A/N: This is a one-off drabble about the musings of Lauren Reed. Thank you for taking the time to read it. Please leave a review
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias or anything associated with it.
Isn't it Ironic
I was in love once.
I know, it's not something you'd expect. I don't suppose you ever thought that a person like me had a heart at all, let alone have given it to someone. But I did.
He was sweet. He was wholesome and filled with the most amazingly radiant light. He made me the happiest person in the world. Funny isn't it? I was happy once too.
Though, I don't expect it will make any difference. It's obvious what everyone thinks of me now. But I stand by my decisions. I don't regret what I have done these past two years. Not ever.
Except when I think of him.
He was a nice guy. I actually loved him. I honestly did. It was something I had never known before, and something I have never felt since.
No, I don't mean Sark. I'm not sure I ever really meant anything to him. He's just a boy, obsessed with his toys, and those that weren't his to begin with.
Interesting life we lead, isn't it? He wants Sydney; he is obsessed with everything that she is. But her heart belongs to another. And alas, the tables are turned. He's not hers, but mine. And the funny thing is that I don't even love him.
But the man I loved, that long time ago? He was sweet. He was kind. And he wasn't a spy. Just an average man.
I met him at the supermarket. Yes, I know; incredibly romantic. But he was there and so was I, and I think that it could have only been fate that had brought us together. And fate that had torn us apart.
We were going to get married. Before I had heard anything about the Sydney Bristow case. I was so happy. I wore his ring on my left hand and he wore my heart on his sleeve. When I first heard what the Covanent wanted me to do I refused. I wore my heart on my sleeve and I paid the price.
I told my mother I wouldn't do it. I told her that my love and I were going to get married and lead a normal life; one that had nothing to do with the words Rembaldi or Covanent or CIA. She didn't like the idea as much as I had hoped. But she said nothing concerning the issue. She didn't need to. All she had to do was pull a trigger and I would change my answer. She knew me too well.
The sad thing was that I had not known her well enough to know she would actually do it.
I remember that night above all other moments in my existence. It was 8:30 on a Thursday night. I had come home to see my house in tatters. I was not fortunate enough to be with him while he died. But it wasn't as hard as it could have been. There was no blood. No fiancée in the bathtub, like I had been told happened to Sydney Bristow. Just him, lying lifeless on the bed.
That was the night I grew up. I have not been the slightest bit naïve since.