Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series)

by Rosa, A.

I chuckle and feel her trying to slip out of my grasp. I tighten my grip and pepper her lips with kisses. "Maybe the bastard's right for once. Take it easy. Don't let your mind go somewhere it doesn't need to be. Especially since I am right here in front of you."

  She grins. "Now that was kind of romantic, Mr. Hunt."

  "The fact that I want you to focus on me? I kind of thought it was selfish, but we are selfish people."

  She slides her nose along the bridge of mine. "That we are."

  Her tone is lukewarm and inviting. Her game of seduction is subtle, which makes it all the more impressive.

  Then something happens. My body throws caution to the wind, and I choose to speak before thinking. With surprising conviction, I whisper, "That's why I love you."

  Even though nothing else is said, it feels like time freezes. She holds her breath. I no longer feel her rising chest with every inhale, nor can I feel her humid breath on my skin. I think about what I have done, and lock eyes with her.

  She looks lost. Petrified to the spot. She had the same look when someone tried to kill me. Surely, this isn't the same.

  After this morning's revelations about how I feel, I quickly think it over, and decide I am not ashamed of my words. I am a man of truth, and mean it. I have to handle this appropriately. But what is considered appropriate?

  The sound of silence is deafening, and I know something isn't right. The moment hangs in the balance, and a thick fog rolls over our delightful morning. I become concerned.

  Her eyes widen, and she pushes out of my grasp with surprising force, taking deliberate steps away from me.

  Oh shit.

  ALEX TURNER

  I find that my words are coming out in a gasp. "What did you say?"

  "I said, that's why I love you." As he says it for a second time, I see the doubt etching over his face, and his eyes widen infinitesimally. It's slight, but it's there. He senses what is coming.

  A wave of panic washes over me like a thick layer of molasses, engulfing me, suffocating me. His words feel like a sucker punch, and I take a step back from the proverbial blow. Love? He can't ...

  "Jeremy, you don't love me." I shake my head as my mouth goes dry and thick. No one has ever loved me. It is a word I reserve for my favorite beverage, or the way my gun makes me feel. Love? It's an intangible thing that I can't seem to grasp, but I know it doesn't sit well with me. This morning was starting out wonderfully. Why did it have to take such a heavy turn? And why can't I stop these flooding emotions? This is bad. How can he say such a thing?

  Jeremy stretches out his arm, offering me his hand, as if to guide me back to the light as I slip into the dark. I shake my head, cowering like a cornered animal. I'm gasping for air here.

  Jeremy's towering stance intimidates me. This is not my element. I try my best to keep eye contact, as if to challenge the predator cornering the timid mouse. He is beyond confident, as usual, but he doesn't know what he's done.

  He has every right to his reaction, but aren't I allowed to have my own too? I'm not ready.

  I see a wave of anger flash over his face as he watches me, though his eyes twitch with concern and mirrored panic. I am so sorry, Jeremy. Here comes the inevitable storm.

  His tone is harsher than I think he intends. "Don't tell me how to feel. I've never said it to anyone, and this is how you're treating it? Like I don't know what it means. I only say what I mean; you should know that by now. You're easy to love, don't you see that?"

  "No, I am not, Jeremy. Far from it. I thought we were fine as we were. It was reassuring to think that."

  "Reassuring? Do you hear yourself right now? You are being crazy."

  The word crazy doesn't sit well with me. The combination of this argument, my relationship, and my assignment at hand has me grasping at straws. I need to choose one to focus on right now.

  I heave in a deep breath, and feel my veins flame with frustration and anger. "I am not crazy. I just think you are jumping into this too quickly."

  "About how I feel about you? I would normally agree and say sorry, but seeing all your fear, I don't want to. I want to confront this head on, and so should you. I love you, and I mean it. You don't know what it means, so you're scared, and that's all right." He tries softening his tone at the end as a peace offering, but I don't budge.

  I fiddle with my hands and tear my stare away from his storming eyes. Is he right? Do I always fear the unknown? But this is different.

  "No, Jeremy," I blurt out, trying to stand up for myself. I'm letting him walk all over me, letting his words swallow me whole. I don't have a defense for this. I can't seem to find the words. I'm scared to speak.

  "No? You keep saying that! You've been saying that to me since I met you. Always telling me to stop, always telling me no. It hasn't worked all this time being together, and it sure as hell is not going to work now. I am willing to take the leap, why aren't you? It's fine if you aren't ready, but I didn't expect this reaction." He curls his once-warm, outstretched hand into fist as he points a finger at me. He is fuming with anger.

  "Leap? I didn't think ..." I stutter.

  "Didn't think what?" His tone becomes patronizing. "That this is where we were headed? I know we've been moving fast, and I am pushing you too hard, but I can't hide how I feel about you. What if something happened to you, and I never took the time to overcome my fears and tell you how I feel about you? I won't live with regret. I want to live in the now. I love you, and don't tell me you can't be loved because of some dumb cracked photo on your nightstand. You deserve to let yourself have this. Let me love you." His words sound pleading, and mildly desperate.

  I close my eyes, trying to absorb what he's said, and my stomach knots.

  Franticly, he blurts out, "You love me too; you just won't let yourself!"

  His words cause my eyes to spring open. "Stop it, Jeremy!"

  Practically stomping his feet, he retorts, "That's it. You don't know how to define it, and you won't let yourself feel it. You're being a coward. You love me."

  I have never been called a coward in my life. "Dammit, Jeremy, stop it! I don't love anyone."

  He stumbles backward at my words, knocked off balance as if I'd punched him.

  "You love me," he stammers. His words are shaky, and I can see his confidence crumbling. No, Jeremy. Please ...

  In a desperate attempt to save myself, I heave in a deep breath to fill the void. "This is too much, too quickly. I don't love you, Jeremy." It's all I can muster, all I can offer.

  What am I doing? I don't know what I am saying!

  "That's a lie. I mean more to you. You saved my life." Jeremy is quick to reject the statement, and his wavering tone jabs me to the core.

  I want to cry, but my body won't let me, and for once, that makes me angry with myself. I want to cry; I want to cry badly. My subconscious is shouting now: Jeremy's right!

  I hyperventilate as I make my big, strong boyfriend wilt in front of me with the weapon of my words. This is all too much for me. I need space to think. Jeremy is the most important person to me, but love? I can't even grasp ...

  I shrug to feign indifference. "It's my job, Jeremy."

  "Please, you are full of shit and you know it," he sneers.

  You're right. His words sting, and I square my shoulders as if preparing myself for battle.

  "Don't act like you know what is good for me. Only I know what is good for me, Jeremy!"

  "Can you hear yourself right now? You obviously have no idea what is good for you."

  I clench my fists. "Yes. I. Do."

  "No, you haven't a clue. I know what is good for you. I am good for you. Just as much as I hate to admit that you are good for me. You drive me crazy. You do nothing but challenge everything I do, but at least I know I need that. I need you."

  "This is too much, too soon. We've known each other five minutes."

  "It's not like either of us is good at taking things slow. I am a man who knows what he wants, and knows what he means. And I mea
n it when I say I love you. It's crazy, I know, but I can't help it. Can't you see I am risking myself for you when I say that? I've never said those words before."

  I can feel my tingling panic turn into resentful fury. It's a defense mechanism, an inexperienced, immature reaction that has worked for years. However, that was when I had a lot less to lose. "I'm not full of shit. I am not good for you. I care for you, I do, but I am not ready to love anyone."

  Jeremy's body droops as if releasing its tentative struggle. The action tells me he's disappointed in me. His body is quick to throw up the white flag, and the transition feels like a combo of punches to my well-being, one after another.

  My subconscious is clawing at the walls of my skull, screaming in panic for me to fight for him, but my shattered confidence and my cowardly heart choose the easier route.

  I don't say a damn thing.

  "I don't know what's going on, but ya know what? Maybe you are right. We—I can't do this. I deserve to be loved the way I want to be loved, and if you aren't ready to confront that, or willing to understand it, then what the hell am I doing? You ask for honesty, yet you can't even do yourself the favor. You are full of shit, Alex. I love you, but maybe you're right, maybe it is too much for us right now, huh?" He is frustrated with me.

  His words are like daggers. I clench my jaw tightly as I watch Jeremy's eyes turn electric while his facial expression falls. He is trying to show he is strong, but his eyes are screaming for me to fight for him.

  I can't. This is too much for us. I can't love anyone when I don't have anything to offer him. Why couldn't he be happy how we were?

  He runs both hands through his hair, and as if impatient, he cuts the silence sharply. "Fine! Have it your way, then. I am not going to fight for you if you aren't willing to fight for me. It's not fair."

  "You're right." It's a whisper, but all I can muster.

  He brings his hands up to his ear as if trying to hear me. "Oh, what's that? OK. This is it, then? After everything? So, I figure out how I feel about you, and you can't figure it out for yourself?"

  He rubs his temples as if he is mulling a thought over. "This is not how I pictured today, but you need someone to kick you in your ass, and because I love you, I am going to ask you to leave."

  I exhale as if he slugged me in the gut. "W-what?" Is he really asking me to leave? What does this mean?

  "I am going to go back to my room to take a shower. You need to gather your thoughts and figure out what and whom you want to fight for. I know it seems rash, but you have to decide if it is going to be all about you, or are you going to choose us? You didn't have to tell me you loved me, but you didn't have to reject me."

  I don't know how to respond. There is no protocol in my life experience that I can pull from to salvage anything. I am beyond flawed.

  Jeremy eyes me for one last brief moment before he walks away.

  He is a man of his word.

  As I see him expanding the distance between us, my body tries to fight for a solution. The only thing to escape my lips is, "Jeremy, please don't go." This is all I have. This is my only chance.

  He snorts at the statement, and sharply turns around to face me. It's as if my body could sense the end, that this could possibly be the last time I ever lay my eyes on Jeremy. I swing my stare to his broad shoulders, memorizing the statuesque curves and angles, and then, in what feels like slow motion, I drag my eyes over his toned chest and taut stomach. Lastly, I commit to memory the lines of his masculine hips. I devour his classical features, and I wish I were close enough to get one final inhale of him, like a drug.

  "Give me a reason to stay." His voice is as quiet as mine, and I am worried I am going to miss a word, but they are crystal clear.

  It's an obvious challenge, but the risk feels too big, the leap too grand, the future too unknown.

  His words make me choke, and all the breath feels knocked out of me. I stand there, stoic, rooted to the spot, and silent, wishing he would read my mind and know that I am too afraid to say the words.

  Pursing his lips, he nods. "That's what I thought." With that, he turns around, and doesn't even care enough to take one last look back. The last thing I hear is his bedroom door slam.

  My body screams, and finally the tears fall.

  I make a run for it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Evidence & Suffering

  ALEX TURNER

  I grip the barrel of my gun as I shoot off three consecutive rounds; the mechanical blows racking my body are a comfortable substitute for my sobs.

  I refocus, recognizing I must have had my blank, deep-thinking, daydreaming stare. I wasn't even looking where I was shooting, but luckily, I'm a professional. The three shots are still centered on the chest cavity of the target dummy in the distance.

  Professional what, Agent Turner? Is this truly the only thing you have to offer this world?

  I utter, "Fuck," under my breath as I raise my arms for another onslaught of shots, but there's a firm hand on my shoulder, causing me to leap in the air. I whip around. Derek throws his hands up defensively. He's speaking, but I can't hear him due to my noise-canceling headset. I yank the headset off, and then place my gun back on the table.

  "What the hell, Derek? You don't sneak up on someone with a gun! What were you saying to me?"

  He relaxes a bit, but his eyebrow rises.

  "Derek, I said, what is it?" My tone is harsh. I take a deep breath in hopes of calming myself.

  "Are you OK, Turner?" He takes a bold step closer as if to get a better look at my face.

  "What are you talking about, Derek?" I wipe my eyes.

  He puts his hands into his pockets, and his face tenses. He suspects.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Why do his words make me want to cry again? I catch myself sniffling, and I shake my head. I have to concentrate on not letting my emotions get the best of me. I don’t trust myself to speak.

  "You've been crying, haven't you?"

  The feeling I have become well acquainted with rears its ugly head. Embarrassment. I square my shoulders and shake my head.

  Derek knows not to challenge me, and nods, as if to say he will respect my silence—for now. See, Derek gets me.

  "I've been trying to get a hold of you all morning. You weren't answering your phone, but I guess I know why. You couldn't hear it. Agent Jensen said he saw you down here."

  I nod again, finding myself without much to say.

  Derek takes a deep breath as he swings his hips with his hands still in his pockets. He doesn't know what to do with me. I don't know what to do with me.

  "I'm here to take you to surveillance. We have the connection to Gibbs's phone, figured you'd want to join me. You look like you could use a solid distraction."

  "You'd be right. You got a cup of coffee waiting for me up there?"

  "Of course." He smiles, and I find the familiarity comforting.

  "Lead the way, Agent Matthews." As I follow him, I remember the last time coffee and I had an encounter. "On second thought, do we have tea?"

  ****

  I swivel in my chair to find Derek staring at me as we drink our second cups. I decide that I hate the taste of tea, but I drink it anyway.

  I peer around the small room at the other agents gathered around equipment, turning knobs and checking security video. Some are looking at cameras pertaining to our case, but others have assignments of their own. I am jealous of their focus.

  Letting out a sigh, I stare at our blank screen. The neon green line is flat, with no incoming sound. We are waiting for Marcus to use his damn phone.

  "Fuck this case," I blurt out.

  Derek stifles a chuckle as he leans back in his chair. "Are you kidding me right now, Turner? When you really think about it, this has been our easiest case yet."

  I roll my eyes, collapsing back into my chair as well. "Maybe, but I am ready to move on to the next one."

  "What the hell happened? I thought you might
welcome a calmer, local case this time around."

  I take a tentative sip as I mull his words over. "I'll take option two please, gun fight in Libya for five hundred."

  He lets out a series of deep laughs. "Well, at least I know you still have a sense of humor. Now spill the beans, or do I have to beat it out of you like before?"

  I let out a sigh, but feel my lips twitch into a weak smile. "Thank you for being you. You never change." He seems to be the only person I can count on.

  Who. Am. I. Right. Now?

  He takes another sip, and raises his thick brow. "Is that a compliment?"

  I nod, rolling my eyes again. "Yes. Take it or leave it."

  "Seeing as it is the only one you have ever given me, I'll take it. But don't think that because you dish out one of your rare half-ass compliments, I am going to let whatever is going on with you slide."

  I realize that I actually do want to talk to someone about it. I chew my lip, thinking this over, wondering if Derek is the right person to talk to. But who else do I have? I open my mouth, deciding to give it a go, but static interrupts me.

  Our eyes dart to the screen, and the neon line bounces like an EKG machine recording a heartbeat, except tones are heard as if Marcus is dialing a number. Yes.

  I decide to pass on the emotional confession. "It's Marcus. He's finally calling someone. For the love of all that is holy, please make this call a good one."

  Derek and I lean over the dash of buttons, grabbing headsets to get a better listen. I can hear Derek whisper under his breath, "C'mon, Marcus."

  I turn the nob, adjusting the static to a minimum, and focusing on the incoming transmission. I press the record button in hope that this is the hard evidence we need. It begins with that horrid woman's chirpy voice.

  "Hello?"

  "Adessa, where are you?"

  "Worried about me, Marcus? What does it matter to you?"

  "You said you'd be here so I could take you to my lab."

  "It'll have to wait until tomorrow. I am meeting with someone to get what you need for tomorrow."

  An audible sigh. "Fine, but tomorrow we do our final tests, and the shipment should be ready."