My Life with Death

268/4 Lexington Street, Las Vegas, December 16, 2018, 5:19 a.m.

 I was awakened from a - albeit long - but also very humiliating sleep by ringing the phone. An unpleasant sound beside my head initially scared me, but I had to pick it up immediately or turn it off so it wouldn't wake Christine. I pressed the icon to accept the call, and half asleep, I listened to the voice on the other end.

"Hey Alexis... we need to talk," it sounded serious.

I yawned. "Hello," surprised. "Is there something wrong? Why are you calling me?" I asked.

I glanced at the watch that was lying on the bedside table. "Did you go back to the case?" he asked, and at the same time, it was clear from his voice that he knew the answer. "Didn't we agree on something? Didn't you say you wanted to rest?" he asked me questions. "This doesn't feel like rest to me," he added.

I was too tired to continue communicating with him and didn't want to argue, so I ignored his call and hung up. I sighed. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant awakening.

I got up, opened the door to the terrace, and went out. It wasn't as cold as back home in D.C., but it was still drizzling, and the wind was chilly. When I lived here, it always bothered me that I didn't see snow in the winter. I have yet to see the Magical Ice Kingdom as I did growing up in West Virginia and now in D.C.

I closed it behind me and sat down on the armchair that was right behind the glass door. Although I didn't have to, I had to do it in the given situation. I pulled a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from my jacket and lit one. It had been many years since I last smoked, and I didn't want to start again, but I couldn't resist under this or other similar pressure.

The morning mist began to fall, but it was still dark. A coating of dark smoke came from my mouth. A cool breeze tossed my hair.

One tear after another ran down my pale skin. I didn't know why I was crying, but I needed to wash out all the emotions I had suppressed for a long time. Christine appeared behind me like a ghost, holding two cups of coffee. We stood there looking into the distance.

"You didn't stop?" she asked, pointing to the stick in my mouth.

I didn't know what to answer because the answer was yes and no.

"What's going on?" she asked. "And you don't have to lie, I know," she added with humor to lighten the situation.

"I need to continue my investigation, but everyone is preventing me. They're keeping me far away, forbidding me to get close to the FBI. You have to help me, Christine. It seems you're the only one I can still trust because,' I thought to myself.

"What about Kent?" she asked. "He won't help you?"

"I don't know," I answered uncertainly. "He is as charming and handsome as ever. He is funny, intelligent, and strong. I was touching him, caressing his face, touching his hair. His body is so satisfying. He is kind and caring. They hold protective wings over people, but," I stopped. I no longer knew how to finish this sentence, which I considered self-evident.

"But?" Christine nudged me.

"I do not know. I don't know if I can trust him anymore. He behaves differently. I can feel it," I said. "or is it me?" I asked a rhetorical question. "Was he right that I had changed?"

I began to doubt my judgment. I wasn't as sure of him as I used to be. Before, I would bet everything on him, but now I was seriously lost.