Guardian Angels ✔

41 - Willpower

He might have gone home if there hadn't been a shooting earlier today, or if Tara hadn't received a death threat. But with the knowledge about the danger they were in, he couldn't leave. Didn't want to leave. 

Not that he said that out loud. She would state that she wouldn't need his protection anyway, or she would call him a coward. Or both. To expel the silence he had switched on the tv. There was some comedy show on it, but the hollow laughter got on his nerves. He tried to follow the story, but the only words roaming through his head were the harsh words she had just spoken to him. Maybe they hadn't chased him away, but they had definitely hurt him. And the worst of all, was that she was probably right. Maybe he wanted her to break, wanted her to cry, just so he would feel less ashamed of all the times he had lost control over his emotions when she was around.

From the corner of his eye he looked at her. She sat on the other side of the couch, as far away as she could, it seemed. She stared forward, clearly deep in thoughts. What did she see? The things Miles had made her do? Memories about her time in the army? Was she thinking about her brother? He hated the distance. More than anything, he wanted to pull her in his arms, feel her skin against his. This morning everything had felt so good – just like this afternoon. But everything was different now and he didn't even know what had caused the change. He draped his arm across the backrest of the couch, with some kind of moronic hope that she would sat down next to him and lean against his shoulder. She didn't even notice. 

In the end he stood up with a sigh, headed outside and lit a cigarette. He actually craved for a joint, but he didn't have one. Sitting on a lawn chair he looked up, to the stars. Why had everything been so much easier when she had been Shane? They had never been in a fight. Part of him started to wish his friend had still been there. Shane would have sit next to him, he believed...

For a long time he stared forward. Then he heard a movement behind the door. Relief spread through him. Would she come to apologize? He was almost about to do it himself, but he wouldn't mean a word of it. He hadn't said a single hurtful word. 

When the door didn't open, he looked over his shoulder. She looked at him, right through the glass. She turned the key. 

Fuck – she turned the key! Shut him out! 

He jumped up, but she turned around and walked away. Arriving at the door, he slammed against the glass. She however didn't look back and disappeared in the hallway. 

"Fuck," he grunted – angry that she had shut him out without saying a single word. His keys were in his inside pocket and he could just go home, but it made him angry that she just pulled him this stunt. 

Again he knocked at the door, but she didn't come back .

 . . .

Alex stared at the ceiling, wide awake. How many hours had passed? Two? Three? She regretted shutting out Juice, but she had just needed some space, without him staring at her. 

At least, that was what she'd been thinking. However, the hours she had spent on her own now, hadn't improved her mood. Imaged flashed before her eyes, images of everything Juice had summarized a few hours ago. Miles' face when he forced her to blow him. The chain in Juice's hands when he wanted to hang himself. The heads that she had found in the duffel bag. This time they weren't of strangers; Mila's head was in it, and Juice's.

Her throat felt soar. What the hell was she doing? They were deep in cartel shit – maybe Mila was right. Maybe she had indeed lost her mind. Sighing, she took her phone from the nightstand. She had a suspicion that Juice wouldn't be sleeping either. He had done nothing wrong, he had tried to help her. It felt wrong for not letting him in, especially since she'd been angry with him when he had tried to solve his problems with Roosevelt all alone. She however didn't know what to say to him, so she just sent - Sorry.