August Monthly Horoscope for Virgo (Born August 23 - September 22)
Someone you trust is holding a secret from you, one more deadly than your own. You may feel as if you are simply going through the motions lately without much purpose behind your relationship. This will soon change, but not before your outlook on an important situation changes first. Someone, driven by jealousy, has altered his or her outlook on you. Another has changed his or her outlook based on love instead. Be wary of those around you. Whatever secrets you currently hold are nothing compared to the secrets others hold from you.
I ran forward, my feet flying across the floor. I jumped forward and wrapped my legs around Adrian's waist. He caught me as one of his arms wrapped across my back. The other fell beneath one of my legs to support my weight against him.
I wrapped one arm around the back of his neck and used the other to tangle my hands in his hair. He kissed me full on the mouth. I closed my eyes and threw everything I had into the kiss, responding to his eager touch with my own.
He smiled against my lips, and the feeling sent my brain into overdrive. My senses were flooded. His cologne drove me crazy with longing. His muscled skin felt rough under my touch as I grabbed his bicep to support myself. The sandy stubble on his lower jaw bristled against my chin when my lips collided against his. I bit his lower lip, my teeth barely grazing it, and then pulled away. Our eyes were locked on each other, finding the familiarity of comfort in each other's gaze.
Being in each other's arms felt like coming home for both of us. An unspoken promise hung in the air around us. I was safe in his arms, and he was safe in mine.
He set me down, but didn't tear his eyes from me. I barely registered Tommy pulling at my jean leg to get my attention. A cleared throat came from behind both of us.
I glanced behind Adrian’s shoulder to see Emma standing behind him.
"Emma!" I ran over to hug her as well.
Emma didn't respond. She simply patted my back with a weak effort.
I pulled away to face her. Her expression was a cross between anger and... disappointment? I furrowed my brow. "Emma, are you okay?”
Emma glared at me. Her forehead creased from the force in her scowl. "Why are you even here?"
I resisted the urge to back away. What was going on? "I'll fill you both in later, I..." I raised an eyebrow at Emma. Caution filled my tone. "I'm glad to see you, Emma. I missed you."
But Emma sure didn't seem to have missed me. She didn't even look at me after the initial glare. She walked over to Adrian and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and the girl I used to call my best friend since I was six years old walked away from me as if I had a contagious lethal disease.
Um, what the...
I wanted to run after Emma and ask her what was wrong, why my sudden reappearance seemed to piss her off. Maybe she was just shocked at seeing me? I'd give her some time, I thought. Maybe she was tired from the mission. I refused to believe my best friend of eleven years suddenly didn't want to speak to me.
Tommy pulled at my jeans again. "Infirmary! Infirmary!"
I walked Tommy over to the room three doors down and explained to the nurse what had happened. My hand held Tommy's instead of Adrian's, but once Tommy was inside the infirmary and Adrian and I were sure he was being tended to by the nurse, it didn't take long for Adrian’s hands to find me yet again.
His arm snaked around my waist and held me pressed against him. I couldn't focus on Emma anymore with Adrian next to me.
I burrowed my face into the corner of his shoulder and neck, inhaling the distinctive and calming scent of him. Being so close to him was calming. His hands stroked down my hair and he planted a kiss on the top of my head. My body thrummed with the rush of contentment flowing through me. I wanted to stand there forever, basking in the physical comfort we gave each other.
I didn't know how much time passed until Adrian finally spoke up. By then we were sitting against one of the hallway walls of the classrooms. I guessed it'd be another hour before the training session ended and kids were released from class for the day.
One of his hands was in mine, our fingers entwined as I sat in his lap and rested against him at an angle so we could still see each other's face. He mumbled something into my hair first, his tone a mixture between reverence and irritation.
He spoke louder, so I could hear. "Marty told me what happened." I heard the hard swallow in his throat before he spoke the next sentence. "I thought you were dead, Janey."
Hearing his nickname for me once again made my heart soar.
"It's my fault you got stabbed."
"No, no, no," I soothed. "It's not your fault. I don't know why you think so."
"I delayed you when I was held at gunpoint. I took too long taking the guy out. Even if I was killed, you could have shot the target sooner and got away."
"Pretty inconvenient, considering I would have never left without you."
"I left without you."
"You didn't have a choice." I wanted to wipe away the worried look from his expression. All I could do was plant a tender kiss on his lips, then lean closer to him to whisper in his ear in the most genuine tone I could muster. "I didn't want you to be caught."
"When you were gone..." His voice trailed off, but then regained strength. "When you were gone, I kept thinking you were right. It didn't matter whether or not you were in CO, as long as you were still around." He squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back in a way I hoped was reassuring. "Let's stay together, Janey. Stop thinking about the future and planning and stay together."
I nodded, and he breathed a sigh of relief in response. Tears threatened the corners of my eyes, about to fall. I wiped them away, hoping he wouldn't notice. He did though, and he wiped them away for me instead. My heart twisted in my chest at his gesture. The affection between us was bordering on all-consuming.
It was bordering on destructive and dangerous.
****
The chocolate wrappers were cleaned from my apartment, as were the tissues and the library of chick-flicks.
In their place sat two glass tumblers, an empty wine bottle, and a seventeen-year-old boy with eyes the color of the ocean and hair the color of sand. Fair trade.
I raised my nearly empty tumbler, the purple wine resting in my stomach instead of in the glass. "A toast!"
Adrian, who had definitely consumed less glasses of wine than me, raised his glass with an amused expression. "To?"
"To..." I waved my tumbler, searching for something relevant. "Ah!" I raised my forefinger with the hand not holding my glass. "To the future of CO!"
"What about it?" He watched me down my glass without taking a sip from his.
"I'm going to apply for an executive position." I beamed. I downed the remainder of the wine from my glass. There, I'd said it. No point in dodging the bullet now.
Adrian lunged for me, bringing me back to sitting on his lap as he held my arms pressed against my chest. "You changed your mind." The sentence was a statement, not a search for confirmation. "You're going to be an executive."
I waved my empty glass tumbler at him, giving him a wary eye. "Hey, hey, hey. Not so fast, Mister. I don't know yet whether or not I got the position." I hiccupped, then reached for the wine bottle. "Remember the story of when I thought I was going to win the science prize when we were at Trinity Prep? Lesson learned!"
His eyes lit up. "You're going to get executive. And I'm going to be CEO."
The drunken haze in my head cleared for a moment, enough to register what he was saying. I stiffened against him. "No way."
"Believe it. The CEO told me himself. Said he's impressed with me, and I'm next in line after he retires." His hands roamed over my arms, running up and down in the telltale sign. I smelled the alcohol from his breath. "I'm starting training next month."
I peered into the bottle, expecting to find the remainder of the wine left unconsumed. Only an empty bottle met my gaze. Maybe Adrian finished more of the wine than me after all.
"What do you do in training to be CEO?" I started taking mental notes, but kept my voice casual. "More target practice?"
"Not sure yet." He nuzzled my neck, and I arched my neck toward him. I granted him free reign and welcomed the warming sensations he stirred within me. "Now tell me the story."
"What story?"
"The one about how you didn't win the science prize." His lips curved into a smile against my neck, teasing me to tell him more. "How did the day end for you again?"
I stood up with a sigh. "I'm not telling you the story again… hey!" I squealed and ran away as soon as Adrian got up to chase me.
"Yes, you are!" Adrian reached me in two seconds, of course, and scooped me up. My skirt spread out across my legs and over my sandals. He lifted me bridal-style as if I was as light as a feather, and the familiar feeling of weightlessness made my toes curl. Maybe he was just strong. "You're going to tell me because I love hearing it."
I threw my head back with an expression of mock exasperation. "I don't know why you like hearing it so much." I jumped out from his arms and walked over to the pantry. I opened the door, searching for more wine. The alcohol already in my system warmed the pit of my stomach and clouded my vision.
"I like hearing what happened." The voice edged closer to the pantry as I left with a full wine bottle in hand.
Too late. Adrian cornered me against the countertop.
"All right, well." I rolled my eyes at him, as if telling the story was a great chore. "I thought I was going to win the science prize at the fair, and I didn't. I was crushed and went back to my dorm. But you found me in my dorm afterward and..."
He placed his hands around my hips and raised me up on the countertop. My giggling stopped.
"And?"
"And..." My breathing slowed. "You told me I didn't need some stupid prize to know how good at science I was.”
One of my hands tightened round the back of his neck, and his hand gripped my thigh. I wrapped my calves around his waist as he pushed against me on the countertop, the space between us closing.
I took in a shaky breath. Recalling the memory and feeling the sensations flooding my body kept me in a delicate balance. "You said I was smarter than anyone you'd ever met before, and then you pressed me against my desk and did something like..."
He completed the memory and finished the story with his body's movements. As his left hand dropped to grip my thigh, I pulled his body closer toward mine, desire coursing through my veins. My hands roamed his neck and a part of his back, the part which made his lips push harder against mine. His tongue pressed against my closed lips, and I parted them for him, allowing our bodies to become even more entangled. The aching familiarity of his movements stirred something within me. We drank each other like wine, downing everything in a rush and without pause. When he finally pulled away he kissed my nose with a light touch.
"I missed you," he murmured. I wrapped my legs tighter around him in response, the clothes between us serving as my last barrier against complete surrender to him.
"I missed you too." It was the most honest sentence I’d said in weeks, and the wonder of finally telling the truth to someone, even by accident, felt amazing. His body pressed against mine in a way which couldn't feel more intimate or completely natural. "This feels right."
His way of agreement was to interlace his fingers in mine. I still sat on the counter, the wine bottle completely forgotten next to me. We were each other's own form of intoxication. "Let me see."
My arm moved to cover my body on instinct. A crushing feeling of realization settled in my stomach. "See what?"
He knew I understood him, and he just set my arm away from my abdomen. He lifted my shirt enough to see it. There wasn't an intake of breath, or a shocked expression, or a healing kiss. There was only his stare against my scar, his eyes roaming over my stitches, and the pressed, emotionless line of his mouth as he considered my injury.
"Enough." I tried to bring my shirt down, but he continued to hold it up. His muscular hand didn't budge, but I didn't mind him looking. I felt so exposed and vulnerable underneath his gaze. He wasn't the first to see the scar, so many other kids in the Judo class had wanted to see and Tristan and Marty and the scientists and even Lucy. But it felt so much different when Adrian was looking at it.
Maybe it was because everyone else commented on it. The children congratulated me like I was Jack the Giant Slayer. Tristan whistled and said it looked like it must hurt. Marty wondered how many stitches there were. Lucy threw her arms around me and said she was so sorry. But not Adrian. All he did was, well, stare and refuse to make a sound. It was as if he was trying to commit each stitch to memory, like he memorized an Ancient Greek algorithm or a fact on conflict over oil in the Middle East.
I felt like a book when Adrian looked at me. Not because I was easy to read or anything. But because he studied me. He considered me, pondered me, critically analyzed and sometimes even translated me. He tried to pick apart my different actions and dialogue like he would with a literary masterpiece.
I was a book because I was Adrian's favorite book. He protected it, made sure to keep it from rain, didn't let anyone else borrow it and never wanted it to leave his side. I was like an ancient volume he'd found in an antique store when he was young, and over the years it became more valuable and irreplaceable to him.
Finally, his fingers traced over my scar. The pads of his fingers burned the sensitive skin. I was suddenly afraid, afraid to hear him say something I didn't want to hear. What if he thought the scar was ugly? What if he was studying it because he hadn't realized how hideous it was?
I yanked down my shirt with finality. "I'm proud of it." I puffed out my chest as if I didn’t care how the scar appeared. "I don't care if it looks bad, the stitches remind me I survived."
He said nothing, just kissed me. The kiss was sweeping this time, devoid of the carnal desire from before and no longer tender. This time his kiss was consuming, not in a claiming or possessive way, but in a complete and covering way, as if the kiss could protect me from all the evils and battles I had yet to face. I could've died in the kiss and not felt a bit of sadness. His touch made me feel whole; it made me feel like he would always be right behind me, ready to catch me if I were to fall backward.
When we needed to pull away to gasp for precious oxygen and find our breath once again, he rasped out, "I'm going to take care of you now."
I whispered back, "I can take care of myself."
His grip on me tightened. "You won't have another scar on your body, not as long as I'm around."
"Don't worry about me.”
“Why not?”
“I'm not the weak five-year-old you met twelve years ago. I know what I'm getting into; I'm strong enough."
"I want to be your strength."
I laughed at how romantic and cheesy the words sounded, and he seemed to realize it too. He started to laugh along with me, through the coarseness in his throat and the emotion choked up in mine. It was like we were trying to dispel the tension, to take the intensity of our relationship down a notch. But I knew how much his words meant.
I hoped he understood how much mine meant too.
****
"Emma's not flirting with Adrian, she would never betray you." Lucy shook her head over bites of her salad. Her long and glossy high ponytail swished back and forth, emphasizing her denial. "You don't understand. When you were gone..."
"He was upset, I know." I stabbed at my salad, as if piercing the tomato slices with enough force would be enough to stop Adrian from talking to Emma. Pointless. I glanced up and settled my gaze behind Lucy. He and Emma both laughed over something Emma said. She curled one of her blond, silky straight strands of hair around her pale finger, smacking her gum and looking up at Adrian with clear adoration. I pointed my fork in their direction. "But I'm not gone anymore."
Lucy lowered my fork back to my bowl, like an owner scolding their dog. "Oh. You have nothing to worry about. He is with you, not Emma. If he wanted to be with Emma, he'd break up with you." She placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in apology. "Not saying he will. Emma would never do such a thing to you."
"Yeah? Well Emma's been ignoring me and acting like I'm annoying her." Every time I tried to talk to her, she walked away or nodded to me and still walked away. The only times she even tolerated me was when Lucy was with us, or Adrian. Yep, I thought, watching her twirl the piece of hair like there was no tomorrow, she definitely liked being around Adrian.
"Emma acts mean to everyone. She’s mean to me sometimes."
"Then why do we hang out with her?" My skin prickled with annoyance at her cold shoulder treatment. If she didn't want to be friends with me, why would I want to be friends with her?
Lucy gasped. "We can't not be friends with her. We've known each other since first-year. Remember? Best friends forever?"
I picked up my salad to throw it away in the trash. Forget salad, I needed cookies. Lucy followed after me. She eventually stood right in front of me, blocking my path to prevent me leaving the twelfth-year dining room. "We can't be mad at each other!"
I raised an eyebrow at Lucy. "I'm not mad at anyone. But what she’s doing..." I pointed at Emma who brought her hand to touch Adrian's bicep and clearly licked her lips. "What she’s doing is called flirting with someone else's boyfriend, Lucy. And I'm not going to sit here and watch."
Lucy pouted, but let me pass by. I took one last glance at him, my blood boiling with anger. One heated reunion and then he starts flirting with someone who'd once been one of my best friends? Disgusting.
I strode out of the dining room with an unintentional slam of the door. The slap of the oak hitting the wooden doorframe echoed through the hall. Oops. I fast-walked away from the room before Lucy or worse, Emma, could start running after me.
"Jane?"
The voice that stopped me in my tracks wasn't either of them.
I froze at the sound of Adrian's footsteps approaching me, but I didn't turn back around. I put a hand on my hip and pressed my lips together.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, but I shoved it away. He swore beneath his breath. "What’s the matter? Why did you slam the door and leave?"
"What do you think?"
He threw his hands in the air. "I don't know. Why do you think I’m asking?”
"For someone with such a high IQ, you're completely dense."
"I'm trying to figure out what's wrong!"
"What’s wrong is what you did back there."
He looked so confused I almost pitied him for a second. "What did I do? Is this because I didn't sit with you at lunch? I thought you told me you wanted space sometimes."
"You were flirting with Emma.”
He laughed. For the first time, the laugh irritated me more than any other sound I'd ever heard. It was a laugh which said I was seeing things. "I wasn't flirting with Emma. We're friends. Emma and I are just friends. Hey… hey, don't turn away from me." His voice became softer, and he held my right shoulder. His other hand tilted my chin up to face him, but I kept trying to avert my eyes from his and toward one of the long portraits of past CO agents in the hallway. But the gazes from each of these century-old portraits were severe and seemed to scowl in disapproval, telling me to look back at Adrian.
I covered his hands with mine, but still didn't meet his gaze. "Then why do you let her flirt with you?"
"If you don't want me to talk to her, I won't talk to her."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, I’m not necessarily saying don’t talk to her. I'm saying you shouldn't encourage her flirting."
"Okay, well I have no idea what you mean, so I'm just going to stop talking to her."
"She'll hate me even more then."
"She hates you? You're her best friend."
"Not anymore." I brought his hands down to his sides, and our fingers interlaced. As soon as we held hands, the tension in the air dispelled and I felt calm once again. "She's been ignoring me, and I think it's because of you."
"Isn't everything because of you?"
I finally stared up at him. His teasing smirk made the corners of his eyes crinkle. My look of exasperation melted away to the same look of adoration I'd seen Emma give him minutes earlier.
I ran a hand through his hair. Today it was straight and smooth, and the stubble on his chin was shaved away to reveal the golden jaw I was used to seeing. Even his skin seemed tighter, and the bags under his eyes smaller. I wanted to believe it was because I'd returned, but I decided it was because of the stress from the mission. Still. I kissed his jaw line. "Well because of you, I'm going to go crazy."
Before he could respond, someone cleared a throat. A definite female clearing. I inclined my head, dreading to see Emma... but found an executive instead. Her pressed business suit was as professional as any the executives always wore. She handed me a sheet of paper full of color-coded boxes, with a timetable and calendar.
"Your new schedule, Agent Lu. We understand you'll be with us for the next month, so we scheduled several missions in this last month. Adrian King will continue to be your partner."
Adrian stared over my shoulder at the schedule and scoffed. "This can't be right. She's scheduled for a mission tonight?"
"Correct."
"She just got back!” Adrian's nostrils flared, and I saw him clench his fists. "She has to rest."
"I'll be fine." I thanked the executive, and took the timetable and calendar from her before she walked away. Then I met Adrian’s look of disbelief. "I'm all healed. I can handle the mission."
"I'm telling the CEO about this. He'll fix it; don't worry Jane." Adrian pulled out his cell phone. He managed to dial a few numbers before I snatched it away.
I tucked his cell phone in my own pocket, away from his reach. Normally, I loved how protective he was. But I could decide for myself. "I said I can handle this, Adrian. Are you still going to be my partner, or are you Emma's now?"
"I was with her on one mission. She was filling in." Adrian draped an arm around my shoulder. "If you're serving a mission, I'm serving as your partner."
I glanced down at the busy schedule. I couldn't ruin the assassination if I was stuck back at the headquarters during one of my last chances for active duty.
"Hey, before we go back to the apartments, can we stop by the CEO's office? I need to speak with him."
I agreed, and we walked toward the CEO's executive wing. As soon as we arrived, Adrian was ushered into one of the several board rooms. I walked back toward the bathroom and repeated a safety inspection. Satisfied, I pulled out the compact again and mimicked the lipstick motion until I could hear the faint sound of Tristan's breathing from the other end of the line.
"There's going to be a mission tonight." I glimpsed at my schedule. "San Diego, California. Next to UCSD."
"Means nothing. Marge wants the first mission to be a success."
I gazed back at my confused face in the compact mirror. "Why?"
"So CO believes you're back in shape, not unable to do another mission." Tristan sighed. "It sucks, I know. Innocent people are going to die. But just keep an eye out for other missions and lemme know your other ones. Only the first mission has to go well."
"Another thing. It’s about Adrian King."
Renewed interest sparked Tristan's voice. "What about him?"
"Found out he is next in line for CEO. Training starts next month for him. Confirm it with the CIA."
"Will do." Tristan chuckled. "You're on it, aren't you? Figuring out info at this rate and you won't need to serve out the whole year. I'll be back out spying and you'll be sipping beer in Cabo before Christmas."
"Tristan..." I couldn't stop myself from asking, and the words tumbled out from pure curiosity. "What happened in Russia? Why did your espionage mission fail?"
Tristan's voice became suddenly tight. "I told a woman I was sleeping with." The candidness of his tone startled me. Of course I knew he was old enough to have sex with whoever he wanted, but the idea of Tristan sleeping with and spilling secrets to some random woman he barely knew unsettled me for some reason. "She was supposed to be my fiancé." Okay, not so random. "Someone tortured her and interrogated her, suspecting I was the spy. She spilled everything and brought evidence." I heard a quick intake of breath on the other line. "The nuclear program hired someone, an assassin. He killed her, killed my partner, and tried to kill me. I escaped, but the bastard did too. The assassin's the reason they're all dead and my career's ruined."
"What happens if you see him again?"
"Kill him on sight."
****
If Adrian squeezed his hand any tighter around mine, the barrel was going to shoot off at least two of his fingers. My grip around my gun loosened as his grip over my hand clenched.
I pulled my right hand away from his left one. "For the last time, we don't need to hold hands right now. We both shoot with our right hand."
"Stay close to me." Adrian tried to cover my body with him and his machine gun. "I've got a gun."
"And what am I holding? An oversized toy?” Adrian’s hand dropped as I lifted up the gray machine gun Marty gave me before we left for San Diego.
Adrian scowled at the weapon. I wasn’t sure how not having a gun was supposed to protect me from anything, but he was somehow under the delusion the only protection which mattered was his and not the one I could provide for myself.
Adrian finally stepped away. He lowered his barrel and his guard for a moment to turn to me. "Please, stay close to me." He flinched at the sound of a cricket starting to chirp, and I suppressed a giggle. He lifted his gun back up and continued walking forward, ears carefully trained to detect the sound of foreign footsteps.
I checked the address of the house and nodded to Adrian. He glanced around to make sure no one else was standing on the street. Both of us satisfied, we crept up the porch stairs.
We hid our guns in the bags we'd brought with us as soon as we stepped onto the target’s front porch. They were soundless shooters, Adrian's favorite and the result of thousands spent on CO special weapons research. The artillery fire of the machine gun fired in such a way that the bullets barely made a popping sound. In fact, the loudest sound emerging from killing someone with a soundless shooter was the sound of blood spattering against the walls.
He took out a bobby pin and undid the lock of the door. I followed him inside and closed the door after us.
Floorboards upstairs creaked and the sound of a woman humming carried to where Adrian and I stood. The target.
"Hey, what's going on here?" A man, clearly drunk, in his mid-forties and a beer paunch belly staggered toward us from a nearby doorway.
Adrian nodded to me and pointed upstairs. I lifted my gun and ran up the stairs right as I heard Adrian's fist making contact with the man's face below me in the hall.
The woman screamed. I saw her run toward a room two doors down and the door slammed closed behind her. I didn't bother with the formality of trying to pick the lock. I aimed my shooter and fired at the door, knocking the door down. I walked through the rubble, the weapon poised as I strained to every sound.
I craned my neck. Heavy breathing from the closet. Almost too easy.
The familiar rush of adrenaline right before closing a contract flooded my system. It was like the best taste of dessert you'd ever had, or the best steak, or whatever you valued. It was better than winning the lottery. It was a rush of control and sheer force you had inside you, reminding you of the power of life in your hands.
I pressed the trigger.
Holes blew into the wooden closet, going up and down at random. I simply stood behind the artillery fire and pointed my gun, allowing the heavy rain of bullets to close the contract for me. Each bullet punctured the wood and ploughed down everything on the inside. Not a scream was heard, only the barely audible popping of soundless bullets hitting flesh.
After ten seconds of ceaseless fire, I lifted my finger off the trigger and lowered my gun. I used the barrel to open the closet door, planning to get a quick confirmation of death and then join Adrian downstairs.
My heart stopped.
"What have I done?"
The mother lay slumped against the chipped wall, her eyes squeezed shut and a baby clutched against her chest. A chord struck inside me. This could have been the mother of another operative, and Adrian and I were sent to kill parents whose only crime was trying to figure out where their estranged child had disappeared to.
The baby's eyes were wide, a scene of horror frozen in the lifeless eyes. The bullet wound gaped clear through the tiny body. I started sobbing over the stunning clarity sweeping my breath away. The woman was the target. Why had I killed the child? Even then, what had the mother done to deserve the death? How had I killed her with no emotion whatsoever? What had I done? What had I done?
A hand touched the small of my back, but I pushed it away. Tears flew down my cheeks faster than Niagara Falls hitting the body of water below the waterfall.
But the hand wouldn't take no for an answer. Adrian crouched behind me, embraced me and rocked me back and forth. I buried my face in his shoulder.
"Shhh, shhhh," he rubbed my back, his voice soothing. "It was an accident. It wasn't your fault. You did your job. It was an accident."
I shook my head into his shoulder. Somehow, through the sobs, I heaved, "They're innocent. They're innocent." I pulled my head up, trying to make sense of his features through the hazy tears. "Don't you get it? They're innocent. The baby's innocent. The mother's innocent."
Adrian wiped away my tears as fast as he could. He rubbed my back again. But the comforting touches couldn't erase the guilt eating at me. Neither did his words. "She’s not innocent. She did something so terrible someone paid for her to die. If she was innocent, then why would someone pay so much to see her dead?"
His twisted logic made me feel like a child once again. I couldn't understand it. I tried so hard to understand how he could view the targets as anything but innocent, and failed. I felt like I was reaching out for the tightrope he was on, the tightrope which accepted the murder of Covert Operatives and accepted the secrecy and lies of the organization without wondering if what he was doing was wrong. The fragile rope was beyond my grasp, though I was wobbling toward it in one last-ditch effort to remove the regret swallowing me whole.
"The baby wasn't the target."
"But the baby was in the way. It wasn't your fault. It's just a job."
"Why won't CO tell us why we have to kill them?"
"We're not involved in gathering information yet. CO knows what's best for us. They pay us for our services, and this is what we have to do to survive, Janey. You're a survivor, remember? We both are. We're going to survive this. Together."
His eyes pleaded with me. He kissed the top of my forehead and kept rocking me, whispering more words of attempted comfort in my ear to stop my hysterics.
"It's wrong. We don't know why we have to kill them. They're innocent." I didn't pull away from Adrian's arms though. Somehow, in the arms of this boy who couldn't see the evil in killing the innocent, I felt the most at peace. My upper lip curled in disgust as the realization sickened me. But I couldn't stop the warmth from flooding my system as he rocked me, treating me with the patience of a nurse holding a newborn baby. I started babbling words of guilt.
"Shhh, you're under stress. You're shocked. It's okay. I've got you. It's going to be okay, Janey. You're going to be okay." He continued to hold me as I wept over the dead bodies. Something inside me was clearly broken, and Adrian was doing his best to keep all the pieces together before they smashed on the floor. I wasn't sure how much time passed before I finally calmed down my hysterical sobbing. It felt like hours. It probably was.
Glancing up into Adrian's eyes, the warm blue orbs held nothing but compassion for me. I realized right then that if I'd been crying and in hysterics for the rest of the night, Adrian would have still sat next to me, rocking me and trying to calm me down. He would have stayed there as long as I needed him. He would have done anything as long as I'd needed it. The boy who killed innocent families without a second thought was the same boy who loved me more than anyone else in the world.
I didn't have to ask whether or not the man downstairs was dead. I knew Adrian's style of closing contracts better than he understood his own, and he hardly ever left witnesses to murder.
Adrian lifted me as soundlessly as the bullets which had entered my victims’ bodies. I leaned against him, barely able to walk straight without my knees buckling.
He squeezed my hand. "Let's go home, Janey."
Covert Operatives? The house of cold-blooded and senseless murder? The business where money was traded for spilled blood?
It would never be my home again.