CHAPTER SIX
AGENT SETA:
I spent a year and a half training under K's guidance. Almost two excruciating years of living a double life. It took some getting used to, turning my personalities on and off. One minute I was Agent Seta, the next I was Sara. It got to the point where I couldn't keep track of who was who, and I fell apart about three months into K's basic training.
I spent a week in a semi-conscious state, oblivious to the world. By that time, J had been around enough for me to go ahead and introduce him to my parents as Joshua Hendrickson, a friend from school. And it was as that friend that he never left my side during that breakdown. I couldn't tell if it was more his concern for me or for his job, since K had ordered him to watch over me. But it at least made me realize that he didn't hate me as much as I'd thought he did. He never once made me think I was causing him any inconvenience. From that point on, we shared a shaky friendship, based more on our responsibilities as agents than our desire to be around each other.
Zuri became more accustomed to our culture, and we became closer friends. Slowly but surely, she began to mesh with our society. She was very outspoken, and perhaps that was a good thing. If nothing else, it eased the tension between me and J. She joked openly about sexual things, and he replied in kind. I came to recognize his perverted, and very sexualized sense of humor. I would have thought he was seriously flirting with Zuri, but he said the same kinds of things to me. And he never, in all of those two years, made a move on either of us. Officially, he dated Deanne. Unofficially, he remained alone. His joking helped me identify with him, helped the uneasy feeling I had around him to go away. But nothing could help me to deal with K.
"What the hell was that?" K demanded, pulling the blindfold off my eyes.
I sighed and looked away, lowering the fake laser gun to my side. "Sorry," I mumbled.
"Sorry?" he snapped. "You're sorry? You're gonna be a lot more sorry when you're dead. You're holding the damn gun wrong. Is that how I showed you how to hold it? You're gonna break your goddamn wrist that way."
I clenched my teeth as he showed me again how to hold the gun. It was hard to tell if I was doing it right when I couldn't see the damn thing. "It took you almost five seconds to figure out where I was at," he chastised. "You pull that shit out on the field and you're gonna get yourself killed. You've got a lot of practicing to do before tomorrow." He pressed the blindfold into my hand roughly. "I suggest you use this opportunity to your benefit."
He turned away and left me standing in the room. I felt indignation well up inside of me as tears stung my eyes.
"He just frustrates the hell out of me!" I mumbled, pacing back and forth on the carpet. J watched calmly from the sofa. "And I don't know who else to go to. How the hell do you put up with it?"
I stopped pacing for long enough to turn and look at him. He smiled back, slightly. It was sort of sympathetic, actually. "I mean, it's not like I have anyone else to talk to," I justified. "You've worked with him for years. How do you it?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. I just learned to deal with it."
I sighed, sitting down so that I would stop pacing. "How?"
He stood up and walked behind me. I felt his hands on my shoulders and tensed. "I guess I just realized that it's nothing personal," he mumbled. "He's just like that."
He brushed my hair off of my shoulders and massaged gently. I wasn't sure whether to pull away or not. It felt good, his warm hands working through my shirt. My muscles were all sore and overworked. Regardless of whether or not I wanted to, I felt myself melting into his touch.
"You like that?" he questioned as he worked around the collar of the man's dress shirt, pressing hard into my neck. I moaned, somewhat involuntarily, and he laughed in reply. "Does it help?"
"Help what?"
"You to relax?"
I smiled faintly. He was trying to shut me up. "You don't have to try and relax me. I'll stop talking."
He was quiet for a minute. "Hey, I've got an idea," he mumbled.
"What's that?"
"How long has it been since you've been out?"
I turned and stared at him and he pulled his hands away. "Out?"
"As in socially? Out on the town."
"I've never done that."
"You want to?"
I shifted nervously. "I'm not the social type."
"How do you know if you never tried it?"
"I'm not comfortable around people."
He smiled. "You're comfortable around me!"
I had to grin at his confidence. "What makes you say that?"
"Will you come?" he questioned.
"You mean like a date?"
A hardened look crossed his face and he shook his head. "No, not a date. A night out."
"I'm still too young for that, remember? You're five years older than I am."
"Well, we don't actually have to go to a club or anything."
"What, are we going to go to some sit-down restaurant?" I laughed. "And you call that not a date?"
He sighed, and smiled. "You really are difficult sometimes, you know that?"
"I know," I answered.
"Tell you what," he mumbled, vaulting over the back of the couch. I cowered, hoping he wouldn't fall on me. He landed on the floor and walked across the room. "We'll improvise." He spun and looked at me, full of energy. I could see his eyes dance in the bright light. "But you have to tell me first, what are your parents going to think if you don't come home tonight?"
I raised my eyebrows at him. "Why wouldn't I come home?"
He smiled. "Because you didn't feel like it." I studied him carefully. "Your choice," he reminded me. "I won't force you. But if you want to stay for a while, I can teach you how to have fun."
The tone of his voice was so inviting it was almost seductive. "What kind of fun?"
"The kind of fun you don't have to be social to have?" he suggested.
I had a feeling I knew what was on his mind. "I don't do sex," I informed him plainly. "Especially not with people I don't know that well."
He smiled. "I think you know me better than you think you do, chica."
I glared at him. "I don't know you well enough to sleep with you," I maintained.
He laughed. "Don't worry about it, Seta. I don't give sex. Even with people I do know that well. That's not the kind of fun I'm talking about."
"Well, what kind of fun are you...?"
"Call your parents," he urged. "Feed them some kind of line."
"I haven't decided yet if I'm staying or not."
"Better safe than sorry, chica," he smiled. "Because if you don't call them now and you decide to stay, you're not gonna want to call them later. But if you call and decide you want to go home, you can always call back."
I stared at him, not sure of his motives. "Why are you doing this?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Because when you work with K, you need balance. And you obviously haven't figured out how to get that balance yet."
***
I hung up the phone just as music began to blare from the speakers around the room. I knew the song immediately. Magic Carpet Ride by Steppenwolf. I'd never been particularly fond of it, but then, I'd never been much for dancing and it was definitely something to dance to. I like to dream... I laughed as he undid the top botton of his shirt, danced out of his jacket, and threw it at me. I was still finding my way out of it when he pulled me to my feet. He half-twirled, half-threw me across the room and I laughed loudly, doubled over and not sure how to react. This was ridiculous. He didn't even like me; why did he act like this with me? Never in my life had I met someone so forward. I didn't know what to do.
He grabbed my hands locking his fingers in mine, and placed them on my hips, swaying me gently in time with the music. I looked up at him and saw him smiling. What the hell. Who was going to see me? You don't know what we can find... I took his lead and began to dance on my own, unlocking our fingers and placing my hands on his shoulders. He left his hands on my waist and moved with me for a few moments before I pulled my hands away and raised them above my head, closing my eyes in surrender to the music.
Close your eyes girl... look inside girl... let the sound take you away...
I hadn't danced in years. And never with anyone else present. There was an excitement to it that I'd never felt before. I flipped my hair out of my eyes and glanced again at J. He smiled back and reached above me, taking my hands. He spun me around so that my back was to him and held my arms crossed over my chest as we continued to dance. I leaned into him and let him guide my movements. Suddenly, he ducked out from behind me, letting go of one of my hands, and turned me around to face him again. I laughed as our fingers got tangled together.
We danced through the song, and then stared at each other, both breathing a little heavy. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. "Not to try and peer pressure or taint or tempt you or anything weird like that, but do you drink?"
"Alcohol, you mean?"
"Yeah."
"I'm fifteen, Joshua," I reminded him.
He smiled. "I keep forgetting."
He backed out of the room. "You want anything?" he asked as he vanished into the kitchen of the apartment. "I've probably got it."
I followed behind him as he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of clear-orange liquid. It was a wine cooler. My mother used to drink them many years ago. He twisted the cap off and raised it to his lips. "Anything?" he prodded, the fridge still open. "Give me a clue."
I eyed the cooler, not sure I really wanted to try it. It wasn't that I believed drinking to be any great, unforgivable sin. I just wasn't sure I wanted to try it and find I liked it, then not be able to get it. He saw my stare and held the bottle out to me. I glanced up at him. "You drink a lot?" I asked as I took it and smelled it.
"No. Hardly ever, actually. My father was an alcoholic, so I'm pretty careful."
"You ever get drunk?"
"Only at home. Alone. Never around anybody I don't trust."
"Short list?" I questioned, looking back up at him.
"You gonna try that or not?" he questioned, nodding at the bottle in my hand.
I raised it to my lips and took a small sip. It was sweet, but not sugar-sweet like soda pop. It tasted like alcohol, remotely like peaches. I lowered it and let the taste work its way through my mind. "You like?" Joshua asked.
I nodded. "Yeah, it's good."
"Well, I'm not going to lecture you about the dangers of alcohol," he informed me, taking a second cooler out of the fridge. "But I will tell you this: hangovers really suck."
I smiled. "I don't think I'll need to worry about that."
He backed out of the kitchen. "Truth to tell, I don't care if you do get drunk off your ass tonight or any other night for that matter. But if you start drinking all the time..."
He turned and looked at me. I saw a stern, serious look in his eyes. He didn't need to say a word. I nodded. "I get the message."
"My father was an alcoholic. And I don't put up with that."
Just as fast as it had appeared, the serious tone left. He turned back to the CD player. He filled the next four hours with Led Zeppelin, Will Smith, and a host of other artists whose music I had never truly appreciated until I was left to surrender to the sounds of their creations. Not once was he not smiling, and not once did I forget that I had never felt so free in all my life.
I lay on the living room floor on my back, staring up at him. He was sitting on the couch, a cooler in his hand and his shirt completely unbuttoned but still tucked in. He was staring at the wall, seemingly deep in thought. The music had changed. It was more mellow now. Somewhat familiar.
"Who sings this?" I asked.
"Richard Marx," he answered.
I closed my eyes and listened to the familiar song. I'd never really heard all of the lyrics before. I'd give my life for one more night, Having you here to hold me tight oh please, Take me there again...
"Have you ever been in love, J?" I asked. I didn't realize I'd said it until it was already out of my mouth.
"No."
"Not even Deanne? Ever?"
"No."
I remember how you loved me, Time was all we had until the day we said goodbye...
I opened my eyes again to look at him. "I don't believe that."
He glanced down at me. "Why not?"
"Because. I think everyone has fallen in love at least once."
He didn't answer. I turned on my side and propped my head on my elbow. "You have a girlfriend hurt you?" I questioned.
He shook his head and took another drink. "I never had a girlfriend to hurt me."
"What about Deanne?"
"What about her?"
"She's your girlfriend."
"She doesn't know me well enough to hurt me."
"And yet you say you love her?"
"I never said I loved her."
That caught me off guard. For a moment, I was quiet. "You do to her face," I justified. "Do you make it a habit to lie to her?"
He sighed. "I don't like to lie. But every once in a while I have to."
"Why don't you just break up with her?"
His eyes closed for a moment. "You ever heard the theory that if you were to remove a corrupt person from power that someone ten times worse would just take their place?"
"Yeah."
"I guess I see it as sort of the same way with Deanne. She doesn't want much except for me to buy her stuff and take her out and spend money on her once in a while. And as long as I'm officially dating her, I don't have to worry about other women."
I stared at him. "Isn't that a lot like using her?"
"Yes."
"That doesn't bother you?"
"It goes both ways."
I closed my eyes and rested my head on the floor. "Is she a jealous woman?"
"Occasionally. It's hard for her to be jealous over me when she knows she doesn't own me."
I turned onto my stomach, resting my head on my crossed arms. It was almost midnight, but I wasn't really tired. I was too wound up. And I could feel my thoughts tangling in my mind. I figured I must be a little drunk. Not like I was tripping over my tongue or anything, but my senses weren't nearly as heightened as they usually were.
I felt something brush against me and turned to see J sit down on the floor next to me. "Turn your head back," he instructed. I complied, not knowing why. He brushed my hair off my neck and touched my skin gently.
He worked his fingers underneath the collar, pressing hard against the bare skin. I moaned quietly, feeling my muscles relax under his touch. "Where did you learn to do this?" I questioned.
"I dunno. Lots of practice, I guess."
"On who?"
"Whoever," he shrugged. "It's not a sexual thing for me so it doesn't matter who I do it for."
I breathed deep as is hands rubbed away all of the tension in my neck. A few minutes later, he pulled his hands away. "Not to make this sound suggestive or anything... but of course, I know it will sound suggestive, regardless of how I say it..." I turned to glance at him, pulling my hair away from my eyes. "But if you want to take your shirt off, I'll rub your back."
I stared at him, not sure how to react to the suggestion. "Can't you do that through my shirt?"
He shrugged. "I guess so." He smiled. "But it takes away a lot of the effect."
I sat up and studied him carefully. His face was expressionless. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I don't want you to feel like I really want to see you with your shirt off or anything because that's not it at all."
I smiled at the nonchalant attitude of his words. Then I turned away from him and unbuttoned my shirt. He pulled it off my shoulders gently and I lay back down, my head resting on my arms again. His soft hands felt good on my skin. And even though I tried not to, I could feel my emotions reacting silently. Something stirred deep inside me as he ran his hands over my back. It was the first time in my life I'd ever really been turned on by someone.
"You say you've never been in love," I mumbled. "Is that by choice?"
He hesitated for a moment. "Not entirely."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well," he sighed. "It is by choice, but I think that... if there is such a thing as fate and the perfect match, that if I met her it wouldn't matter what I chose to feel. I would love her whether I wanted to or not."
"You believe that?" I asked after a moment of silence.
"I have to," he whispered back, his voice suddenly quiet and sad. "It's all I have to hope for."
"That's an awfully pessimistic way of looking at things," I observed.
"Yes, but it's true."
"Why?"
He was quiet for a long time. I listened to the soft music, felt his hands on my back, waited for him to answer. "I'm not the type to fall in love."
I laughed. "If it was something anyone could avoid, it wouldn't be called falling."
"That's what I'm hoping."
We had gone full circle in the conversation and somehow I had ended up on the wrong side the second time around. I closed my eyes and relaxed as the song ended and a new one began, a low, building, sad moan drifting from the speakers. Joshua stopped cold and I could suddenly sense the tenseness in the air as a piano started, playing simple, single notes. My mind put the words to the notes, which came from the chorus. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you...
J started to stand up. "I don't know how this song got on here..." he mumbled under his breath.
"No, leave it on," I pleaded, turning to look at him. "I like this song."
He glanced back and forth between me and the CD player, then finally returned to my side. Oceans apart, day after day, and I slowly go insane... "What's wrong with this song?" I questioned.
"Nothing," he mumbled. I hear your voice on the line, but it doesn't stop the pain...
I sighed. "If you don't want to talk about it, J, just say you don't want to talk about it and I'll shut up. But don't lie to me."
He was quiet. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will be right here waiting for you. Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you... "I just... kind of have a history with this song."
I was quiet for a moment, trying to think of how to respond. "A sad history?"
I hear the laughter, I taste the tears... "It's a sad song."
"That's not what I asked."
But I can't get near you now... "How could a sad song have a happy history?"
"It could if you remember making love to it under the stars," I suggested.
He laughed under his breath, considering the thought. Wherever you go... "No," he mumbled after a moment of silence.
"So it's a sad memory?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
"A woman?" I questioned. I wonder how we can survive this romance...
"No, why would you think that?"
I laughed quietly. "Well, I guess just because that's usually the only reason why a love song would make somebody sad." But in the end if I'm with you, I'll take the chance...
"This isn't a love song."
"Yes it is."
"It's too sad to be a love song."
"So it's a tragic love song, but it's still about how much she loves him... or he loves her... that they'll wait for each other."
We listened to the words of the song for a minute. Whatever it takes or how my heart breaks, I will be right here waiting for you... "I don't see it that way," he finally answered.
"Why not? How do you see it?"
He was quiet for a minute. "I don't know."
"You don't know your opinion on something?"
"Is that so unheard of?"
"Well, it is when you've already established that you don't agree with my interpretation, so you must have your own."
He was quiet. I knew he wasn't going to say anything. It was up to me to initiate the conversation once again. "Does it have anything to do with Deanne?" I asked.
"No."
"Someone you loved, though."
"I've never loved anyone."
I laughed quietly. "Everyone has loved somebody. Even if it's only your mother."
"No," he repeated in a whisper.
"You don't love your mother?"
"I don't have a mother."
"Well you had to at some point."
"I never knew her."
"What about your father?"
"What about him?"
"You must've loved him." He didn't answer. "And I have to think you feel something for Deanne..."
"I don't trust her," he answered plainly. "How can I love her when I don't trust her?"
"Well, you have to trust somebody, Joshua. Why not her?"
He didn't answer. I felt his fingers in my back again, pressing hard. "Do you love her?" I questioned. I had the distinct feeling that I'd asked that question before, but I couldn't tell for sure.
"You can't love somebody you don't trust."
I suddenly found myself being more bold than I figured was wise. "Do you sleep with her?"
"No," he answered automatically.
"Have you ever?"
I figured with that, I'd crossed the line. I was waiting for an explosion of anger. But none came. "No."
"Why not?" I pressed my luck a little further.
Again, he was silent. "Are you waiting for somebody?" I suggested.
He chuckled. "Yeah," he whispered. His voice was cynical. "But not like you think."
"Who?"
He hesitated. The quiet music filled the silence. "You remember that faceless spirit I told you about? In my dreams?" he finally asked, his voice little more than a whisper.
"Yeah."
"Her."
I considered the thought for a moment. "You think you'll ever find her?"
"No. That's the point."
"What if you do?" He didn't answer. "Do you think you would love her?" I sighed. "Could you love her? If she wanted you to?"
"I don't know," he answered honestly.
There was a long silence. I listened to the music hum in the background and felt swept away by a strange, blissful confusion. "You ever stand outside a crowd of people who are all standing and staring at something they find so fascinating?" he finally whispered, breaking the silence. "And you can't see what it is? And then... maybe somebody tells you. But you just don't understand what's so amazing about it. But you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you're the only one in the world who doesn't feel... excited by it?"
I knew what he was talking about. He didn't have to spell it out. But I wasn't sure if he realized how obvious it was. "I doubt that everyone in the world has shut you, exclusively, out."
"Maybe not," he mumbled. "Maybe I shut myself out."
"I don't know who you've been talking to, J, but you're not a freak of nature just because you don't crave sex."
His hands stopped working over me. "Who said anything about sex?"
"Well, that is what you're talking about, isn't it?" I questioned, turning my face to see him. "You don't understand why something that people believe was intended to be so beautiful and so desirable can cause you so many problems and leave you so wounded. You feel trapped, because you can't explain your feelings to yourself, much less to anybody else. And you want help understanding, but you know that nobody can help you."
He stared at me, a look of awe on his face. In a way, his reaction reflected my own. Had I really just put all those words together and psychoanalyzed him so thoroughly that I thought I could tell him what he was feeling without even knowing the facts? And when I was drunk besides? "Am I really so transparent to you?" he finally whispered. "That you can explain my emotions better than I can?"
I smiled at him, but couldn't say anything. I was dumbstruck by my own words. He sighed and looked away. "And why is it that you understand so much when I haven't explained a damn thing to you?" he mumbled. "And yet I've tried time and time again to give an explanation to Deanne, and she still doesn't get it."
I considered my words carefully before speaking them. "Can I speak freely? Even if it hurts?"
"Go ahead."
"Maybe she doesn't care. Maybe no one does and that's why you haven't ever dealt with whatever it is that haunts you."
He took that on the cheek and closed his eyes, as if he'd expected it. "Why do you care?" he finally asked.
I thought for a moment, not sure how much I wanted to tell him at this point. "You remember that dream I told you about before? With the little boy?"
"Yes."
I sat up and he retracted his hands. "I don't know if you remember, but one of the things you asked me was if I had ever questioned him about why he was so sad. I didn't answer you. The truth is that I'd never tried." I looked away. "I know, it sounds ridiculous. Like I should've done that years ago, it was so simple. But for whatever reason, the thought had never occurred to me."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"No, why was he crying?" he clarified.
I sighed deeply. "I don't know that," I whispered. "I never got a chance to ask him. I took a step toward him... and with every step I took, he looked different. He grew, and he stopped crying step by step. Got older and happier. And by the time I reached him, he was a man, smiling and laughing." I stared into J's deep eyes, searching for his reaction. "And he was you." He tensed noticeably. "And I turned away, thinking he was fine now. And I heard the crying. And when I looked back over my shoulder, the further I got away from him, the more he resembled that crying child."
J looked away, hiding his face from me. There was a long, uneasy silence as I waited for him to offer some kind of explanation. "You should have asked, even if he looked fine," he mumbled.
"I'm asking now," I whispered.
He shook his head, still turned away. "I can't tell you now," he choked.
"Then that's fine. If you don't want to tell me, I don't need to know."
He remained silent, as if he was waiting for me to pressure him further. But I said nothing. "What is it you want from me, Sara?" he finally asked.
"I do want to know what hurts you so much," I admitted. "But there's something a lot more important to me than hearing the gory details of whatever it is that haunts you. I don't want a patient/psychiatrist relationship. And I don't want any kind of sexual relationship, either. I want to be a friend." I got no reaction, and took a step further, placing my hand on his shoulder. "I don't think you've ever really had one."
Still, he said nothing. "And if, in the process of that, I can do anything to help you," I whispered, "then let me do that. But frankly, I don't want whatever horrible nightmares that lie in your past to affect our friendship when they come to light. So I don't want to base anything on my trying to counsel you. I just want to be a friend. If you need one." Still nothing. He was cold as stone. "Or do you still hate me?"
He glanced back at me and I saw tears in his eyes. A pained expression was written all over his face. He swallowed hard, but didn't move. There was a long, uneasy silence. "I never hated you," he finally choked.
"You told me once you didn't want to be my friend. Now I want you to rethink that."
He closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I was a real asshole, wasn't I?"
I smiled. "Yes."
He looked up at me and I searched his eyes, noticing for the first time the excruciating pain hidden there. He raised one hand and brushed my hair away from my face. His hand came to rest on my shoulder, touching my skin except for the thin band where my bra strap was. He put his other hand on my other shoulder and leaned into me, kissing my forehead gently. It wasn't romantic; it was more like a father kisses his daughter. "Thank you," he whispered. "Again."
