spy

one

even from across the room i knew it was him. brown eyes, brown hair; he was a splitting image of her. it wasnt hard to look at him, but it wasnt easy either.
i remember how i killed her; it was fast and easy. she didn't run or fight, she simply looked dead ahead as i shot right through her skull. i kill people for a living, but i don't enjoy it. the rush? maybe. i think i like the risk of being caught more than the killing itself. some in my building call me a coward for not watching the life leave their eyes, but they wouldn't get it.
they wouldn't understand having to watch the life leave the eyes of the only family they ever had as a mere child. they wouldn't understand bouncing from orphanage to orphanage during the worst war time russia had ever experienced. they wouldn't understand being kidnapped at seven by two men wearing all black working for volkov, the head of the biggest agency at the time. they wouldn't understand falling in love with someone, only to find out you have to kill them or you'll get killed. its a hard business i work for, but its even harder being a undercover working for the US.
apparently my staring caught his attention because he raised his eyebrows if to say "why are you staring at me?" it was my first day working as his "bodyguard" so to speak. in reality i just had to get close to him and then kill him. that's been my mission ever since i started.
why do i have to kill him? its simple. his mother and father were australian ambassadors. they were working with the US to attack russia and start a war. my boss caught wind and ordered my team to kill them. we took them on september 2, 2012 at 00:47. i took the wife while my three teammates took the husband. the two children were presumably with their grandparents, who since then have been killed as well. oh sorry, the grandparents not the children. as i tied her to her deathly seat, she asked why i was doing this. i stopped for one moment, and in the moment i looked up for the first time to answer the question and her eyes had only one emotion, it wasnt fear or anger, it was sympathy. i racked my brain for every possible answer and finally settled with its my job. she just shook her head and said that a pretty girl like me could get help and get out of a business like this. i knew i could, but i chose not to. this time i shook my head and said its time. she nodded solemnly and took a deep breath. i raised my gun and pointed it at her head. she looked straight down the barrel as i pulled the trigger. when i knew her soul had left, i spun on my heel and ran as fast as i could out of the building. i do remember hot tears running down my face as i thought about her two children. the boy was my age and the girl was only a few years older than us. my heart hurt for them, as they now were dragged into volkovs drama and would soon have to be killed as well. i was only sixteen when i killed her. sixteen. in america i could've been driving and entering my second to last year of schooling. but in russia i was killing.
--
"oh please just dance with me."
i sighed and looked up from my book, "listen here pretty boy, i was ordered to be your bodyguard type thing not your dance partner," on partner my accent showed a little bit. i always had trouble with my Rs.
"woah you have an accent? i thought you were american? where did you come from?"
"my parents were russian immigrants and i grew up in brighton beach so i spoke the language. i guess my accent still isnt gone."
"well don't lose it, its very sexy."
i reached over and backhanded him. he just laughed.
"so ... whatcha reading?"
i glanced at the cover of my book. honestly, i didn't even know what i was reading i just picked it up at the library trying to be normal.
"its called slide. this girl has physic episodes where she 'slides' into other people's minds and then she finds out her best friend was murdered through the psychic episode, i don't know read it yourself."
"sounds boring."
i nodded. he was annoying but he was cute and i was getting paid and good bunch of money to protect the president's nephew.
"tell me about yourself."
"no."
"why not?" he whined.
"because thats personal and i'm not supposed to share those things with you. it puts you in danger." technically i wasnt lying.
"fine you're no fun. i'm calum and my mom and dad were murdered when i was 16 and my grandparents were murdered two months later, so my sister and i moved here to live with our uncle the president but then she moved to england because she got married or something to a prince? i don't know. but anyway thats me."
i gulped and pretended i didn't hear him.
"hey? did you hear me?"
i coughed, "yeah calum i did that's horrible im sorry for your losses."
he just shrugged, "thanks. i don't really miss them a lot. i only miss them when i get triggered. like if we have spaghetti for dinner i have to excuse myself because my mom always made spaghetti for us. if there's a football, sorry soccer, match on i have to excuse myself because that was my family's thing. its hard but i'm working on it."
"i get what you mean."
"you do?"
i hurried to cover my tracks, "yeah i mean my mama died of cancer when i was seven and whenever i eat pelmeni, its like a ravioli, i think of my mama and how she would bake that on special holidays. it is rough but it gets better."
"its only been three years but it feels like eternity."
"yeah it does, it really does." then i grabbed his hand and comforted him with as little touching as possible.