Kim Crawford - Palos Hills Hotel - 9:18 (P.M)
Throwing popcorn at the screen due to the protagonist's lack of intelligence, I shout random swear words and advice at the television hoping to magically transport the sound to her airhead self.
"Kim, calm down. Unlike you, I was intending on actually eating the popcorn," He complains, ripping the bag of goodness out of my hands and stuffing his hand inside, pulling out a handful of popcorn.
"You don't understand. I'm trying to feed her brain, Jack. It's starving," I explain, but as a more serious scene comes up he's quick to hush me, eyes focusing on the actions occurring on the screen.
I rest my head on his shoulders as the weight becomes unbearable, just like my eyelids. I try to fight away the sleep trying to seep through me because I don't want it to become tomorrow, I don't want to face the problems or risk my life. I just want to be here, trapped in the moment, with Jack.
But it's impossible to avoid the inevitable. Even the mighty and sublime ancient gods couldn't conquer the superhuman concept of the passing of time that many hypothesize already has a beginning and an end written for everyone, a book that, independently read slow or rapid, has a conclusion, a termination.
"Do you think that everything we do, everything we say, was already written in our 'book of life'? Like, almost as if we're just reading from a script every single day?" I ask in a groggy tone, keeping my head on his shoulder as my eyes drift up to look at him.
"I'm not quite sure, actually. I've never really had time to think about it. When I was training, the only books I could read, the only thoughts I could think, they were all about being a perfect spy, how to perfect my karate skills and how to stay focus. It was as if they were trying to turn me into a robot," He sighs and rests his head on the headboard, grabbing the remote and putting the film on mute.
"But you're not a robot. You have a heart, and a soul, and hair, and abs, like, incredible ones, and-"
"I get it, I'm a human," he laughs as he plays around with the remote, shifting it from hand to hand, twirling it, spinning it in mid air.
"And you're a great one, too," he smiles at that, bowing slightly before letting out a slight chuckle.
"Hey, can I ask you something?"
"You just did, but carry on," I look at him, the bag of popcorn in my hands as I grab a fistful and shove it in my mouth, some of the kernels falling onto the bed.
"When you first met me, you seemed pretty displeased and, although I may not be great at first impressions, it looked like you were upset because of my gender. Why?" He asks me, and when I looked up at him with an expression of unease, he seemed to be placing together the pieces of the puzzle. "Actually, I'm changing my question. Who's agent Brody Miller?" He positions himself so that he's looking directly at me, and I shake my head with a somewhat amused smile.
"You're too smart, Jack. It pisses me off sometimes," I sigh, and realize that he'll have an answer sooner or later, so I might as well tell him now. "I was thirteen. Youngest spy in the agency. Childish, unprofessional, human. The people surrounding me had the physical appearance of humans, but what was inside them appeared to be metal and wires, placed carefully to have no emotions, just to listen to orders. It was the only thing they listened to. For the rest, they just heard. When I was younger, I used to live in what could make a shack seem like a decent home with my parents and two siblings, and when the agents saw me fight in the street at the young age of eight, defending myself on any way possible, they decided to take me in. They pitied me, but they needed me. And my family needed money. I was always with adults since the agency didn't take kids back then, and I would always play the part of the child. Who doesn't trust a child, right?" I bitterly laugh, shaking my head in disapproval. "I've seen so many people die right in front of me. And if I cried, they'd hit me. Hard. Push me to the ground and tell me what I did wrong. There was always something wrong." By this time I was straight up crying, memories drowning me, suffocating me under their weight. "Then, Mr. Gillespie arrived. He changed everything. He put in decorations and gave the place a homelier look, he separated the groups by age, and people could finally start acting as they pleased. And with Mr. Gillespie came Brody, his nephew. And, being the teenager I was, I fell for him, his blond hair and hazel eyes. And, to make things better, he was partnered with me. He was incredible in every way possible. But he was far too aware of that himself, and he became more aware of it over the years. It came to the point when he'd almost blow our cover to flirt with random girls in the street, but things got worse. When I'd try to tell him to focus, he would hit on me. And then, he started to actually hit me. He was strong, so incredibly strong. I remember it as if it were yesterday, our mission in Cancún. We were having problems with our mission, and he'd get so frustrated when things didn't go his way. He started throwing things, swearing, and threatening me. But that was usual for me, and I still had a massive crush on him nonetheless. But that was a particular case. He looked at me, straight in the eye, and kept walking towards me until he had pinned me to the closest wall. And then, he... he...," I couldn't continue the story, but although I felt pain while telling him this, the relief that fled through my system almost made me forget. I had to finish telling him. "He roughly grabbed my waist, fingerprints marking my skin painfully, and said four simple words. You're mine tonight. And then..." I could do this, I had to. "He raped me. There, I said it. He made me feel used, and dirty, and I couldn't fight him off. I felt useless. I cried two nights in a row, until finally, the mission was cancelled. I contacted Mr. Gillespie and he didn't doubt me, he believed me when I thought nobody would. Brody was banned by the agency and I went to therapy for a few months. Now I'm fine, but when I specifically requested a female and you showed up that day, I was shocked to say the least. I felt betrayed. But the memory doesn't hurt anymore. I swear it doesn't." He could tell I was lying since I was holding onto him for dear life, soaking his shirt as tears fell freely from my eyes, but he didn't say anything. He just sat there, holding me, cuddling me, making me feel better in a way I didn't know was possible.
But now, I wouldn't take anybody else as my partner, I thought as I drifted to sleep.
* * *
Miss me? (Sherlock season 4 just came out so I felt like saying that. Sorry)
I'm working on the trailer right now and let me tell you, shout out to all the people that have gone through editing a movie trailer before. You have all of my respect, mate. (I keep saying mate for some reason.)
Also... IT'S 2017. WHAAAAT.
Qotd: do you have any New Year's resolutions?
@Late_nighter aka Aurora/-icorn 🌸
