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What can I say? I love pushing his buttons as much as Wicked does. I’m just surprised he says absolutely nothing, and just cleans up by himself. He must be losing his edge. That, or his hangover is even worse than mine. But then again…maybe not.
Maybe, whatever Ezra did after sending me to steal Wicked on the dance floor last night is fucking with his head. What did he say? It had to have been some kind of atom bomb, with the amount of wreckage it left behind. Nic was drunker than shit last night, and I never usually see that man with a hair out of place. He’s always put together. Clean suit, pressed ties, annoying expensive leather shoes.
It almost borders on OCD with his daily rituals.
Wake up. Brush teeth.
Eat breakfast. Work out.
Shower. Shave. Moisturize.
Disappear somewhere private to call someone…
Well, it continues on from there. Any variation to his morning routine is met with a full blown meltdown. Yet, not today.
I have no idea who he talks to every single day like clockwork. Hell, one time I even tried to follow him and eavesdrop to find out, but it’s like the bastard just knew that I was coming. I don’t fancy being on the other end of his gun again, so I haven’t bothered since.
I just want to know if it’ll impact us or Wicked in some way. Is it Alan? Is he still working with him? Or does it have absolutely nothing to do with anything? I’ll be the first on a long list to admit that I know next to nothing about his past.
You would think, out of the group of us, it would be Ezra who is most closed off in that aspect. But it’s not. He’s actually the most open and honest, even being an ex Delta Force operator. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a huge secret or not, but I really don't think the man cares. I suppose as long as he’s not spouting off government secrets, then he’s safe.
Me, Nic, and Wicked are pretty much all tied in first place on locked down histories. Sure, we may be digging into Wicked’s past to find out who the bastard is that’s stalking her, but it wasn’t anything she did. It’s just what happened to her. And her past doesn’t begin or end the night of her car crash.
She’s hiding something. And I want to know what it is. Yet, I know if I push her too hard, it’ll only drive her away. She needs to come to us. She needs to make that decision. So I’ll let her keep her secrets. For now.
I have a few of my own too, and I refuse to be a hypocrite. I just don’t know if she’s ready to learn about me yet. Not that I think that she’ll judge me or use it against me. But I can’t risk bearing my soul to her when, frankly, she’s not quite ready to stick around.
She’s flighty. She’s scared. And she needs to open up before she’ll even remotely be ready for commitment.
I wasn’t lying when I said I was going to make her fall for me. I will.
Relationships with people like Wicked are a delicate dance. She’s broken–held together by cheap glue and flimsy tape–her pieces are just barely formed into a semblance of wholeness, though she might claim otherwise.
If I want in, I have to build her up first. I have to find the cracks and crevices in the frail structure of her heart and reinforce them. Slowly, but surely, until one day she looks back and realizes just how strong it’s become. She’ll see that it’s okay to let people in. The right people.
Yes, there are wrong people to let in. Everyone opens their doors to them at some point.
Some may barge right in and throw a party, fun and exciting at first, until day by day you see the wreckage and the mess that they leave behind. They don’t mean to ruin you, their intentions aren’t so malicious. But they don’t value what you’ve given them, and they neglect it. Until, eventually, it deteriorates over time and your heart and soul are nothing but a disheveled and ramshackle wreck.
Some just barge right in, shielded by a layer of the naive and innocent trust that you give them for their sweet lies and faux love. That is, until they take a sledgehammer to your walls, an axe to your foundation, and set off a live grenade before leaving you to die. They hide behind the care they project, but it’s all a mask to hide the ugliness of their souls. They hit you, hurt you, control you. Break you. Everything you once were is lost, destroyed so completely that you can’t even remember who you were before. You become a ghost–a pale imitation and incomparable shadow–of what you used to be.
That’s why, even though Wicked’s soul is barely held together, the barriers surrounding it are stronger than Fort Knox. Instead of spending time repairing the damage that was done to it, she hid it away. She spent her life building walls, weapons, and moats to protect what was left of herself. Every ounce of her energy and need to survive was spent on defenses instead of mending and healing her wounds.
It’s understandable. Regardless of the fact that I have no idea what storm crashed through her life, I can see the evidence that it happened. So, bit by bit, I’ll continue slipping through her defenses and healing that broken and vulnerable piece of her soul without her knowing. I’ll whisper to it, sing to it, care for it. Love it. One day, she’ll look and see what it’s grown into, beneath the fortress she’s built around it. She’ll know it was me–it was us–by the traces we leave behind.
Then she’ll open her doors and invite us in for good.
“What the hell are you thinking about so hard over there?” I glance up to see Nic is back from returning all the files, and Ezra and Wicked are nowhere to be found.
“Well, shit. Can’t a guy have a little moment of contemplation without being interrupted?” I wipe at my heavy eyes, shaking my head to try and dispel the exhaustion that has settled over me. I need something greasy to eat and about a gallon of fucking coffee to continue this day.
I force myself to stand and leave the private study room and make my way to the library’s exit, Nic on my heels. Though he doesn’t bother talking to me. He’s not that kind of guy and, apparently, we don’t have that kind of friendship yet.
Exiting the library, the bitter cold slams into me as soon as the doors open for me, helping to wake me up a bit more. I immediately head to Ezra’s monstrous black truck, finding Wicked and him already sitting and waiting with the heat blasting on Wicked’s shivering form.
She does not appreciate the cold in any way, which makes it doubly confusing that she refuses to wear an actual coat instead of her tiny–albeit sexy as fuck–leather jackets. Halloween is only a couple weeks out, but you would think we’re in the midst of winter with how quickly the temperature has dropped, and Wicked is stubbornly trying to hold on to the milder chill of early fall.
Maybe I should buy her a coat. Like a really sexy, flattering one, that’s still warm. I doubt that she does much shopping on her own, being blind as a penis snake and all.
