When his mask cracks Novels & Stories

What’s wrong with us? I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my temples. “Are you all right?” “Just a headache,” I lie while my body thrums with a sudden knowing. “Did you–did you give me something last night?” “A healing tonic–” “No, did you use your powers on me in any way?” He shakes his head. “No. Is something wrong? Are you hurt?” I glance at him and then at where I left the mask resting on the worktable. “I think it’s the mask. It’s broken, and my powers are… I’d like to fix it soon so it leaves me alone.”

Suddenly, a smile appeared on his face. "Hey, little lady, it's late at night. Why are you wearing a mask?" After that, he looked at his senior brothers behind him happily and said, "According to my experience, anyone who still wears a mask at this time is either an ugly woman or a very beautiful woman! How about we make a bet?" "Okay, I bet 100 purple crystals on an ugly woman." "That's right. Those who can wear masks at this time must be ugly and can't be seen in public. I also place a bet of 100."

I ask, already afraid of the answer. His jaw clenches. He hesitates. “Same thing,” he finally says. “But sometimes, it’s hard. If I struggle, if I can’t focus, can’t do it... I...” He stops, licking his lips. He looks at me. “I think of that first kiss with you.” A bolt of heat shoots straight through me. Fuck. I stare at him, my cock already hardening. I shouldn’t be turned on by this. Not by something so fucking broken. But the fact that even now—even now—when he struggles, it’s me that gets him through it?

My fingers curled into fists. “You’re throwing your life away,” he said—snarled. Because the mask had cracked. He was seeing the real me, and I was seeing the real him, too. He rose from his chair. “You’re allowing one heartbreak to turn you into someone I don’t even know.”

“I don’t have time for this.” I stepped in his way again. “Then make time. You don’t get to act like I never meant anything to you. Talk to me!” That was when his mask broke. “Do you think I don’t miss you?” he hissed. His eyes were filled with so much emotions “Do you think I don’t wake up every damn day remembering how you looked when you were unconscious? How I sat beside you, hoping you'd live?” My breath caught. He was shaking. Not visibly. But I felt it. The tension. The heartbreak. The war behind his carefully composed face.

he whispers. A rope of tear drags down his face and I quickly swipe it off. “What’s wrong?” I ask, my tone soft. He hushes, “nothing. . .I’m just happy.” I giggle softly and lean in, my lips ghosting over his. “Why are you happy?” I drawl. “Because I can take my mask off,” he steals a kiss. I snicker. “Because I can stare at my own reflection and recognize myself,” he steals another kiss. “Because my life suddenly has meaning. . .”

Today's incident had blown up. An attack at an event like this would surely be kept out of the news, but behind the scenes, things were bound to get turbulent. After changing clothes, Tabitha stood in front of the mirror and realized that her mask was already broken. The mask was flawless in every other way, but water was its weakness. The moment it became wet, it lost its shape. Combined with the bullet's graze, the damage had worsened—she reached up and touched it, her fingertips catching on a curled edge where the mask had cracked.

he responded before turning to the lady beside him, “your mum called me, she said to keep you company. You have a lot on your mind, huh?” Rebecca was speechless for a while, how close was she to this couple? Why did both of them have her mother’s number? “Becca always does this” Melisa chipped in, “you always recoil into your shell when things don’t go your way, why do you always do that?” “What do you mean?” Becca asked, “recoil into my shell?” “Your mum said you have been acting weird since this morning” Hardin disclosed, “what exactly is the problem?”

Daniel, the IT staff Damien sacked The fourth arrival came in his footsteps silent, his posture impeccable. His mask is a simple thing—smooth obsidian, featureless except for a single crack that ran diagonally across the face. He was known only as the Broken. There was something unmistakable about him, a cold, coiled danger that radiated from every line of his body. He took his seat without a word, his eyes hidden behind the mask, but those who watched him could feel the weight of his presence. Tristan Miller

Nothing feels loose. I turn my head and look back up at Broken Nose. "I'll ask you one more time," he says, cracking his scarred knuckles slowly. "Who did you tell?" I lean forward as far as the duct tape allows, then I spit a mouthful of blood directly onto his shoe.