LOUIS 🗡
Tuesday, 6:34am
_
EVERYTHING HAS A REASON.
Now, sometimes those reasons may be muddy and unclear—which is my reason—but they're still very much explainable. I suppose. There should be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, but I'm currently trying not to get suspended, so I can't really focus.
Remember when I said I was really attracted to her?
Yeah, well that turned out to be a huge pain in the neck. I made the terrible mistake of forgetting my boundaries, my mind, and my own morals, so I kissed a criminal in the middle of the pavement. Not just any criminal, the one I was supposed to catch.
And now I was storming down the hallway of the SIS, on my way to my office.
I can remember it vividly; a few moments ago.
"You're a daft idiot," she had laughed, "I can't believe you did that."
I remembered hearing her laugh again, something I hadn't really heard in the time I'd known her. It sounded entirely average, but I still liked it, because it belonged to her. But that was the problem—I shouldn't like her. She was my enemy, the person who fabricated a whole plan to kill me. But I kept forgetting that.
"Big words from someone who kissed back," I had said.
She shrugged. "Call it opportunity?"
"Just admit you liked it, and we can pretend it never happened."
"Who says I liked it?"
I gave her a look, and she laughed again. That only made my heart sink. She didn't know I had agreed to bring her in, and she didn't know I was told to kill her if the worst came down to it. It was a double-sided situation—we may have kissed, but it didn't mean a thing.
It shouldn't mean a thing.
And it didn't mean much to her either, it seemed, because she gave me a cheeky grin, batting her eyelashes innocently.
"Don't think this changes anything, Partridge," she said, "I'm still going to kill you."
I sighed. "That wasn't why I did it."
"I know."
"Good."
"Maybe I'll give you another week," she added, "would be a shame to let you go to waste, hm?"
I didn't say anything, turning to look at the floor. A million thoughts were running through my mind. I felt bad for her—not in a pity way—but because she didn't understand. She acted cocky and sure of everything, but I knew she was still new to the world.
I could see it in her eyes when I saw her tattoo. Full of fear, full of sadness. She'd been tied to her family her whole life, so she didn't know how to make it on her own.
And she didn't know that feelings only got in the way of things.
I didn't love her, but I didn't hate her as much as I should have. The thing was that I had a job, and I wasn't going to throw it away for a few minutes of mutual attraction. She wouldn't throw away her dignity for me. We were equal fighters on the same battlefield.
So that's why I went straight to my office when we left each other, my mind reeling. She'd roped me into her little game, and I had to crawl myself out in order to escape. Feelings were nothing when it came to being an Agent.
And feelings meant nothing when it came to her.
They can't.
And they won't.
It wasn't a question of my own self morals—because I knew I'd want to let her go if it was—it was a question of my job. My standing. My ego, because I had a reputation to uphold, and I wasn't going to let a criminal (who wanted to kill me, might I add) stab me in the back in the end.
Because let's face it, she would.
So I have to be the one to do it first.
"Tell me you've got good news, Partridge," William said when I walked into the office, "I'm getting tired of the bad ones."
I didn't bother taking off my jacket. "It's good."
For Team Dagger, not for Ash.
"Wonderful," my partner said, "elaborate."
I didn't tell him about the kiss—I just told him I 'secured a sense of trusting' with her. I knew he'd overlook it through his hate for Ash. Ever since she left him humiliated in his own office, he'd hated her more than anything. That's why he joined Team Dagger, and that's why he was so bent on making sure I got my job done.
And I was glad for that, because I would have gotten off track otherwise.
So we made a plan with the group of Tacticals lended to us by the Agency, and we planned an extensive roll out that would garner success. I tried to ignore the doubts picking in the back on my brain while I went over everything. No regrets, I had to keep telling myself, this is your job.
And soon, all we had to do was wait.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
Tuesday, 7:34pm
Lou.
Ash.
Let me guess.
You're bored?
Yep :)
Let's meet somewhere then.
Where?
Trailer Park.
You know the coordinates.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
SHE WALKED IN WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE.
I stood there, in the center of rusting metal and cars, watching as her hair tossed side to side as the wind blew past her face. She wasn't wearing black today. I don't think I've ever seen her wearing something but the color, but this time she was wearing a white shirt.
She looked pretty.
And she was, but I shouldn't care.
"Lou the Lemon," she said, coming to a stop in front of me, "why do you look so sour today?"
Something was different about her—maybe it was the way she spoke to me. Usually it was full of spite or anger, but this time it was sweet. Like the way you'd talk to a friend. But I wasn't her friend, I was her opponent. I didn't want her to change, because that would make it harder for me to get my job done.
Why, out of all times, did she have to be sweet now?
"Lemon?" I asked, "is that my new nickname?"
She shrugged. "If you wanted it to be."
I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore. I used to know everything. I used to be so sure of every move I made, and I used to be so full of myself when I made the correct ones. I was aware of my arrogance, and I thought I had a right to be so. But she showed up and ruined it all for me.
A man can no longer be arrogant when he's met his match.
An equal opponent.
"So why are you sour, Mr. Lemon," she smirked, clearly teasing, "you look like something's wrong."
I glanced away. "Nothing is wrong."
"Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying to you."
"Now you've lied to me twice," she said, her voice tensing up, "Louis, what's going on with you?"
She spoke to me like I was a friend. Like I wasn't a threat, and like she wasn't a threat to me. I hated it now. I thought it was just the side effect of a week of insufferable tension, but now I feel like it's just been a charade this whole time. Had she been pretending to be so close to me just so she could trick my mind into thinking I was?
It made sense now.
Every time she'd say those snarky comments ("don't pretend you haven't been thinking about me all day, Louis", "You know what I meant, and you know I'm right") she acted like she knew me.
She doesn't know me.
And I don't know her.
Not really, that is.
"Sorry, Ash," I said, bringing my hand up towards my lips, "it's been fun."
I could see the flicker of realization in her eyes when I called out a code-whistle, something that resembled a lighter igniting. A flame igniting in her mind.
Letting my hand drop back to my side, I avoided eye contact with her, turning around and letting my team finish the job. I didn't need to see her face in order to know it was scorned with betrayal—but who have I betrayed? We were nothing but enemies.
Twelve Tacticals, all bearing arms of Daggers, swiftly ran onto the scene, weapons aimed and at the ready. They had been waiting for my signal this whole time, and I had only been waiting for her.
But I kept walking.
I didn't want to see the anger in her eyes. I didn't want to see the pure hatred she fought with, putting up a fight with the rest of my team as she tried to save her freedom. I didn't want to see the hope die in her heart when she realized she was out numbered.
I didn't want to see her.
It would hurt.
"Is it done?" I asked, my eyes staring at the darkening sky above me.
William, who had been camped out in one of the nearby trailers, pulled a lighter out of his pocket, tossing it towards me. He had a cigarette in his left hand, dangly loosely as he swaggered his way across the trailer park, a satisfied smirk on his face.
"She's in the car," he said, "are you sure you don't want to say any last words before she's behind bars?"
I shook my head.
"Thought so," the man scoffed in amusement, "good work, Partridge."
I ignored that statement. "Did she put up a fight?"
"A good one. Took out four of our Tacticals."
"Was she hurt?"
"Not badly."
"Perfect," I whispered, even though it felt entirely the opposite, "inform the Higher-Ups that the mission is completed."
William nodded, disappearing through the broken ruins of trailers abandoned through time. I needed to get out of this place. It held nothing but corrupted memories and possible regrets. I didn't want to remember, and I didn't want to feel guilty.
Turning on my heels, I began to walk back towards the center of the place, noticing that my team had already cleared everything out. She was gone. She'd finally been caught, and I was too ashamed to even bear witness to it.
But as I passed through the gravelly ground, a shiny glint caught my eye.
Laying discarded amongst the rubble, a familiar dagger was lying forgotten. I recognized the sleek, black handle, and the flame engraved in silver on the top. It was hers. She must have dropped it when she lost.
Picking it up, I gave it one last look, before slipping it into the loop of my belt.
We won.
But somehow I feel like I still lost.