Twenty-seven

I decide to go back to my apartment after who knows how long. It feels like I almost forgot about this place I call home, but as soon as I step in, I realize how cold it is and how empty it seems.

Looking around, I can't find something reassuring, something familiar. It's like I've never seen those plain white walls, the TV on the wall, or the two black couches. I turn my head and notice a gun laying on a table close to the entrance.

Luckily, I don't have a lot of visitors. Or friends, I think just as I grab the gun and hide it somewhere.

The truth is that four years ago, I decided I wanted my own place because I couldn't stand to sleep in my dorm room, where I had too many memories with someone I wanted to forget. Needed to forget. The pain was just unbearable. I couldn't step into that room unless I had to.

Now, that same someone is back from the dead and I somehow succeed to sleep a few times at the North Agency, despite the memories. The agency is my real home, after all. Should I really keep this apartment when I already have a place where I can sleep?

I shake my head, sighing. I thought this apartment would make me feel like I have a normal life, once in a while. But I don't. So what's the point?

Rubbing my eyes, I let out a deep breath. Tea. A cup of tea would be good.

I enter my kitchen and turn on the lights. I take a glance at the clock. 12:29 AM.

I freeze. I hate this feeling of déja vu that I'm having.

Clearing my suddenly dry throat, I start to prepare myself a hot tea. I should just go to bed, but I don't feel the tiredness yet.

I have my cup in hands when I hear something.

Someone is knocking at the door.

I look at the clock. 12:32 AM.

Hesitating, I peek through the hallway. I glance at the place I hid the gun. The knocking continues.

"Fucking shit," I mutter under my breath, dropping my cup on the counter and making my way towards the front door. Who's here at this time of the night?

That's why I take the gun before opening the door. And resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Of course it's him.

Frowning, I cross my arms, the gun still in my hand. "Brandon? What are you doing here?"

Again. It all feels too familiar, all of a sudden.

His gaze drops on my gun and he raises an eyebrow.

"You know you wouldn't stand a chance, even with that gun?" he says with a bit of amusement, a smirk on his lips.

I narrow my eyes. "Wanna bet?"

His eyes lighten with interest, and he leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. He's wearing a black leather jacket and a black long-sleeve shirt underneath. "I'm faster than you."

I scoff. "I'm smarter."

A damn lie. If you were smart, you wouldn't fail all your missions. And you would stay the hell away from the man in front of you.

For once, my inner voice is right.

His smirk remains still. He straightens and takes a step towards me. "Mind if I come in?"

Rolling my eyes, I reply. "Actually, yes. But I guess it won't stop you and since you're already here..."

I step to the side as he enters further. He raises his eyebrows in surprise at my reply. "What's up with you?"

"Do you know what time is it?" I shake my head, watching as he makes himself comfortable in my living room, his feet resting on the coffee table.

He looks up at me, shrugging a shoulder. "Midnight or something."

"Exactly. So why the hell aren't you at the N.A, sleeping?" I say, disappearing one second to get my tea.

"Why aren't you?" he replies, his eyes watching me as I take a seat on the other couch, staying as far as I can from him.

I take a sip from my tea before I answer. "Because I wanted to have my damn tea before I go to bed."

"No, I mean why aren't you at the agency, tonight?"

"Is that a crime that I chose to go back to my apartment to sleep, tonight?" I keep my eyes on my cup, feeling his own burning the side of my head.

A few seconds pass. I take a look at my phone. 12:36 AM.

He finally breaks the silence filled with tension.

"You're running away from me."

Blinking, I glance quickly in his direction. "I don't—"

"You are. You can't stand my presence anymore. You're uncomfortable and are avoiding eye contact since I'm sitting here."

I grit my teeth and put my tea away.

Brandon sighs. "Damn it, sweetheart."

My head whirls towards him, and I instantly glare at him. "Damn it, Brandon! Why do you call me that?"

He leans forward, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands intertwined together. He looks up, his expression intense. Like, too intense for me.

He better stays where he is.

"Because I want to," he answers calmly, his eyes not leaving mine, and I feel myself losing it.

"And I want you to leave me alone," I say through my gritted teeth, not blinking once. My hands start to shake. "But we don't always get what we want."

His eyes fall on my mouth. I clench my fists.

"Damn right about that," he mutters, looking up after a few seconds to meet my eyes.

Thankfully, he decides to change the subject. Kind of.

"There's someone wanting you dead out there—or at least wanting something from you. So yes, I admit that I'm worried that you stay here, even if I know how capable you are to defend yourself. I know you aren't weak, but you aren't invincible either."

"Never said I was." I drop my head against my couch and look up at the ceiling.

Then, silence settles. I know he's staring at me again, and I can't find the energy to do something about it.

"I missed you so much," he whispers, and just like that, my breath catches in my throat and I can't speak anymore.

"Every day, every night. Every fucking second," he continues, looking at nothing in particular, his voice still a whisper. I can't move. "Wondering where you were, what actually happened to you..." He pauses, swallowing. "If you really died like they told me. But that's the thing, they told me. So I had to move on, right? I had to forget you."

His eyes meet mine. I imagine my face blank of emotions, but I'm not too sure of what he's seeing right now. His face though expresses everything he's trying to tell me. And I don't want to know. I don't.

Or do you?

"I couldn't, even if I wanted to. Something felt wrong every time I tried. You couldn't be dead. But you were."

You couldn't be dead.

"Nova started to show interest towards me and... I don't know. I think I got with her because she somehow made me think of you."

"That's not nice," I speak up for the first time, my voice hoarse.

His lips form a small smile before he loses it. "She wasn't you, though. Never been."

He pauses again.

"Nobody is like you," he murmurs.

I swallow and look away from him.

"And I guess what they say is true, you know? That you can't love somebody the same way you loved someone before. In my case, I think I couldn't really love someone else, period. Because I was still in love with you, even if you were gone."

He stands up from his seat. I shake my head, raising a hand in his direction.

"Please, don't," I say, taking deep breaths. I can't focus.

He ignores me and instead, grabs the hand I'm raising to put me on my two feet. I look up, my lips parted.

"I had to tell you, Sophia. You need to understand that you never lost me. You thought that I was gone, and I thought you were as well. The things that happened in the last four years don't mean anything."

His breath fans my face. I can't. This is wrong. I have to react.

Shaking my head, I try to find in me enough strength to continue.

"You're not in love with me anymore. You loved her, Brandon." I take a step back.

He frowns, shaking his head. "How can you say that? You don't decide what I feel or not, just as I can't decide for you what to feel for me. But I have high hopes that you..."

He stops to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I hold my breath.

"...feel the same way about me," he finishes, dropping his hand. "That you l—"

That's when I react.

I push him away and duck to grab the gun I left on the couch. I turn towards him and raise my weapon, my index finger almost pressed against the trigger safety. My hands don't tremble anymore.

Brandon's face is blank of emotions, like he doesn't believe I would fire.

"Really? I'm actually telling you what I feel for once and you want to shoot me?"

"Stop talking to me about love." I take a step closer, my gun aimed at his head. Behind him, I see the clock on the wall. 12:45 AM.

He's so fast I don't see him coming.

The moment I look back at him, he's right in front of me, and in less than a second, he disarms me easily before throwing the gun away and twisting my arm in my back.

Not enough to hurt me, though. Maybe he won't, but I do. I can.

I have to hurt him.

Destroy him.

"Told you I was fast," he says lowly in my ear, and I lose it.

I let out a scream and throw my foot backward, hitting his crotch. He grumbles in pain and takes a few steps back, glaring at me when I turn around to face him. I jump on the back of the couch and then it's on him that I jump, falling hard on his back. His hands catch my wrists before I can do any damage to his face, and he manages to get me off of him before turning around to punch me.

I dodge his fist, and then his other one. His foot almost gets in contact with my stomach, but I take quick steps backward until my back meets the bookcase. I curse as a few books fall, and Brandon catches one that was about to fall on my head.

Gritting my teeth, I wait for him to hit me. He doesn't. He just stares down at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

I'm breathless, too.

His lips are too close to mine. Too close.

Focus. You can't let that happen. You won't.

1.

Close your eyes, take a deep breath, clench your fists.

2.

Forget about it, let the wall gets bigger, do not let them see your emotions.

3.

Open your eyes. Blank. You—

"Don't. Don't do that." His voice startles me and I open my eyes, seeing him still as close as before, his eyes focused on mine. "Don't shut me out. Don't do that to yourself. Feel, Sophia. Let me see your emotions."

No!

I have to destroy him. I have to...

"You can't," he whispers, and I realize I might have talked out loud this time. "You can't do that, sweetheart."

And then his lips are on mine.

I can't move, can't do anything. Can't breathe. Yet, surely, slowly, it feels like I'm taking my first breath in years.

And I want to hate that feeling.

Brandon is kissing me. His lips, so familiar, move against mine. I can't respond, can't do anything. It's almost painful, but that pain is so fucking beautiful it makes me want to scream and to cry all at once.

It's so familiar, too familiar. I can't believe this is really happening. Can't believe I'm letting this happening, but my mind shut down.

His hand cups my cheek gently, and then his arm wraps around my waist, bringing me closer to his chest, and I finally move my lips against his.

His reaction to that is to kiss me more urgently, both of his arms wrapping around me like he's afraid I might disappear. A strange sensation in my chest, like something is tightening, makes me tremble in his arms, and I shut my eyes even tighter, not liking it. My eyes start to burn with that familiar sensation I haven't felt in years, and I refuse to let any tears go.

I don't know how I'm still standing on my two feet, or why I'm still kissing him. At some point, Brandon breaks the kiss, but he doesn't let me go.

He leans his forehead against mine and lets out a sigh.

"It feels right again," he murmurs against my lips, his eyes closed.

It feels like I'm living again when I shouldn't.

He shouldn't even be alive.

This, right now, shouldn't be happening. But it is.

*

12:51 AM.

The night I failed to destroy Love.

*

My teacher's face yesterday when my friend "finished" her exam after twenty minutes:

Me leaving twenty minutes just after her, with no idea what the hell I just wrote:

Hahaha. Ha. Ha. Yeah.

I discovered my talent: caring but not giving a f*ck at the same time. That's priceless. 😂

ANYWAY! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! ❤️

Iiiiih they kissed! What was your reaction? :)

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