsley. “Try this.”

Ainsley puts on the lipstick without so much as a single protest.

Not.

A.

Single.

Protest.

She never wears paint on her lips. I’ve literally never seen those sauce shooters painted with anything other than blood. Right. It’s red. Of course it is. Son of a barnacle. Here it is on her lips, making me want to kiss it off them.

She doesn’t like it. Thank the light. She recoils her nose, plucks a tissue, and uses it to wipe that hard water stain off. Hah. I knew she wouldn’t like it. Her next words feel almost like she’s wrenching my propellers for knowing it.

“Lipstick makes for tricky kissing anyway,” she dryfires.

“It does,” Keira pops.

My eye ripples. If she doesn’t roast the lips off that Orderly, I might have to take up the task myself, freezer burn style.

“I’m good to go then?” she clips.

Oh yeah. She looks good enough to eat. I sincerely want to lick, bite, and suck every single inch of her.

“Have fun,” Keira crackles. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“So, basically the evening’s wide open,” Ainsley slamfires.

Keira laughs. Maverick and Aspen laugh. Do I laugh? Yeah, no. I do not laugh.

I consider using the golden pass I cheated her out of in that knife throwing competition. Employing it’ll put an end to this scuttlefest in queue here and now. She’ll have to do what I say and not give me lip about it, but if I do that, she’s only going to find some other punk to replace me with. Chaos is where her joy lives. She causes problem after problem after problem. It’s better to let her see this through, and have it fail, despite how torn up I am over it. She needs to learn this lesson the hard way. Her choices have consequences.

“If you mess around and try to board him, I’m not coming to save you!” I whitecap, ripping my watch off and throwing it at her to prove my point. It bounces off her chest and hits the floor at her feet.

“I don’t need you to save me, White Horse,” she fires back, ceremoniously crushing the watch under her high heeled shoe, right along with my heart. Why am I only just noticing how long her beautiful darn legs are? And why am I suddenly so desperate to wrap them around my neck?

She storms off, and I look over to her dresser where she left her Sparklet. Did she purposely leave it? What if she needs to call me in an emergency? She’s never called me before, but…what if…

“Chill the heck out!” Keira erupts, redirecting my attention from the abandoned Sparklet. She takes off her watch and throws it at me. “There’s more than one tether in this room. You’ll know if she needs you.”

I open my mouth to say something...anything. What does she know? How long has this been happening? Is it serious between them? Can I get her back? Keira speaks before I can find the words.

“I warned you,” she cinders.

I deepwater a nervous lump down my throat. “Did I lose her?”

“You never had her,” she ashes, “but you could’ve if you hadn’t been such a controlling creep.”

“But an Orderly?” I spray. “Is she really that desperate?”

“He’s someone who’s giving her something she needs right now,” she bubbles.

“If she needed to dock that darn bad, I’d have bought her a flame resistant, impossible to crush and explode dildo!” I billow. “Stuck her in a safe room and watched through a port hole while she docked herself.”

“It’s not about the erupting, Luke,” she spews. “It was never about that.”

“It was a little about the erupting,” Maverick rumbles.

“Tiny bit,” Aspen outgasses.

Keira shakes her head. “It was about the bloody cage. You can’t cage her. You can’t give her ultimatums because those are just tiny cages. She needs more than that. She needs you to be strong enough for her.”

“What exactly does that mean, Keira?” I honestly need to know.

“I won’t tell you that.”

It isn’t malicious, just something I need to figure out for myself, or the lesson won’t stick.

“What is it she needs from him?” I scupper.

She hisses a sigh. “She needs to be seen, and he just sees her. Not her sparks. Not the rules. Not the chains. He just sees her.”

“I see her too,” I defend myself.

She smiles sadly. I didn’t know a face could do both tricks at once. “You see some of her, but you’re not quite looking in the right places to see all of her. He sees her here in this minute. Right now, Luke. Not tomorrow. Not for her Singularity or Schism or Polarity or, light forbid, Synergy. Just her. Just now.”

I pass the watch back to her, resigning myself to this fate. I can never not want more with Ainsley. I want everything. All the days.

Today.

Tomorrow.

Forever.

If I can’t have that, what choice do I have but to settle for nothing?

“Put it on silent. I’m not chasing another white whale. I’m done,” I deadwater.