("Oh, I'm good at keepin' my distance
I know that you're the feelin' I'm missing
You know that I hate to admit it
But everything means nothin' if I can't have you."

"I can't write one song that's not about you
Can't drink without thinkin' about you
Is it too late to tell you that
Everything means nothing if I can't have you?")

- Shawn Mendes, "If I Can't Have You"

February 2021

Age 22

Year 4, Special Agent

Josh's lungs were burning and his face was covered in sweat and his hand was bleeding for some reason, but he wasn't thinking about any of that. He was running; both literally and figuratively.

He had less than no time to get what he needed and leave the country.

There were safe houses he knew the locations of, but they were organization safe houses. He had equipment - money, fake identities, burner phones, papers - in storage lockers dotted in a few places over the country, and that was where he needed to go. He needed a new identity and a plane ticket and a computer.

He didn't really breathe until he'd reached the locker closest to him and jacked it open to flip out his new fake identity - James Horace, 25, from Kansas. He checked it over to make sure it looked convincing enough even though he knew it would. Then he grabbed the backpack with everything he had now, and bought a plane ticket.

He was on autopilot. He'd shut off thoughts and emotions the moment he'd been caught by Maya, because he never could have been able to do what he did if he hadn't been in his numb suit. He'd bound his emotions fully to that girl, and now he'd lost everything.

He needed to get someplace safe before he could even comprehend what he had just done. And the moment he was, over twenty-four hours later, he dropped down to his knees in his motel room in Cluj-Napoca, Romania and stared at his own face in a mirror that was nailed to the wall next to the bathroom.

He could feel his heartbeat speeding up rapidly as he closed his eyes, allowing everything to finally sink back in so that he could deal with it and move on, but the moment that all his emotions hit him like a shot of heroin directly into his vein, he nearly stopped breathing. It took effort to suck air into his lungs over and over until he was lightheaded, his skin pulsing with prickles every time he felt it pulse with his heart beat, and he nearly cried out with the pain as he shoved the heels of his palms to his temples and squeezed, hoping he could find anything to ground himself. He'd never experienced a panic attack before now.

"Calm down," he ordered himself through clenched teeth and breathless words, glaring daggers at his own face in the mirror. "Think."

It only took less than half an hour for him to slow his heartbeat and breathing, but it felt like hours. He found himself collapsed on the carpet back against the bed, blinking tiredly in the mirror at his face that was drenched in sweat.

The floor felt unsteady beneath him, as his eyes unfocused, thinking clearly.

There was nothing he wouldn't rather have done than what he'd just done. He felt nauseous as her face replayed in his mind, her expression searing into his brain. The absolute disgust. Betrayal. He didn't blame her.

Replaying it clenched his heart painfully, although he couldn't stop. He couldn't get her voice out of his head either. Everything she'd said was true - he was a traitor. There were steps he could have taken years ago to avoid this outcome, and he hadn't. He'd let his emotions control his actions and this was entirely his fault - he deserved all the pain and hurt he couldn't escape at the memory of Maya's face, and he physically caved his body forward, trying to mitigate the aching in his stomach and chest, his face crumpling up. He wouldn't have blamed her for shooting him. He deserved it.

But if he had been caught, brought in, Maya would suffer the consequences - just like she'd suffered when she was shot. He couldn't come back; not until he'd put an end to all of this.

There was a web he had to untangle; people he had to kill. He had nothing to lose anymore. And this time, there was no line he wouldn't cross to protect the one girl that meant everything to him.

Even if she never forgave him.

As he mopped his face with his shirt, he pulled the burner phone from his bag and flipped it open, punching in a number he shouldn't know by heart.

"Who is this?"

Josh's voice was measured now. Low, cold, dangerous. "There is nowhere you'll be able to hide. You screwed with me and you screwed with Hart, and it's the last mistake you'll ever make, because you have nothing to hold over me anymore. I've lost everything, and you know the most dangerous enemy to have? The one with nothing left to lose. So go ahead; try to run. It'll make it even sweeter when I catch and physically dismember you and everyone you ever loved for what you've done to her."

The line went dead, and Josh lowered the phone slowly from his ear, staring at himself in the mirror. Maya had been holding him from jumping off the deep end. But Maya was gone, and if he couldn't blame himself, he'd kill each and every person who had ever threatened her or his team until he could believe they were safe.

He would turn himself in. He would accept punishment for his actions. He owed her that much.

But not until he'd had his revenge.

A/N: One-shot chapters will be common in part 3.

I know a lot of you were upset with the way the Joshaya plotline turned out to be. Everyone's entitled to their opinions, but I'm the author. This has been my plotline for two years and I won't be rewriting it no matter how many curse words you use in your review. I hope some of you (if you choose to continue reading) can find solace in learning why Josh betrayed the team. It was all to protect Maya - that will become more and more clear as part 3 develops.

If you believe that "this story now belongs in the trash with that whore Maya and all KiaFaith's other stories", as one reviewer wrote word for word, please feel free to drop my story in your trash if that makes you feel better. If you hate it that much, don't waste your time verbally abusing me - my "trash" is not worth your review. Find another story you enjoy; there are literally over 35,000.

(Side note though, I've realized that it doesn't matter what Maya actually does in any story I write; at least one critic's go-to is to call Maya a whore whether the story is even about her or not. If you're going to be mean, at least make it make sense, or switch it up - maybe call Josh a whore for balance? :)

Review filters are on. Profanity won't go through. Don't waste your time.

C