Coming Back to You ✔

2. May

Unpacking was a very logical thing to do. New apartment, new city, new life. And it's not like she could live out of a suitcase for the indefinite future. But it hardly mattered. Right now, unpacking went against every instinct Sophia had at the moment.

Unfortunately for her, there really wasn't much else for her to do, though.

Two suitcases and a backpack. Sophia felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she stared down at the three bags that held her entire life. It's not something she had ever thought about, she doubted it was something anyone thought about, the fact that it was so easy to pack up her life if the circumstances demanded it. But here she was.

Sure, some of her stuff, the things that could be traced like her phone and computer, were currently sitting at FBI headquarters along with her personal documents. And given her less than adequate time to pack, she had left some of her things back in California. But everything that was either useful or important lay in those three bags.

Well, almost, everything important.

In resigned silence, Sophia lifted the first suitcase off the floor and onto her new bed, unzipping it and getting to work. She couldn't even bring herself to sigh or cry or feel sorry for herself. Her brain was on autopilot, going through the motions of organizing clothing, toiletries, and personal items. She even folded her panties before putting them into the drawer. If the rest of her apartment looked like it belonged to a neat freak, IKEA enthusiast, her bedroom might as well look the same.

Sophia sucked in a sharp gasp when she got to the bottom of the second suitcase. Glancing around nervously despite knowing that no one was watching, Sophia grasped one of the last items to unpack with trembling hands. She stared at it, fighting the tears that threatened to appear but she refused to let fall.

Nothing that connects you to Los Angeles or your previous life. That's what Agent Mike Travers had told Sophia when she first met him at her L.A. apartment. Nothing that can be used to connect you to your past. Nothing that he can use to find you.

Sophia had listened. For the most part.

She pressed the LAFD t-shirt into her face, inhaling the faint trace of smoke that mixed with cologne, hints of cedarwood and sharp pepper winding into her sense. God, it smelled like him. Sophia could almost feel his arms wrapping around her after he came home from a long shift, his scent winding around her just as much as his body.

Sophia sank down onto the bed, pressing the shirt against her chest. Her chest constricted and she took in a sharp inhale, trying to get oxygen into her now-starved body. Knives stabbed her abdomen from the inside, and once again, she held back a sob.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice coming out in a whispered gasp. "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve this." She wasn't sure if she was talking to him or herself.

A tidal wave of pain threatened to wash over and drown her, but Sophia held the barriers holding it back firmly in place. She shoved the shirt into a drawer, slamming it with a little too much force, took a deep breath, and then slid the second suitcase underneath her bed next to the first.

"Okay, Sophia, keep it together." She had been saying that, out loud, to herself for the past several days.

Sophia left the bedroom and did an inventory of the rest of her apartment. It had everything she could want, from kitchen tools to furniture to electronics. Her pantry and refrigerator were fully stocked, but she wasn't hungry. She hadn't been hungry in days.

Still, autopilot kicked in once again and she made herself dinner. She swallowed without tasting, washing everything down with water. She forced herself to clean the plate instead of just leaving it in the sink.

Sophia glanced at the clock. It was just past six. All Sophia wanted to do was curl up in bed and go to sleep. But she couldn't. Not this early.

Then again, who was to tell her not to?

Showering joined eating as something not particularly high on Sophia's list of concerns, but like her meal, she forced herself to do it regardless. Hair damp and skin clean, Sophia slipped into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and crawled into bed.

But once she was there, surrounded by stiff sheets and laying on a firm mattress, sleep was nowhere near. Instead, all of the emotions that she had been shoving into little boxes to keep herself from falling apart began to escape from their confines.

For the first time, Sophia allowed herself to feel terror.

He was looking for her, and if he found her, he would harm her. Kill her. There was no question about that. There was a reason why Sophia was under FBI protection, over three thousand miles from her home. He was that reason.

Sophia had pushed down her feelings about the danger ever since the Feds first showed up at her door. With the way her heart splintered every mile she traveled farther from home, she didn't have the time or the emotional capacity for anything else. But now, all alone in her dark apartment, nothing was keeping her from feeling those emotions.

She rolled over and buried her face into her pillow, letting out a bloodcurdling shriek that no one could hear. It was remarkably unsatisfying.

Sophia rolled back over and wished she could scream up to the ceiling, but was also very aware that if Jamie heard her screaming bloody murder, it would be approximately three seconds before the female agent busted down the door, firearm drawn. Not a great way to start.

So she kept the scream inside. The fear and anger ebbed away to a manageable level, but all that left Sophia was a feeling of emptiness. She twisted one hand into her shirt and stretched the other to the opposite side of the bed. It felt like a long time since she had slept alone.

She drew her knees up to her chest, curling into a fetal position as she felt her earlier stomach pain return. Sophia seriously doubted that there was anything physically wrong with her. She knew from years of working in the ER that stress and other strong, negative emotions could cause physical pain. Sophia had never experienced symptoms this bad, before, but if there was ever going to be a time for them to start, it would be now.

She missed him so much that it made her entire body ache.

She hated him so much that fire surged through her veins, burning white hot.

Two men. One she wanted nothing more than to curl up next to in bed and forget about everything that was happening. One who was becoming the first person she ever wanted to kill with her bare hands.

The polar opposite feelings paralyzed her so that even though it took her until one in the morning to finally fall into a restless sleep, she stayed curled up, her muscles tense and brain numb. But the lack of actual rest didn't really matter. For the first time in a long time, Sophia had nothing to get up for. Her job wouldn't start until Monday, and it was only Friday night, so there was no reason to worry about not getting sleep.

She dreamt that night of both of them, their faces weaving in and out of her mind, causing her more than once to jerk awake short of breath and sweating.

Sophia was drowning, and there was no one around to save her.