What Divides Us

Meet Candace

            “Look what I brought for you!” Candace says in a sing-song voice as she sprawls her twiggy body onto my navy bed and her blonde hair bounces in it ponytail.  Other than Caleb, she is the only other person that I trust.  Even though she acts just like a crazy adolescent, she’s the closest thing I’ve had to a mother figure.  She practically raised me.  She yells at my instructors when they work me too hard and she tutors me when I feel overwhelmed with schoolwork that my private tutor has assigned me.  Sometimes I, the killing machine, am filled with the anguish of not having parents or not being able to live a normal life, but during those dark times, Candace is always there comforting me and that’s why I love her.

            Pushing my gooey, sentimental feelings aside, I cross my fingers and I desperately hope that within her large tote bag, a OTs-38 Stechkin silent revolver was aching to be in my hands.  Much to my disappointment, various teen and fashion magazines are shoved into my hands.  The contrast of the teens on the cover and I were almost humorous.  Observing their frilly skirts and lacy tops makes me snort in revulsion.  Those outfits did not look comfortable in the least.  Since I had just returned from my mission only an hour ago, I was still dressed in my uniform.  Basically, it consists of a pair of black cargo pants, a black skin tight sport jacket, plus my combat boots.  No, we don’t wear trench coats or anything weird like on television.

            I crinkle my nose.  “Why did you get me those?” I ask not bothering to keep the disgust out of my voice.           

            She chuckles darkly, which frightens me slightly.  “I have a feeling that you will need them soon.” 

            I furrow my brows in confusion, but shrug it off.  She’s like a hormonal teen, you never know what they’re talking about.  Her dark aura evaporates as she flips through the magazines, every so often pointing to a picture and showing it to me.  In return I nodded vigorously and go back to picking at my split ends, waiting for Caleb to come back.  She stops abruptly and a devious smile forms on her face. 

            “Let’s take a quiz!” she squeals.

            Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I comply.  “Fine.”

            “Yay!  It’s called ‘Does he like me?’ First question,” she pauses dramatically, as if it would somehow spark my interest.  It didn’t.  “Has your guy friend ever tried to make you laugh?”

            My only guy friend is Caleb, so I guess that’s how I’ll base all of my answers.  “Umm, yeah, I guess?”

            She scribbles on the page and then looks up at me.  “Has he ever tried to touch you?”

            I give her a horrified look.  “What the hell??” I screech.

            She stifles a laugh.  “I mean like has he ever tried to hold your hand, wrestled with you, punched you playfully, or anything like that?”

            I ponder for a moment.  We seem to punch each other often, usually in frustration.  We also wrestle frequently which results in me pinning him to the ground.  He’s held my hand when dragging me to the Director’s office, to prevent me from running away.  He’s also held me back when I was about to beat this other agent to a pulp.  “Yes.  He touches me a lot.”

            “Does he smile at you and laugh at your lame jokes?”

            I try not to be offended.  My jokes are so not lame!  Well he smiles at me, but that’s what friends do right?  “Yeah, I guess so…”

            “Does he ever blush when he talks to you?”

            I shift uncomfortably.  What kind of question is that?  How the hell am I supposed to know?  “I don’t know!”

            She huffs.  “Fine we’ll skip that one.  Does he smell good around you?”

            Frankly, these questions are idiotic.  Why would it matter if he smells good around me or not?   Anyways, he always smells good.  I guess he smells like apples, but that’s probably because he chews apple flavored gum.  He hates mint and peppermint, which now that I think about it, it is kind of odd.  “Umm, sure.”

            “Does he ever shove you, or act violent around you?”

            “Always.”  We always act violent towards each other.  There is not a day that passes when I don’t hit him.

            Candace squeals and hugs me.  “The results say that he loves you!!”  She does a little jig and I look at her strangely.  If that is how I would act if I were a normal six-teen year old girl, I’m almost glad that my parents died and I ended up here…Okay, not really, but you get the idea.

            “Umm, Candace?  I’m pretty sure that quiz wasn’t directed toward covert agents.  It doesn’t apply to me.”

            Her eyes narrow at me.  “Do you dare to oppose the almighty, sacred knowledge of Teen Vogue?”

            I raise my hands in mock surrender.  “I’m simply saying that you have to keep in mint what type of audience the magazine is directed toward.  Their readers consist of Jonas Brother groupies and Hannah Montana lovers.”

            Candace tosses me a look filled with revulsion.  “First of all, the no one cares about the Jonas Brothers anymore and Hannah Montana ended a really long time ago.  Secondly, Justin Bieber is the new Nick Jonas and One Direction is basically what all the prepubescent girls love.”

            I merely shrug, avert my gaze, and try to hide my knowing smile.  Of course I’ve heard of Justin Bieber.  I’m not exactly sure why he’s famous, but at least I’ve heard his name. 

            Her expression is filled with disbelief.  “Have you been living under a rock your whole life?”

            “No,” I maintain a serious demeanor, “Actually I’ve been living under a hospital.”

            She laughs at my pun.  If you don’t get it, it’s because I literally live underground, underneath a hospital. 

            “Agent seven report to the Director’s office,” a monotonous voice droned. 

            “Great,” I groan into my stuffy pillow.

            Candace switches from girly teen to mother mode nearly instantly.  She pulls me into a warm and cuddly hug, which is slightly odd.  “You’ll be fine!  I know that you and the Director don’t get along to well, but it’s just a part of your life.”

            “What if I don’t want this life?” I wonder out loud.  Tensing, I realize what I’ve just said.

            She furrows her thin eyebrows.  “What do you mean, Alex?”

            I stand up abruptly, my movements stiff.  “Nothing.”  I exit the room.  “I’ll be right back.”  I stride down the long corridor toward the Director’s office, during which I try to understand what I accidentally mentioned to Candace.  Did I really not enjoy my life here?  It isn’t so bad, maybe a bit strenuous at times, but my life is tolerable.  But then again what could I compare it to?  I’ve never lived anywhere else, so my experience is somewhat limited.  What disturbed me the most was that I had never thought about what I wanted.  I just obey, never think.  Now I’m starting to feel like a hamster trapped on its wheel: always working but never getting anywhere.

            I stop in front of the Director’s door, pausing to crack my neck and knuckles.  Instinctively I check for my gun.  Yup, it is still attached to my hip.  The Director is quite an unpredictable woman, and I always like to be prepared, especially if it mean I get to shoot her. 

            The brass doorknob is cool to the touch.  My stomach tingles slightly, but I attempt to stifle it.  My intuition is never wrong, so I brace myself for the worst.  Here goes nothing.  I swing the door open.