✏️ The Littlest Spy

15. Innocence

Isadora stared across the table at Brock, knowing that she had no excuse to hold back now. She had opened the deepest wounds in his soul, demanding answers about things he'd avoided thinking about for a decade. All he wanted now was the truth about things that were still in her apartment. Not some painful history but the very real skeletons in her closet right now. And as scared as she was to share this with anyone else, she knew that she wasn't enough of a coward to focus on her own privacy while rampaging over his.

"They're mine," she stammered, trying not to cry. "The toys. The dresses. I mean... not from when I was a kid, obviously. But sometimes, the world seems like it's too much. When I see all the things that bandits get up to, and when I read the most depraved messages they were trying to keep us from seeing. I don't want to live in a world where that stuff happens. It gets to a point where I just don't want to be an adult anymore. I want to imagine I'm a child again, so I don't have to understand how twisted people can be."

"Like a child?" Brock asked. "I think perhaps... I don't understand that. But I can see that it's hard to share, and you don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"It's okay," she said. "I know it's weird. But when I was young and there was something to worry about... Ugh. I don't know if it's relevant, but I should tell you. One of my friends in school was... I guess you'd say precocious. Didn't want to be a kid anymore. Hanging around with older boys, so excited at getting early access to booze and sex. It kind of drove a wedge between us, because I couldn't understand that. I think I knew on some level that she was building her happiness into a house of cards that would come crashing down sooner or later. And I knew some of those older boys were taking advantage of her, treating her like a toy. But I didn't know their names, it was her secret, and I couldn't persuade her that this wasn't good for her. I wanted to... I wished we could go back to the days when neither of us thought about boys. When we'd just lie on the floor of the lounge with colouring books, or playing with Barbies – she had a huge doll's house, I remember. Or just sitting there watching cartoons, with a bunch of cuddlies arranged in neat rows beside us so we could pretend we were at the cinema."

"That's adorable," Brock laughed as Isadora's voice trailed away, and somehow that was reassuring. He wasn't calling her a freak, or any of the other things she might have expected. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh. And not judging you at all, I'm sure everyone played similar games as children. But when you talk about that, it's like your face lights up. And yeah, I guess it's easy to imagine you as a child, which I couldn't do for a lot of people. Kane, it's like he was born aged forty-something; it's impossible to imagine him not being middle-aged. But yeah, I'm sure you were such a good kid. The kind everybody loves. That's not something you should hide."

"Yeah," she mumbled. "Well, I'm not a kid now. Baby-faced, yeah, but it's hard enough to get respect when people won't look past my body. But maybe sometimes... Anyway, when O– When my friend started flushing her life away, I felt like I needed to escape. I missed those childhood sleepovers so much. And I couldn't persuade her to hang out with me anymore, beyond chatting at lunch and helping each other with homework. But I missed what we used to have. And one day I decided that I needed a break. So I got some of my old toys out again and tried to imagine I was still that little kid. Lying on a rug on the floor, staring up at cartoons on TV. Playing with dolls, and pretending they were all too innocent to know about the stuff my friend was so worried about. When true love meant you kiss someone and then get married and live happily ever after. And I know it didn't help. It didn't convince her to stop sending pictures to sketchy guys online, or even give her a reason to talk to me more. But it made me feel better, and for a little while that was enough. Enough for me to keep going, to finish school and set my sights on the Agency. You could say it's a coping mechanism, or just think of it as a way to relax. And I know it's weird, but sometimes it helps. And there's no real children involved. Just me, and toys, and childish clothes. Is there really anything wrong with that?"