((Author's note: This is a story of a romance that takes a while to bloom. Although there is sexual relations in nearly every chapter, that isn't the main goal of this story. I hope you enjoy the ride.))
Will Raskin and I had known each other for years. We met at work. If you can call the Agency work. I've heard it called everything from "hell" to "the most exciting job I've ever had." The Young People's Investigation Agency, called "the Agency" by most who worked there, is a new branch of the FBI. In the last few years, scientists began to research the neurological development that happens during and after puberty. They found that talents, such as investigation skills, hand-eye coordination, analytic understanding and the like, manifested between 16 and 18 years of age. They decided to use these especially talented children to their advantage before their brilliance faded.
I was brought in a year after Will had been there. He was 17 at the time. I was 16. He had a photographic memory and I had the ability to read people like a book. Still do. The two of us got along right away and we were partnered together. We were sent on countless missions together, going everywhere from Paris to Istanbul. Each time I went undercover, though, I felt like I was losing myself a little more.
When I was 23, I decided to leave the Agency. They made me sign an Official Secrets Act, then let me go. Ever since then, I've been making up for lost time, getting a boyfriend, finishing my college degree that I had started, and even getting a job as a psychology teacher at the local high school. Things were going wonderfully until I came back to the apartment Jacob and I shared and I found him in bed with Jade, my best friend. I forced them out, told Jacob never to come back, and locked the door behind them.
That was nearly a week ago now. I replay the scenario again in my mind as I consult my directions from the piece of paper on the passenger seat of my Camry. I remember the way they had looked when I walked into the bedroom. The way that his hand was in her hair, the way he used to do with me. The way she was pressed against him, naked.
I take a left turn onto Golden Palace Drive and see my destination, an apartment complex made out of red brick with a green roof, on my right. I pull into the parking lot, slam my door shut, and buzz apartment number 23. After a pause the doors unlock and I walk into a black and white tiled main area. I go up the stairs and take a right at the top, following the signs to room 23.
I make an attempt to fix my hair as I stand outside his door. Tucking my brilliantly red hair behind my ears, I wonder if he'll recognize me. It was almost two years since I last saw him. I had lost a little muscle since then, but was still pretty fit. My breasts and ass are okay, I guess, but nothing special. My skin was really pale and no matter how hard I worked, I couldn't tan, only burn. Will used to tease me about that. His brown hair would always get blonder in the summer, his skin tanning easily.
I raise my hand and take a deep breath, then knock. It was late. I knew that. But I also knew he liked to stay up late. "Will?" I ask. "It's me..." I look up and down the hall, still not used to his apartment building yet. The florescent lamps overhead flicker with a harsh white light, banishing shadows to the corners.
He opens the door and stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe. "Hey Tanya," he says by way of greeting. His brown hair was a little disheveled, more so than usual. Dressed in a loose-fitting grey shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, I wondered if I had woken him. "What are you doing here? It's past midnight." He looked much older than his 25 years. He didn't seem surprised to see me at his door, although it had been a long time.
I look at the floor between my teal high heels peeping out from underneath my grey wool pants. "I couldn't sleep. Been having a hard week."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"It's a long story."
"I have time." I nod and he ushers me into the apartment. He takes my coat and throws it over the arm of a brown armchair in the living room. The apartment is small but neat. Shades of brown and tan furniture. A decent sized television with an Xbox. Generic painting on the wall. The apartment could belong to any man between the ages of 20 and 28.
The kitchen, too, had the same non-personal look. It was connected to the living room by an archway, and the small table was situated against a half-wall that separated the two. I could see two doorways off of the living room that led to what I assumed were his bedroom and bathroom.
Will motions for me to sit in one of the white, curved-back kitchen chairs and I do. He looks through his cabinets, mostly bare. He pulls out a small box and hands it to me. "Here. Some tea. Pick out which you want. I think there are a few different kinds in there. I'll heat some water."
He places a mug of water in the microwave and I look up at him. "I thought you didn't like tea."
"I don't."
"Then why do you have it?"
He smiles. "Because other people do." His grey eyes meet mine and I quickly look back down at the box of tea, unable to hold his gaze.
I pick out a chamomile, one that should relax me, and drop it in the mug of hot water when he places it on the table. Wrapping my hands around the warm mug, I stare into my tea.
"So," he says, sliding into the chair across from me, "what is it that has your sleep schedule so off?"
I shake my head. "Will, it's complicated..."
"Isn't everything?"
"No, like, really complicated." I take a sip of the tea and swallow quickly so it won't scald my tongue. I sigh and begin my story. "My boyfriend and I were living together..."
I tell the story of the past week over the tea, often glancing down into the blackish-brown liquid as I search for the words to describe what happened. By the time I finish, it's almost 2 AM. I sigh and run my fingers along the porcelain handle of the cup, then lift it to my lips, finishing the last few drops of the now-cold tea. "So now I feel guilty and foolish and betrayed. I haven't been sleeping well lately. Or much."
Will nods. Throughout my story he never said much, only nodded or asked the occasional question for clarification. "I can see how that would wreak havoc on someone's mind," he says finally. "It seems you've learned from it though." He looks at the clock. "It's really late."
I look up, surprised by the time. "Should I go? If you want to sleep..."
