Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (34 page)

What am I doing? I don't know what I am saying!

"That's a lie. I mean more to you. You saved my life." Jeremy is quick to reject the statement, and his wavering tone jabs me to the core.

I want to cry, but my body won't let me, and for
once, that makes me angry with myself. I want to cry; I want to cry badly. My subconscious is shouting now:
Jeremy's right!

I hyperventilate as I make my big, strong boyfriend wilt in front of me with the weapon of my words. This is all too much for me. I need space to think. Jeremy is the most important person to me, but love? I can't even grasp
...

I shrug to feign indifference. "It's my job, Jeremy."

"Please, you are full of shit and you know it," he sneers.

You're right.
His words sting, and I square my shoulders as if preparing myself for battle.

"Don't act like you know what is good for me. Only I know what is good for me, Jeremy!"

"Can you hear yourself right now? You obviously have no idea what is good for you."

I clench my fists. "Yes. I. Do."

"No, you haven't a clue. I know what is good for you. I am good for you. Just as much as I hate to admit that you are good for me. You drive me crazy. You do nothing but challenge everything I do, but at least I know I need that. I need you."

"This is too much, too soon. We've known each other five minutes."

"It's not like either of us is good at taking things slow. I am a man who knows what he wants, and knows what he means. And I mean it when I say I love you. It's crazy, I know, but I can't help it. Can't you see I am risking myself for you when I say that? I've never said those words before."

I can feel my tingling panic turn into resentful fury. It's a defense mechanism, an inexperienced, immature reaction that has worked for
years. However, that was when I had a lot less to lose. "I'm not full of shit. I am not good for you. I care for you, I do, but I am not ready to love anyone."

Jeremy's body droops as if releasing its tentative struggle. The action tells me he's disappointed in me. His body is quick to throw up the white flag, and the transition feels like a combo of punches to my well-being, one after another.

My subconscious is clawing at the walls of my skull, screaming in panic for me to fight for him, but my shattered confidence and my cowardly heart choose the easier route.

I don't say a damn thing.

"I don't know what's going on, but ya know what? Maybe you are right. We—I can't do this. I deserve to be loved the way I want to be loved, and if you aren't ready to confront that, or willing to understand it, then what the hell am I doing? You ask for honesty, yet you can't even do yourself the favor. You are full of shit, Alex. I love you, but maybe you're right, maybe it is too much for us right now, huh?" He is frustrated with me.

His words are like daggers. I clench my jaw tight
ly as I watch Jeremy's eyes turn electric while his facial expression falls. He is trying to show he is strong, but his eyes are screaming for me to fight for him.

I can't. This is too much for us. I can't love anyone when I don't have anything to offer
him. Why couldn't he be happy how we were?

He runs both hands through his hair
, and as if impatient, he cuts the silence sharply. "Fine! Have it your way, then. I am not going to fight for you if you aren't willing to fight for me. It's not fair."

"You're right."
It's a whisper, but all I can muster.

He
brings his hands up to his ear as if trying to hear me. "Oh, what's that? OK. This is it, then? After everything? So, I figure out how I feel about you, and you can't figure it out for yourself?"

He rubs his temples
as if he is mulling a thought over. "This is not how I pictured today, but you need someone to kick you in your ass, and because I love you, I am going to ask you to leave."

I exhale as if he slugged me in the gut. "W-what?" Is he really asking me to leave? What does this mean?

"I am going to go back to my room to take a shower. You need to gather your thoughts and figure out what and whom you want to fight for. I know it seems rash, but you have to decide if it is going to be all about you, or are you going to choose us? You didn't have to tell me you loved me, but you didn't have to reject me."

I don't know how to respond
.
There is no protocol in my life experience that I can pull from to salvage anything. I am beyond flawed.

Jeremy eyes me for one last brief moment before
he walks away.

He
is a man of his word.

As I see him expanding the distance between us, my body tries to fight for a solution. The only thing to escape my lips is, "Jeremy, please don't go." This is all I have. This is my only chance.

He snorts at the statement, and sharply turns around to face me. It's as if my body could sense the end, that this could possibly be the last time I ever lay my eyes on Jeremy. I swing my stare to his broad shoulders, memorizing the statuesque curves and angles, and then, in what feels like slow motion, I drag my eyes over his toned chest and taut stomach. Lastly, I commit to memory the lines of his masculine hips. I devour his classical features, and I wish I were close enough to get one final inhale of him,
like a drug.

"Give me a reason to stay."
His voice is as quiet as mine, and I am worried I am going to miss a word, but they are crystal clear.

It's an obvious challenge, but the risk feels too big, the leap too grand, the future too unknown.

His words make me choke, and all the breath feels knocked out of me. I stand there, stoic, rooted to the spot, and silent, wishing he would read my mind and know that I am too afraid to say the words.

Pursing his lips, he nods. "That's what I thought." With that, he turns around, and doesn't even care enough to take one last look back. The last thing I hear is his bedroom door slam.

My body screams, and finally the tears fall.

I make a run for it.

Evidence & Suffering

ALEX TURNER

I grip the barrel of my gun as I shoot off three consecutive rounds
; the mechanical blows racking my body are a comfortable substitute for my sobs.

I refocus, recognizing I must have had my blank, deep-thinking, daydreaming stare. I wasn't even looking where I was shooting, but
luckily, I'm a professional. The three shots are still centered on the chest cavity of the target dummy in the distance.

Professional what, Agent Turner? Is this truly the only thing you have to offer this world?

I utter, "Fuck," under my breath as I raise my arms for another onslaught of shots, but there's a firm hand on my shoulder, causing me to leap in the air. I whip around. Derek throws his hands up defensively. He's speaking, but I can't hear him due to my noise-canceling headset. I yank the headset off, and then place my gun back on the table.

"What the hell, Derek? You don't sneak up on someone with a gun! What were you saying to me?"

He relaxes a bit, but his eyebrow rises.

"Derek, I said
, what is it?" My tone is harsh. I take a deep breath in hopes of calming myself.

"Are you
OK, Turner?" He takes a bold step closer as if to get a better look at my face.

"What are you talking about, Derek?" I wipe my eyes.

He puts his hands into his pockets, and his face tenses.
He suspects.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Why do his words make me want to cry again? I catch myself sniffling, and I shake my head. I have to concentrate on not letting my emotions get the best of me. I don’t trust myself to speak.

"You've been crying, haven't you?"

The feeling I have become well acquainted with rears its ugly head.
Embarrassment.
I square my shoulders and shake my head.

Derek knows not to challenge me, and nods, as if to say he will respect my silence
—for now.
See, Derek gets me.

"I've been trying to get a hold of you all morning. You weren't answering your phone, but I guess I know why
. You couldn't hear it. Agent Jensen said he saw you down here."

I nod again, finding myself without much to say.

Derek takes a deep breath as he swings his hips with his hands still in his pockets. He doesn't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with me.

"I'm here to take you to surveillance.
We have the connection to Gibbs's phone, figured you'd want to join me. You look like you could use a solid distraction."

"You'd be right. You got a cup of coffee waiting for me up there?"

"Of course." He smiles, and I find the familiarity comforting.

"Lead the way, Agent Matthews."
As I follow him, I remember the last time coffee and I had an encounter. "On second thought, do we have tea?"

****

I swivel in my chair to find Derek staring at me as we drink our second cups
. I decide that I hate the taste of tea, but I drink it anyway.

I peer around the small room at the other agents gathered around equipment, turning knobs and checking security video. Some are looking at cameras pertaining to our case, but others have assignments
of their own. I am jealous of their focus.

Letting out a sigh, I stare at our blank screen. The neon
green line is flat, with no incoming sound. We are waiting for Marcus to use his damn phone.

"Fuck this case," I blurt out.

Derek stifles a chuckle as he leans back in his chair. "Are you kidding me right now, Turner? When you really think about it, this has been our easiest case yet."

I roll my eyes, collapsing back into my chair as well. "Maybe, but I am ready to move on to the next one."

"What the hell happened? I thought you might welcome a calmer, local case this time around."

I take a tentative sip as I mull his words over. "I'll take option two please, gun fight in Libya for five hundred."

He lets out a series of deep laughs. "Well, at least I know you still have a sense of humor. Now spill the beans, or do I have to beat it out of you like before?"

I let out a sigh, but feel my lips twitch into a weak smile. "Thank you for being you. You never change."
He seems to be the only person I can count on.

Who. Am. I. Right. Now?

He takes another sip, and raises his thick brow. "Is that a compliment?"

I nod, rolling my eyes again. "Yes. Take it or leave it."

"Seeing as it is the only one you have ever given me, I'll take it. But don't think that because you dish out one of your rare half-ass compliments, I am going to let whatever is going on with you slide."

I realize that I actually do want to talk to someone about it. I chew my lip
, thinking this over, wondering if Derek is the right person to talk to. But who else do I have? I open my mouth, deciding to give it a go, but static interrupts me.

Our eyes dart to the screen, and the neon line bounce
s like an EKG machine recording a heartbeat, except tones are heard as if Marcus is dialing a number.
Yes.

I decide to pass on the emotional confession. "It's Marcus
. He's finally calling someone. For the love of all that is holy, please make this call a good one."

Derek and I lean over the dash of buttons, grabbing headsets to get a better listen. I can hear Derek whisper under his breath, "C'mon, Marcus
."

I turn the nob, adjusting the static to a minimum, and focusing on the incoming transmission. I press the record button in hope
that this is the hard evidence we need. It begins with that horrid woman's chirpy voice.

"Hello?"

"Adessa, where are you?"

"Worried about me, Marcus? What
does it matter to you?"

"You said you'd be here so I could take you to my lab."

"It'll have to wait until tomorrow. I am meeting with someone to get what you need for tomorrow."

An audible sigh. "Fine, but tomorrow we do our final tests, and the shipment should be ready."

"Ah, perfect. My father will be pleased that it is ready early. I forgot to ask you before, do you have the transportation equipment for the product, or do I have to order it?"

"No, I have everything. Even the equipment you need to dispense it. It's easy though. I remember you mentioned putting it in the local water source; that would probably be the easiest."

"Yes, I agree. Well, I will be back shortly. I'll see you soon. If you're not careful, Mr. Gibbs, I might actually miss you."

"Adessa, please."

"Hmm. We will visit the lab tomorrow and make preparations."

"Good
bye, Adessa."

"Bye, Marcus."

The neon green line goes flat once, and I press the stop button.

"Enough evidence for you, Agent Matthews? We have to move on this as soon as possible if they are planning on transporting it tomorrow!"

"You've got your wish, Turner. Write up the warrant for arrest. I think we have enough to move in. Let's get Alvarado to sign off on it, and I'm sure he can call in a favor with Judge Mills to sign off on it tonight, considering what is at stake. Let's plan on getting to Gibbs's apartment at eight hundred hours tomorrow."

I grin for the first time all day. "You got it, boss." Let's wrap this up so I can focus on other pressing matters. I pull out my cell phone, noting it's already noon, and the fact that Jeremy hasn't called me.
Did you really think he would?

Nervously, I
peek over at Derek, who is getting up from his seat. As he gets up, he points a deliberate finger at me, and for some reason, the gesture causes my stomach to somersault. The image of Jeremy pointing at me and calling me out on my fears flashes in my mind, and I gulp.

"Turner, write up that warrant. I gotta go call Alvarado, but this conversation isn't over."

I bite my lip, knowing exactly which conversation he is referencing. Now I'm not sure if I should talk about it. All I can manage is another nod.

Derek strides out of the room, and I claw at my gut
, wondering what this is that I am feeling. My subconscious is quick to respond.
It's called heartbreak, you idiot.

I let out an exasperated sigh and stare down at my phone. I become angry at my subconscious’s disapproving tone. She hates me right now, and I hate myself too.

Frustrated with the overwhelming feelings, I decide on a whim to call him. But what am I going to say? I have no plan of action.

I press the call button on Jeremy's name, and bring the device to my ear. My breathing and heart rate accelerate, and I swear I am chewing my lip raw.
You can do this. Tell him how you feel, tell him you lov—

After the fourth
ring, it switches to voicemail.

My stomach plummets. I get the urge to cry, but I can't let that happen
. There are people around.

I decide I need to focus on other things. I have to, or I'll end up a sad puddle of mush on the floor. I force myself to get up to get some work done.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

My subconscious retorts
,
suffer!