kajsa ㅇㅅㅇ

My heart is pounding hard.

I can’t believe this. 

I’m supposed to be preparing to protect Steelheart, the Epic I was supposed to be working for the whole time, right? But all I can think about is the Epic nerd from Newcago who sucks at metaphors. Like, really sucks.

He’s all I can think about. Not my plan. Not my pay. 

David.

I picture him so clearly, almost as if I’m looking at his picture. He’s wearing the same ugly heather blue T-shirt he’s worn forever; his obsessed-over, brand-new, black leather Reckoner jacket; his worn rifle slung over his shoulder; and those extremely unattractive cargo pants (though of course he’d wear them. Nerd). 

But above all, I can feel that I miss him. Every small detail of his face, of the way he moves, the way he is, makes me miss him. Which bugs me, because as soon as he knows I’m one of them, as soon as he knows I possess the powers that turn us Epics malevolent… I know he’d hate me.

I watch the flames dance on my skin, reminding myself that I’m not supposed to care about him–I’m supposed to hate him. 

Supposed to kill him. 

But… he did say he was in love with me the day I died.

I flick a few of my fingers, and the fire, in turn, leaps. I let it burn brighter, and my anger grows hotter.

Really, Megan? Seriously? This is stupid. The Reckoners will be at Soldier Field to assassinate Steelheart when dawn breaks, which, for the sake of Newcago, is the last thing we need. The economy will collapse, and so will the government. 

I just wish David would see it that way.

But no, he wants to avenge his father who died at Steelheart’s hand. Not that that’s bad. It’s just…

I don’t think he gets how many people’s dads have died because of Epics. It’s not like he’s some special chosen one who’s going to actually kill Steelheart after everyone else who’s tried and failed. I bet he thinks he’ll succeed and gain glory because he spent the last ten years of his life studying us.

Good. This is good–I’m getting myself ready to fight him. I have to stay mad.

I throw the last of my sensitivity towards David and the others into my little fire. I can almost smell it burning.

And then I snuff it out, though the flames inside me burn hotter than ever. 

I rise from my chair, accidentally bumping the table with my knee, knocking over my near-empty glass of lemonade.

Not staying to clean it up, I start for the door, strapping my mobile to my arm and reaching for my red Reckoner jacket.

Huh. I didn’t know I still had it. I thought I’d thrown it out.

I don’t want it anymore.

It feels wrong to me now, and the color’s too bright in my dusty, dark, dirty (not to mention damaged) overstreet apartment. Besides, it reminds me of the Reckoners too much.

Maybe I can use it. Maybe when I look at the bright red fabric, I’ll think of fire.

Firefight–me. 

Maybe when I look at it, I’ll see them burn, just like they burned me.

My mind is pleased with the compromise, but my heart still beats unsteadily.

Come on, Megan.

I pull on the jacket anyway because it’s the only one I have at the moment and glower as I lock my shiny steel door. Keeping my head low and my scowl painted on my face, I jog across the street, my hands lingering near my holsters, ready to react.

I guess it’s time to finish this.