Hold Me Captive

# Z. E. R. O

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13:22pm

Thursday, September 4th

CIA Headquarters

"Bitch," I muttered under my breath.

She still doesn't listen to me. The ice from the pack that I've been holding for the past hour was starting to melt and drip down from my cheek. Luckily, the only blow I took was directly towards my left cheekbone and the rest were just scratches from the rough floor that I seem to love since I always come back and kiss it. I almost pity one of the opponents as I appear to break his nose. Almost.

"What do you think you're doing when you forced yourself in without the backup?" Ms. Barche repeated calmly. I raised an eyebrow and let out a frustrated breath.

She's the head of recording the cases the one that you need to hand and tell a full report--accomplished or not, a total witch that can put you in your place just with her cold blue eyes, complete priss that thinks all you've done is wrong, and someone that always wear a creaseless pencil skirt with a blouse neatly tucked in, puts her hair in a neat bun and that glasses she slightly slides down her nose to look at you directly in the eyes. With her, it's like school all over again.

"Miss Barche," I started replaying the events that happened before. "From what I reported a while ago, there are a total of three men loading the goods and was about to flee, and it's nothing I could handle." She did the glasses thing, again.

"I can see that actually," she finally puts the freaking spectacles down on the long table that separates us and then, suddenly sucks my soul with her piercing eyes. "But the thing is, Agent Thorne, you disregarded our orders thus I dismiss you for today."

I stayed glued to my seat about to protest, putting down the ice pack. My mouth opened and the woman faced her palm up to me, "I've heard enough. You may leave." I internally groaned and push back my seat, taking the dripping pack with me.

What did I told you? A bitch.

I went back to my table and throw the now useless compress quite angrily at the foot of my chair. It suddenly oozed out water hence creating a pee-like stain on the carpeted floor. Sitting down, I continuously banged my head onto the furniture in front and moaned about having the probably worst day of my life except that one time I accidentally slipped in the bathroom, making me absent for a case that can actually promote me to a higher position.

"Oh, what happened to you?" A male voice that I know too well, asked. I looked up then glared at him for interrupting my stress releasing treatment. My head went down again slightly my bruised cheek brushing the edge of the table and I jumped in my seat, dryly releasing a sob.

Not that it hurts.

"Why do these people hate me," I whined pulling at my hair and leaned back.

"Shut up Thorne. You're being overly dramatic about this. They built up measurements about your case for days because those shitheads were hard to chase and when they completed the plan, they just wanted it to be followed. I don't know, maybe to... predict the movements." I rolled my eyes, not admitting he's got a point.

"Oh, really?" Sarcasm laced my tone. He raised an eyebrow at me.

Raising my hands in surrender, "Okay, whatever."

"Yeah, so instead of drowning in your misery I'm planning that we should go out." Of course, he asked probably planning to get laid. This guy is restless without having a good time at a bar after a good day's work. Well, there's where he's wrong. This may be a good job's done but it is not a good day.