Forgotten feelings

Part ~ 7

I don't even know what surprised me more: the fact that our partner with Sam turned out to be a girl I fell for like a schoolboy, or that we were declared wanted a few days ago. The three of us spent our monotonous, restless days in Belgium, trying to stay in the shadows and avoid any unwanted attention.

Ellen was the one I couldn't get out of my head. She was smart, strong, and at the same time incredibly vulnerable. She had a habit of smoothing things over when necessary, but right now, her nerves were on edge. Her gaze, usually calm and confident, now showed tension and anxiety.

— "Hydra has infiltrated everywhere. I'm afraid this reminds me of something," —Ellen said with a sigh. Her voice was quiet, but there was a note of worry in it. She looked first at me, then at Sam, hinting that this situation had an alarming resemblance to what we had already been through. Her fingers nervously gripped the coffee cup as she brought it to her lips, taking a sip of the strong drink. Ellen leaned back in her chair, throwing her head back and hugging her knees, as if trying to find some support in this chaos.

A tense silence hung in the room, one that Sam seemed unable to tolerate. He paced nervously, his steps echoing in the small space as he tried to come up with a plan. His face displayed a full range of emotions: from anger to despair.

— "There's still no word. Everyone's been informed about us, and they're all searching. So we're in deep shit," — Sam finally said, completing another round of the room. His words hung in the air like an invisible weight pressing down on us.

I slowly sank onto the couch, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. I closed my eyes, trying to organize my thoughts and find at least some idea of how to get out of this mess. Memories of numerous missions, dangerous and even hopeless situations we had somehow gotten out of, floated before my eyes. But now, everything felt different.

The sounds of the street barely reached through the closed windows: cars, people's voices, somewhere in the distance — church bells. It seemed an ironic contrast to our isolated, tense reality. We were in a quiet town on the outskirts of Belgium, far from the hustle and bustle of big cities. The room where we were hiding was cramped and cluttered, but it had become our temporary refuge. Its walls, covered in light wallpaper, were silent witnesses to our discussions and anxieties.

Thoughts swirled around the problem of how to escape this trap. Time was running out, and no solution was in sight, only the tension kept growing.

— "I don't know how many more days we can sit here before they find us. But we need to decide something," — Sam said, his voice trembling with nerves as he looked at all of us, hoping for a suggestion.

— "I have no idea what we're supposed to do. We've literally become enemies of the people, even the damn government is siding with Hydra now. Cut off one head, and two grow back in its place... It seems like our problems work exactly the same way," — Ellen responded, folding her arms across her chest. Her eyes were closed, silently expressing inner helplessness. Her expression showed confusion, as if she was struggling to cope with the situation.

—"The more we try to deal with the situation, the more we need to consider the potential consequences," — I added.

— "When I agreed to help you, I didn't think I'd be hiding. What does Fury say?" — Ellen asked again, her voice sounding detached, and the exhaustion was visible in her eyes.

— "He's in hiding too, didn't say where so we wouldn't give him away. But he's trying his best to crush them, though it's not as easy as it may seem," — Sam replied, sitting down across from me. His face looked tired and worried, his eyes dull from sleeplessness.

— "Is there a gym nearby?" — I asked, feeling my mind refusing to cooperate and pressing down on me.

— "Yeah, ten meters away around the corner, but I wouldn't go to such crowded places. You can work out at home, and as for running, I can't forbid you. Just make sure there are no people around, be careful," — said Sam, sizing me up with a look that expressed a faint hope that we could somehow resolve the situation.

— "When was the last time I was careless?" — I replied, trying to divert attention from the heavy atmosphere. I looked out the window, where night had already fallen, and felt a pang of fear in my chest. Sleep was impossible due to the horrific nightmares that wouldn't leave me in peace.

— "Shall I remind you of a few?" — I dryly smiled, trying to find some comfort in this hopeless situation. My face attempted to remain calm, but the tension still lingered. Turning my head, I saw Ellen trying to force a smile, though it could hardly be called one. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the hot coffee.

— "I'll go with you tomorrow; I'm sick of these four walls," — the girl said, resting her chin on her knee and gazing at something in her cup. Her eyes were focused.

Sam observed our conversation, and I felt his piercing gaze, one I could not ignore. His smile, though somewhat sinister, held an attempt to lighten the mood, even if only partially successful.

— "Then I'll go to the store tomorrow, too. The fridge is already empty," — Sam broke the silence, his words sounding like an attempt to distract us from the oppressive reality.

I couldn't fall asleep that night; all my thoughts were tangled in my head, preventing me from even relaxing. And that oppressive silence, along with the ticking wall clock, annoyed me to the point where I wanted to rip it off the wall and throw it far away. I sat at the kitchen table, having seemingly only changed locations but not my posture, holding a cold glass of whiskey in my metal hand.

— "If I drink and don't get drunk, can this be called household alcoholism?" — I whispered to myself, trying not to wake anyone. My words sliced through the silence like a sharp blade.

— "I think if it doesn't harm your body, drink up to your health," — a quiet, calm voice sounded behind me. It made me freeze, though I didn't move, puzzled by how she managed to approach so silently that I hadn't heard a single sound. I felt her presence, like a light breeze barely touching your skin.

— "How did you do that?" — I tilted my head in her direction, trying to understand how she had managed to get so close without being noticed. My hearing had always been sharp, but this time it failed me.
She walked around me, coming into my field of view, and sat across from me. Her movements were smooth, almost graceful, like a predator stealthily approaching its prey.

— "What exactly?" — she asked, narrowing her eyes as if seeing me from a new perspective.
I continued, carefully watching her.

— "How did you approach so quietly? I have sharp hearing." — My gaze was fixed on her with distrust, but she didn't even blink, which irritated me even more. There was no doubt or fear in her eyes—only determination and calm confidence. I'd seen others like her who feigned unshakability, and I knew how they were broken by others or by life itself.

— "It's just a skill," — she smiled faintly. — "I am a spy, after all. And by the way, it's not very safe to sit with your back to the exit. I think you already know that." — She placed her hands on the table, intertwining her fingers, and now looked much calmer than she had a few hours ago. Her movements were measured, confident, as if she were at home.

— "I know without you," — I replied with a hint of irritation in my voice, slightly gripping the whiskey glass in my hand. Her confidence annoyed me. I didn't want to break her or harm her, but an internal struggle raged within me, holding me back from the desire to assert my dominance. I doubted she could even imagine being with me. She leaned forward slightly, her voice quieter now, but her tone had changed to something more serious.

— "What did you mean by, 'People don't want the company of a killer'?" — She looked directly into my eyes, and that gaze pierced right through me. For the first time, someone's gaze unsettled me. I dropped my eyes to the glass of whiskey I still held in my hand.

— "How old are you?" — I suddenly changed the subject, trying to throw her off balance using the same method she had used earlier. I didn't want to answer her question, just as she didn't want to answer mine.
She nodded, as if accepting the new rules of the game.

— "Fine, 1:1," — she said, standing up smoothly and leaving the kitchen. I remained in place, feeling the silence return to the room, cut only by the barely audible sound of her footsteps, which gradually faded down the hallway.