3.
The next 5 hours are a blur. I don't remember packing, I don't remember don't remember driving to the airport, hell I don't even remember making the reservations.
All I know is that suddenly I am on an airplane, in the air, going to Italy, and I have no idea where to go when I get there. The only thing that bugs me though is that Vaughn was signing Trattoria di Nardi to me. Why the name of the restaurant he promised to take me to instead of just telling me that he was in Italy? How was he so sure that I would remember? How did he know that enough pictures would be taken for him to finish the word?
There are so many things about Vaughn that I don't know, things that I can't even begin to know. But I want to. I want to know everything about him, what makes him twitch, what makes him cry, what pisses him off.
When you love somebody, you love them for their imperfections. Not in spite of them. Because how stupid would that be? If everyone were loved in spite of their faults, then everybody would be exactly the same. It is only when everybody has his or her own problems that they become a unique person. Michael was -is- unique because I never found a fault in him. And in a world like this one, that is a rare find.
And I intend to keep him.
I lean back on my chair, my head completely relaxing against the cushiony headrest and I close my eyes, thinking. I have to know what to know when I get there. I can't afford to lose any more time.
Nothing comes to me and I'm so frustrated I could scream. But instead I cry. I feel the tears coming down my cheeks and I can only remember that incident over and over in my head. How can I not feel guilty? It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so completely stupid, SD-6 would be gone by now. Obliterated.
~Flashback~
"Sydney, get your butt in here now. I know you're sleeping but I always see you when your sleeping and we never have enough time with each other anymore so you are going to come in the kitchen and help me bake a cake for Will." I sleepily opened my eyes at the sound of Francie's voice.
Good-naturedly, or just because I knew the truth of her words and felt the stab of guilt, I rolled out of bed and slumped to the kitchen. "Alright, I'm up."
Francie rolled her eyes. "Get washed up, I don't want Will to eat this and than pronounce it the worst cake ever because your eye-crust stuff fell into the batter or something disgusting like that."
I cracked a smile. "Sorry, I'll go wash up. But you know that Will would never say that you baked a bad cake. . . even if you washed your hair in it. Please don't take me up on that though."
Twenty minutes later, we were covered with flour and giggling about something or other. I remember wishing that my life were simpler, that I could do this whenever I wanted, never having to worry about distraction, never having to leave even if I did get a phone call-
The phone rang. I saw Francie's face fall out of the corner of my eye and I flipped it open with my flour-covered hands. "Hello?"
"Hi, may I speak to Alanna please?"
Alanna? Was that ever one of my aliases? And even if it were, no one would call me by that especially because this phone was registered in my name.
"Hello?" The man on the line sounded a little freaked out by now. Which was understandable.
I laughed, realizing that this call actually was a wrong number. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."
"Oh, all right, Sorry." To Sydney, the man seemed a little relieved.
"Hey, Syd, I've realized that you never get any right numbers on that phone. And everyone's always calling you about that Joey's Pizza thing. Maybe you should change your number."
"I don't think so. I mean, I've memorized this one already and everything. And the bank bought this number so I don't think that that would go well over them. Besides, everyone gets wrong numbers."
"Yeah but you always seem to get more wrong numbers than right ones. Why don't you just turn off your phone for the next like half hour it takes to finish making this damn cake? Please? We hardly ever see each other anymore and its never like this and. . ." Francie's voice trailed off, looking uncertain.
"Well," I felt so bad, I really did. But what was a spy to do? I had to leave it on at all times. I had to.
"Besides, who calls you about work at 7 in the morning about bank stuff that can't wait for later?"
I bit my lip, really anxious about what I was supposed to do. What could happen in 30 minutes that wouldn't happen in 40 minutes? And if it was that important, surely they would keep calling or leave an encoded message? I switched my phone off, smiling at Francie and once again submerging my hands into the dough. This cake actually was going to be from the both of us.
~End Flashback~
What an idiotic thing to do.
Aren't I trained to always think of the worst-case scenario or something?
Why couldn't I let myself believe just for one second that maybe the CIA would have to call? That today was the day that they were going to bring down SD-6? That they either needed my help from the inside or wanted me to get out of the region as fast as I could?
That I would never get that call because it slipped my mind that the phone was off?
And that Vaughn would be taken in result of my actions.
AANNNNDDDD??? (review) I think that this chapter wasn't as up to par as the other ones. . . I'm thinking about rewriting it so give me your thoughts. . .
The next 5 hours are a blur. I don't remember packing, I don't remember don't remember driving to the airport, hell I don't even remember making the reservations.
All I know is that suddenly I am on an airplane, in the air, going to Italy, and I have no idea where to go when I get there. The only thing that bugs me though is that Vaughn was signing Trattoria di Nardi to me. Why the name of the restaurant he promised to take me to instead of just telling me that he was in Italy? How was he so sure that I would remember? How did he know that enough pictures would be taken for him to finish the word?
There are so many things about Vaughn that I don't know, things that I can't even begin to know. But I want to. I want to know everything about him, what makes him twitch, what makes him cry, what pisses him off.
When you love somebody, you love them for their imperfections. Not in spite of them. Because how stupid would that be? If everyone were loved in spite of their faults, then everybody would be exactly the same. It is only when everybody has his or her own problems that they become a unique person. Michael was -is- unique because I never found a fault in him. And in a world like this one, that is a rare find.
And I intend to keep him.
I lean back on my chair, my head completely relaxing against the cushiony headrest and I close my eyes, thinking. I have to know what to know when I get there. I can't afford to lose any more time.
Nothing comes to me and I'm so frustrated I could scream. But instead I cry. I feel the tears coming down my cheeks and I can only remember that incident over and over in my head. How can I not feel guilty? It's my fault. It's all my fault. If I hadn't been so completely stupid, SD-6 would be gone by now. Obliterated.
~Flashback~
"Sydney, get your butt in here now. I know you're sleeping but I always see you when your sleeping and we never have enough time with each other anymore so you are going to come in the kitchen and help me bake a cake for Will." I sleepily opened my eyes at the sound of Francie's voice.
Good-naturedly, or just because I knew the truth of her words and felt the stab of guilt, I rolled out of bed and slumped to the kitchen. "Alright, I'm up."
Francie rolled her eyes. "Get washed up, I don't want Will to eat this and than pronounce it the worst cake ever because your eye-crust stuff fell into the batter or something disgusting like that."
I cracked a smile. "Sorry, I'll go wash up. But you know that Will would never say that you baked a bad cake. . . even if you washed your hair in it. Please don't take me up on that though."
Twenty minutes later, we were covered with flour and giggling about something or other. I remember wishing that my life were simpler, that I could do this whenever I wanted, never having to worry about distraction, never having to leave even if I did get a phone call-
The phone rang. I saw Francie's face fall out of the corner of my eye and I flipped it open with my flour-covered hands. "Hello?"
"Hi, may I speak to Alanna please?"
Alanna? Was that ever one of my aliases? And even if it were, no one would call me by that especially because this phone was registered in my name.
"Hello?" The man on the line sounded a little freaked out by now. Which was understandable.
I laughed, realizing that this call actually was a wrong number. "I'm sorry, you have the wrong number."
"Oh, all right, Sorry." To Sydney, the man seemed a little relieved.
"Hey, Syd, I've realized that you never get any right numbers on that phone. And everyone's always calling you about that Joey's Pizza thing. Maybe you should change your number."
"I don't think so. I mean, I've memorized this one already and everything. And the bank bought this number so I don't think that that would go well over them. Besides, everyone gets wrong numbers."
"Yeah but you always seem to get more wrong numbers than right ones. Why don't you just turn off your phone for the next like half hour it takes to finish making this damn cake? Please? We hardly ever see each other anymore and its never like this and. . ." Francie's voice trailed off, looking uncertain.
"Well," I felt so bad, I really did. But what was a spy to do? I had to leave it on at all times. I had to.
"Besides, who calls you about work at 7 in the morning about bank stuff that can't wait for later?"
I bit my lip, really anxious about what I was supposed to do. What could happen in 30 minutes that wouldn't happen in 40 minutes? And if it was that important, surely they would keep calling or leave an encoded message? I switched my phone off, smiling at Francie and once again submerging my hands into the dough. This cake actually was going to be from the both of us.
~End Flashback~
What an idiotic thing to do.
Aren't I trained to always think of the worst-case scenario or something?
Why couldn't I let myself believe just for one second that maybe the CIA would have to call? That today was the day that they were going to bring down SD-6? That they either needed my help from the inside or wanted me to get out of the region as fast as I could?
That I would never get that call because it slipped my mind that the phone was off?
And that Vaughn would be taken in result of my actions.
AANNNNDDDD??? (review) I think that this chapter wasn't as up to par as the other ones. . . I'm thinking about rewriting it so give me your thoughts. . .
