Fran prereads. Jill, Ariel and Pearly preread. You readers give me life, especially when yoi review.
My mouse clicks rapidly, screen flickering from panel to panel, eyes darting, skimming for any hint of a threat.
I've been at this for over a decade and loved every second, so why is it feeling so different now?
Why am I so fucking bored I want to cry?
Nothing is happening. It's rare that anything ever does. When you're monitoring every second of every day in a person's life, it gets monotonous. That's why we take on more than one case. Well, partially. That, and there aren't enough agents to make it a 1:1 ratio; we'd need millions. It's bad enough that not every citizen can get an agent.
Technology is a huge help. Screening software can pick out words and phrases that send out a red flag. Get enough flags; you earn yourself an agent. It doesn't mean anything, really. A morbid sense of humor or avid curiosity can earn you one. I kept waiting to see which one it was for Bella, but ya know, the hiding the body comments solved that for me.
I miss her.
Not in the way I missed my family when I went away for summer camp. Not in the way I missed Rose when she and Emmett went on their honeymoon. Not even in the way I've missed some of my cases that have passed away after years of monitoring.
Her light was infectious, and I never realized how fucking dark my office was.
I think about her every day. It's been a week since I've shoved myself back into the darkness, and I'm always wondering what she's up to. What video she's watching today to get off, what she chose to wear...if she's reacting at all to the fact that her stalker from the bar never called her.
I make it just over two weeks before I truly detonate every last bit of my morals.
See, I conveniently didn't uninstall her from my computer. The FBI uses cloning software to be able to see everything done on computers, phones, tablets, etc. Her clones are still installed on my PC, buried in nonsense folders no one would ever look in, and I made a copy of the encrypted flash drive I handed back to the Chief that held her information and the passkeys to her cameras.
Yes, we do have agents that are assigned to watch our agents. That's part of the Chief's job. It's not usually necessary, but it happens. However, I've never given the Chief a reason to doubt my morals or intentions. Never gave him a reason to have to look in on me.
Guilt settles low in my stomach as my fingers take me on the journey back to her, but I'm growing used to that feeling.
I only want to look in on her to see she's okay, and then I'll walk away.
Right?
Except I physically gasp when I bring her up. Two weeks without seeing her had dulled the memory of her beauty in my mind. Today she's wearing an old T-shirt from a band I've never heard of. It's faded and about two sizes too big on her. Her hair is all piled on top of her head in a mess, and her glasses sit on her face with that same constant smile I've come to love.
Something's off, though.
She's not playing music or watching TV. There's nothing going on besides her fingers tapping away on her keyboard. She's not even snacking, and that's not like her.
However, when I pull up the document she's typing in, I severely wish I hadn't.