Page 97 of Lourdes & the Mafia
“I’m trying!”
“You aren’t.”
I wonder what he’d do if I took a swing.
“I am trying, but how is running going to fucking help?! This is pointless!”
His smirk is a cruel thing that chills me down to my bones. He steps closer, daringly close considering what could happen. He doesn’t seem to care. “Then prove it,” he growls near my mouth. “Find your fucking power. Fuckinghoneit. Fuckinguseit. Familiarize yourself with it and fucking. Bring. It. Out.”
I try.
I swear I’ve been trying for fucking hours, but there’s nothing. I have no idea what it is I’m searching for. I have no idea what my magic is supposed to feel like. I only know the pain when it’s already consumed me and the lethargy after it wanes. I don’t know the before or the during.
I don’t know fucking anything.
And that makes me want to cry.
But I try. Still I try, digging deep down mentally, physically, emotionally. I try to find something. Anything. A spark inside that lets me know I’ve reached that swell of magic.
But there’s nothing.
My eyes open and I can feel the tears tracking a pathway down my cheeks and drying just as quickly.
“I can’t,” I grit out. “There’s nothing.”
“There’s always something, Lourdes," he whispers and for some reason, the words sound like a promise. “Always. You’re just too weak to fucking see it—”
“Kane!”
Lorenzo. Ever my protector, I can feel his rage from where he stands watch with the little demons of The Pit. They look like rows of Chihuahuas and Pomeranians, salivating at their lipless mouths and flashing sharp teeth.
“I don’t need you to tell me what I am,” I snap, repeating the words we spoke to each other in the dark VIP room of Sinful. It feels so far away now, that memory. Like something distant that happened to someone else. At least this moment is making me feel that. Like there’s nothing left of that passion we displayed together.
Now, there’s nothing but hatred and pain and weakness.
“Obviously you do. Obviously you need to hear it.”
His magic shoots out, grasping my chest. It feels like a palm pressing over the rapid beating of my heart. What would it be like, I wonder, to feel his real touch against my skin? To have my heartbeat thrum against his palm and share that connection.
“Don’t be weak, Lourdes. Don’t act fucking weak when we both know there’s more inside. Now, fuckingreachfor it, or I’ll string you up and spank your ass so hard, you won’t feel a thing for weeks.”
“That—that sounds like a fun time, actually.”
He growls. “Lourdes.” A warning. “Find it.”
I close my eyes and take a breath. All joking aside, Kane is right. He’s being hard, tough, and I’m letting it get to my head, but the fact of the matter is that he’s right. He’s fucking right. I’m not trying. I’m not reaching my full potential. Again, my dependence is hindering me and this is something I need to do. It’s something I’ve needed to do for a while now but have been too afraid.
Always afraid.
Of heartbreak, of pain, of what’s to come. So afraid that I’ve pushed the future away, let the magic nestle inside, content to be a human who occasionally has visions.
I’ve done a disservice to the magic that was bestowed upon me. If I wasn’t going to use it, did I even really deserve it?
Yes. The answer is yes. It’s mine, it’s always been mine, and it’s as a part of me as the curls springing from my scalp or the blood coursing through my veins.
It’s a part of me.
And I have to identify it.
