Scorpion

I sway, unsure whether to feel giddy from bliss, exhausted from having my insides wrung dry, or hollow now that I’ve become aware of reality.

I don’t have the energy to feel embarrassed as we navigate between the tables. Anyone could have heard us. I’m sure I look like I’ve just been fucked within an inch of my life, but the opinions of strangers are far too insignificant and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

At least my instincts were functioning enough to fully assemble the gun and have it safely tucked away in my handbag before we exited the room. Sergei and the rest of the team are out front waiting for us to come out.

Mathijs’s hand rests at the base of my spine, while my own clutches my purse. The weight of the gun keeps me somewhere between feeling invincible and like death is around the corner. It’s a toxic combination that keeps me grounded enough to not gawk at Mathijs over his promise.

His wife.

I thought about it all the time when we were younger—including the two kids we’d have, the low-key wedding, and the summer home in a cottage on the mountains that we’d escape to when the city got too loud. I once told him my life plans: the age I expected us to marry, and that we’d only consider children when we neared our thirties so we’d both have established careers first.

Thinking about putting a ring on my finger seems like such a foreign concept that could never happen to someone like me. When I left home, I debated whether I wanted to swear off marriage, but decided against it because I didn’t want my mother to control my life. Although, being on board about it feels like I’m letting her shove her values in my face while saying I told you so.

But the woman is dead.

They all are.

Everything from here on out is up to me. People come and go, either alive or dead.

I just need to get my shit together.

Taking in a deep breath, I draw my shoulders back. If I need time, Mathijs will give it. If I ask for space, he’ll put me at arm’s length. Nothing is going to go wrong.

“How was your meal?” the hostess asks as she hands us our coats.

Mathijs grins and casts me a sideways glance. “Delicious.”

I scoff quietly and approach the valet to wait for his Bugatti. The cold air shocks me out of the postcoital bliss and near existential crisis, enough for me to scan our surroundings for threats. Sergei and the rest of the men are across the street—except for the one guy who has stationed himself a couple meters away in case I need assistance.

The neon green car pulls up in front of me just as Mathijs reaches my side.

“Shall we?” His lips are split into a dazzling smile that shifts my equilibrium. Transporting me back to the private dining room when we were both finding God.

He winks like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I shake my head to knock some composure into me. But I don’t react soon enough.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters behind me. Screams ensue above the roar of an engine. Metal groans. And for the briefest moment, I freeze.

I’m back there. Watching TJ die. Watching them all die.

A second fire hits the wall near me, and I spring into action. I grab Mathijs by the scruff of his neck and shove him to the ground behind the car. My muscles seize and my lungs contract, blurring the environment around me so I’m caught between a scorching desert and reality.

I can’t hear anything beyond the ringing in my ears. I’m only slightly aware of the carnage from the debris flying through the air.

I grab my gun and fire back at the three cars and motorbikes driving by. I can’t count how many guns are pointed our way because of the film over my vision. I can’t even make out faces. They could be masked for all I know.

My mind flips from the Middle East to the humid wetlands in Asia and South America. To the burning armored car in Senegal.

Over and over.

Jungle. Forest. Sand.

Movement beside me pulls me from the mirage, but it isn’t enough for me to recognize who it is or what they’re doing. I keep pulling the trigger. Again. And again. And again. Jungle. Forest. Sand.

I run onto the street to chase them down. When I’m out of ammo, I reach beneath my skirt to draw the spare gun, but someone stops me. I throw my arm out and manage to stop just before landing a blow.

He’s familiar. I know him. Where do I know him from? His lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I’m sure I’ve seen his face a thousand times before. But I don’t recognize him. I don’t know why he’s touching me. Pulling me. Where’s TJ? Where’s the rest of my team—

Someone yanks me backward, and I raise my gun to fire. The weapon is jerked out of my hand before I can pull the trigger, and I’m yanked toward a different bald man.

“Soldier, pull yourself together,” he growls.

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

Then the ringing stops. Everything’s burning around me until it isn’t.

The sand disappears from my vision. There are no more trees or vines, or the smell of flames. Instead, there are sirens. Why are there sirens? Who is—

I gulp down air into my burning lungs and slowly glance back to the sounds of sobbing. Dinner. The private room. We were just about to leave.

Oh god.

I stagger to the person lying in the middle of the driveway. Crimson pools from his nose in a steady stream onto the concrete. The valet assistant. He… he can’t be more than nineteen years old.

My arm gets yanked again. I whip my head around just as Sergei hisses, “We need to get out of here.”

All I can do is nod. Whatever exhaustion I thought I felt before is nothing compared to the rapid beats of my pulse now. I feel like I’ve been strung out and the slightest pull will make me snap.

Sergei ushers Mathijs toward the SUV since the Bugatti is totaled. Mathijs holds firm, offering me his hand that I can’t bring myself to take. I’m afraid that any touch is going to set me off, and asking me to snap out of it won’t be enough.

The world shrinks until there’s nothing but me, the black SUV before me, and my memories. I don’t notice the people around me or the noises. Flashes of that day hit me all over again, getting stronger the closer I get to the convoy, and everything breaks loose when my fingers wrap around the handle of the car.

The crackle of fire and tearing metal rips through my mind. The smell of smoke burns my nostrils. My ears ring. My head spins. Pain gouges a path up my legs.

It’s so bright.

I can see all their bodies.

They’re gone. They’re all fucking dead—

We’re going to get attacked. They’re going to hurt TJ. I have to stop them. I—

My knees buckle, but something holds me up before I make it to the ground. I swing around to shove them against the door. My forearm presses into their throat. Yelling ensues around me, some distant sound that doesn’t reach me until I start to feel something warm caressing my cheek, melting the red sheen over my vision until I can see the head of bright blond hair and deep green eyes.

So familiar. But so foreign.

I don’t know where I am. What’s happening? Why is he stopping me? Is he going to hurt me?

Even though I’m seconds away from hurting him, he smiles, cupping my cheek. “Come back to me,” he whispers softly.

Worry lines his eyes, but the curve of his lips holds firm like we weren’t just attacked, and I wasn’t seconds away from pummeling him into the car because I thought I was about to be bombed all over again.

“I’m sorry.” He intertwines our fingers. “We have to get in the car.”

His guilt washes over me but I don’t move. Breathing hard through my nose. Wishing I was someone else. Wishing the images would stop bombarding my head.

Mathijs squeezes my hand and pulls open the door, silently urging me to go inside. I’d rather walk home. Hell, I’d rather fucking die out here than go inside.

Jesus Christ, I need to get over it. It’s a normal, ordinary car. It isn’t an armored vehicle. We aren’t about to drive through a desert where we would get blown off the road. This is Colorado for fuck’s sake.

“Zalak,” he says with a calm that I don’t feel. “We have to go before Goldchild comes back to finish the job.”

From the corner of my eye, I see the men standing on guard, ready to pull me off him if I try anything stupid again. I back up and breathe hard. I wouldn’t be surprised if my palms are bleeding from digging my nails into them. Unspent energy thrums in my veins, begging to be released. I need to fight someone. Run. Drink. Kill. Fucking anything to get rid of this gnawing ache that’s spread in all directions from my sternum.

Mathijs pushes off the SUV, fixes his coat, then waves away the other guards like I’m completely harmless.

I shouldn’t be here. I’m not just a liability, I’m a threat to the safety of the very person I’m meant to be guarding.

Tomorrow, I’ll tell him I can’t do this anymore. Because whatever progress I thought I’ve made these past few months was a lie. All the raids I’ve done, all the shoot-outs and break-ins and surveillance, all down the drain. I’m so far from any form of healing.

I’m a fucking mess, and there’s nothing that will ever fix me. This was always going to be a bad idea; I was just stupid enough to believe life would become kinder.

For now, I just need to get in the goddamn car.

I squeeze my eyes shut and slide into the car. The door slams behind me and I flinch.

Shivers wrack through my body and bile clogs my throat. My gaze fixes on the window while Mathijs goes from call to call. Yelling at people and demanding information. I’m not sure why he’s certain it was Goldchild when there are other threats out there. I don’t have it in me to ask. If I open my mouth, I’m scared nothing is going to come out. Just like when I tried screaming for help after the bomb hit.

Once we reach the house, I throw the car door open and stumble out before it comes to a stop. I think Mathijs yells for me. I think Sergei tries to stop me. I’m not sure. I just need to get out of here. Far away from everyone.

My vision blurs and my pulse pounds in my head. The ground crunches beneath me as I run to my house.

Not my house. His. There’s nothing that belongs to me.

Life was meant to be shaping up for me. Everything is right there for me to improve and stop living in the past. The raids I’ve done in the past two months went by fine because I was expecting to get shot at. How the fuck am I expected to be a guard when I can’t tolerate a surprise attack?

Useless. That’s what my mother would call me. Pathetic. Good for nothing.

I stumble into the pool house and rush for the bathroom. I hunch over the sink in an attempt to drag oxygen into my lungs. My eyes burn with unshed tears. Mom was fucking right.

What was I thinking when I got into this dress and put makeup on? Who was I trying to fool? My insides are uglier than my outsides. I need it to match. I’m meant to be scared, damaged and broken everywhere.

My fist flies out, colliding with a solid surface. The mirror shatters against my knuckles and I sob without tears. My hands keep moving. Striking out. Hoping that I might feel something other than emptiness and rage. It doesn’t matter how many shards of glass embed itself into my skin, or how much crimson drips from the mirror and stains my reflection. The strikes do nothing. Why can’t I fucking feel it?

I’m a mess who’s better off dead. No one but Mathijs is going to mourn my passing. A week from now, everyone would have forgotten I ever existed. I’d be another number on a never-ending tally of people who never made it back from deployment.

I might have killed Mathijs. I could kill him one day. I was meant to be my team’s eyes and I didn’t see the attack coming back then. How am I meant to be someone’s protector? Is this how I expect to live every day?

My mother was right. I was never meant for greatness. There would never be a version of me where I would leave better than how I came in. All but one person I care about has died. I’m the common denominator here.

I pull my arm back and punch the mirror with a cry. It hurts somewhere deep in my center and I need to gouge it out. I stumble back, clawing at my chest to make the pain stop. My sights land on a shard of glass. Pointed like a… like a knife.

My fingers tremble as I reach for it. Blood drips down from my knuckles to the broken glass and drops to the floor. The harsh edges dig into my palms, slicing through thick skin to bring a pool of red to the surface.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection, and a single word comes to mind: Pretty.

That’s the word that crossed my mind when I saw these clothes earlier today. The person in the mirror doesn’t deserve to hold any acquaintance with those two syllables after the hell that has followed me on my heels and consumed everything that’s good.

I press the tip of the glass against my wrist. Crimson beads on the surface in settled silence. The slightest prick, and my nerves settle. It’s the same feeling I get before I step into a ring without promise that I’ll make it out alive. I push harder, hungry to fall into the headiness of acceptance. One cut, and it’ll all be over. It’s easier this way. Better. If I’m dead, the hurt will stop, right? I’ll be with TJ and Gaya and nothing else would matter.

If the blade goes deeper, would I be met by total darkness? Would everything cease to exist? Or would I close my eyes and wake in a different body to do everything all over again just like Mom believed? Or would there be pearly gates?

“What are you doing?”

I gasp when the makeshift blade flies out of my hand and shatters on the floor. Warm arms engulf me in a tight embrace, then haul me out of the bathroom. I thrash against the hold without using any skill or tact, throwing my arms out and hoping I meet skin.

“Zalak.”

No, no, no, he wasn’t meant to see this. I thrash harder, but he only holds on tighter. A sob tears through my body. The carpet burns my skin as I kick my legs out fruitlessly. “Let me go,” I cry.

The pain had stopped. It was getting quiet. Why did he have to ruin it? I could have finally been free and died being my mother’s greatest disappointment. I left him once; he’ll survive if I do it again. He knows the drill already. Sergei can protect him better than I ever could. One day I might kill him, and that would destroy me.

“Never.” Mathijs lowers us to the floor, uncaring of my protests. He looks like a man who’s been broken too many times and this is his last straw. Teardrops gather on the lashes surrounding his eyes that are so full of pain. It’s a stark contrast to the grinning man I knew.

“Please,” I beg. “You have to. I can’t do it anymore. It’s too late. I can’t go back.” Just let me die. Please.

He threads his fingers into my hair and presses his lips to the top of my head. “I can’t lose you,” he rasps.

Can anyone really keep a ghost? This was bound to happen eventually. I’m a ticking time bomb; it’s only a matter of time when I go off.

“Let me go,” I beg even though I’ve latched myself onto his clothes.

A tremor works through my voice because I… I actually don’t know if I want to go. I’m just so tired of living like I’m not meant to be alive. These past few months have been so good, and every day was getting slightly better. One step forward and two steps back. That’s always how it goes.

“I’m never going to let you go. I told myself that I wouldn’t attend another funeral this decade. Please don’t make me break that promise.” His anguished voice cuts me deeper than the glass did, and the first tear drops. It trickles down my cheek and soaks into his clothes. Then more fall.

How long has it been since I cried? I don’t think I did at Gaya’s or my team’s funerals. It was like a switch happened when the bomb went off. Why would Mathijs want someone like that? He needs someone strong and resilient. I’m a weak link. A killer lying in wake.

I shove him away, yet his hands remain on my self-inflicted wound, staunching the bleeding. “You missed me, right?” I growl. “This is what you wanted? I’m ruined, Mathijs. I’m broken beyond fucking repair. This is what you missed. This is all I’ll ever be. I wasn’t happy before I left this place. I wasn’t happy once I was gone. I don’t even know the meaning of that goddamn word. Now they’re all dead and I never got the chance to say goodbye.”

Tears spill into my mouth as I speak. With each word, the ache in my chest amplifies. Beneath it all is one emotion I recognize but haven’t truly grasped since they died: grief.

They’re gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. They’re gone and this is the first time I’ve spoken about them.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.” I want to say more, but I don’t know how to form the words. I’m drowning in self-pity enough as it is.

“You think I don’t know what it feels like to lose everyone I’ve ever loved?” His voice is raw, teetering over the edge of vulnerability. “You want to end it? I get it. There hasn’t been a single person in my life since my parents died. What you lived for two years, I lived for six.”

Pain slices a path up my throat. “I opened my eyes, only to find that I’m the only one in my team who woke up. Then, in the same breath, they told me my entire family died due to engine failure—I didn’t even know she was going to see them. If I hadn’t been busy trying to prove myself, maybe she’d still be alive. If I were better at my job, maybe we could have avoided the attack,” I ramble, then snap my mouth shut.

Woe is fucking me. He’s telling me about his pain and I’m making this about me. How selfish and conceited could I be?

Still, he looks at me like he’s absorbing every word into his marrow. He pulls me closer, shrouding me in his shuddering breaths. “None of those things are your fault.” A tormented look flashes behind his eyes when he takes in the open wounds along my knuckles and palms. “I kept thinking you’d come back. And you did. But you never came to me. Not a single call. Not a text. Every single morning when I wake up, I feel sick to my stomach while I check my phone to see if you’ve died. And every night, I torture myself thinking that the next time I see you will be when you’re in a casket.”

My heart sinks into the floor, trapped under the weight of guilt. I didn’t even reach out to him when his parents died because I thought he would have been better without me. Like Mom said, Someone like him could never actually want you. Yet here he is, not wanting to let go when he should.

I drop my gaze to his hands, and the blood trickling from the one holding on to my wrists. He tightens his grip in my hair like he senses that I’m about to move away from him.

“This isn’t a competition. This isn’t about the sacrifices you made. This is me saying that you aren’t alone. You never were, Zalak.”

I shake my head, desperate anger bubbling through me. “I’m not good for you. I never was and I never will be. Why the hell won’t you get that? I’m not the seventeen-year-old girl you knew. I’m fucked in the head with no way to fix it. We can’t even be in the same car as each other. You can’t fly. If it weren’t for me, you’d be—”

“Dead. I’d be dead.”

My eyes snap up to his.

“I’m selfish. No one has been around to pick up my broken pieces until you came along.”

No. I refuse to believe that. “I’ve done nothing for you, Mathijs.”

“The only highlight of my day has been spending time with you. Just because I don’t need coddling doesn’t mean I don’t need attention. I’m as human as you are, and the only reason I’m still standing is because I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I want to make my parents proud and I knew you would come back one day—hoped for it, at least.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the world to disappear for just a second. But the next thing he says has me staring into his green orbs and falling deeper into his hold.

“I want you to myself, in any shape you come in, because I’ll love you regardless of it. Jagged edges and all.”

I choke on a sob and wrap my free arm around him, not caring where all the blood is going. Mathijs’s voice curls around me like a cocoon. He grazes the line of my jaw, down to my arm where he grabs my waist to pull me onto his lap. I don’t have the energy to fight it, and I don’t think I want to.

“I don’t think… I’m not okay, Mathijs.” I curl my hands into fists to focus on my aching knuckles. “It doesn’t—I don’t know how I’m meant to do it—I can’t fix it. I don’t know how to. And you’d be better off…”

He nods as if he knows exactly what I’m about to say but disagrees wholeheartedly, and I couldn’t be more relieved. I’m so tired of having nothing but my own company. He’s been there for me these past few months, but I just couldn’t accept him.
“You don’t need to be alone to find yourself. Loving someone is being there to help them if they get lost along the way. It’s about growing together and becoming two different puzzles that create a similar picture.” Mathijs grasps my chin to tip my head up to his. “If you go, there would be nothing left inside me. So stay, Zalak. Fight me. Hate me. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself feel better. But don’t leave.”

What would be left of me if I walked out of here? I tried doing it all by myself, but it didn’t work. I just… I needed a friend. And I’ve never been good at making those. If I hurt him again, I’m leaving and I’m never turning back.

I nod.

A sad smile crosses his lips—the type that says we won the battle, but not the war.

“I want you to move into the main house.”

I swallow and glance at all my injuries. “You think I can’t be trusted by myself? I survived this long already.”

“Did you survive? Or did you die that day, and you’ve been walking around without your soul? Or did you lose it years before when you left home carrying nothing but your mother’s words?”

I’m not sure what hurts more; his questions or the fact that I don’t have the answer to them.

“Okay,” I whisper.