Presidents, Spies, and Boys, Oh My!

Chapter 17

Chapter 17

After two weeks in the hospital, I was bored. As. Hell. I'd watched all the new episodes of my favorite shows (Pretty Little Liars, Covert Affairs, and The Lying Game) and even some shows I didn't usually watch but always meant to. Get Well Soon balloons and cards were delivered to me almost every day. The McGallens sent me plenty of cards (and gift cards). Colleagues of mine sent me letters and cards. I loved reading the letters and cards from other agents I haven't seen in a long while. Hidden in the letter and cards were coded statements meant to represent things that happened on past missions. Particularly funny things. My phone went off with texts asking about how I was doing from many people. Ariana texted me a few times, trying to keep my spirits up. I was oddly saddened when I didn't get a text or even a card from Joshua. 

Every day, I think about our kiss. Every day I think about him. His beautiful gray eyes. His silky black hair. His toned body pressed up against mine. The way his lips had felt against my lips. Sometimes I let my mind wander off into a fantasy of what could have been. Joshua and I getting married was a popular one I liked a lot. Garrett escorting me down the aisle. Me wearing a big white dress and veil, holding a bouquet of white roses by my chest. My friends, foster family, and colleagues filling the church. But, best of all, I pictured Joshua smiling at me in a tuxedo and looking drop-dead gorgeous. I smiled every time at the fantasy. What? I'm on time off and I'm a single girl with a crush on the presiden't son. I can dream. I remembered my words to him that night we kissed. How I told him we wouldn't work. How we could never be together. It was such a long time ago but the memory was burned into my brain. If I could take it all back, I would in a heart beat.

Suddenly, I made a snap decision. Picking up my phone, I sighed and typed in his number (which I knew by heart. Don't judge me.) before putting the receiver to my ear. I bit my lower lip, feeling a strange fluttering in my stomach. Are these what butterflies in your stomach feel like? I don't like it. I've ever rarely been nervous about anything. I AM a spy after all. I had all the nerves knocked out of me in training. Maybe my trainers hit me too many times. I don't cry anymore either. I haven't cried since I was four. I am stronger than that. Addy always believed tears were a sign of weakness. I was raised that way. He picked up after three rings.

"Hello?"

"Joshua," I said softly, almost inaudibly, "I-I want to talk to you. In person. Could you come here to the hospital? The doctor still doesn't want me walking around. Not stable enough."

The line went silent for a long while, as if he were debating if it was a good idea for him to go or not. I hoped he would choose to visit me. I can't take him avoiding me anymore. I miss his humor. His laugh. Him in general. 

"Sure. I'll be there soon."

With that, he hung up. I sighed, slowly taking the phone away from my ear and ending my end of the line. Giddiness built up inside me, but I buried it. Another thing I'm good at. Burying my emotions and memories and throwing them away. As a spy, there are things I don't want to remember. Like when I was in Russia. The only thing I remember from that mission was the sound of my own screaming, ricocheting off the walls of the small gray room with the single light bulb, as the masked Russians ripped my clothes away and placed a white-hot iron on my skin, asking questions in heavy Russian-accented English. I shivered and tried not to think about it. It's better for everyone if I just move on and not ponder on it.