DRAKE

Vanessa's mom leaves after fifteen minutes of Vanessa and I sitting at the table in silence. We are finally left alone, but my insides churn like the seven seas. Her eyes have fallen to the paper, and maybe she does that on purpose to try to make me feel like I'm not put on the spot, but the very first question she asks has me wishing I didn't come over here.

"So, I'll start off with asking you how you are feeling right now." Vanessa says softly without looking up.

I clear my throat and glance into her brown eyes. I don't want to answer the question truthfully, so I say, "Good."

Vanessa's eyes cut through the air to my gaze. She tilts her head. "Could you give me more details?"

"Ugh." I lie back in the chair and glance at the white ceiling. I take a moment to reflect. Tonight, I feel fine, but hours ago I was so angry I thought I could hit a woman. And before that, during our mission in DC, I was jealous. The cold feeling slithered through my veins when I saw Vanessa and Ethan getting cozy with one another. "I'm a little mixed on how I am feeling. My team and I have been getting our missions completed, but recently it feels like we are off our game in a sense."

I watch Vanessa suck in a breath. "How come?"

"You know why." I half-smile. "Because of you."

Vanessa thoughtfully stares at me for a moment before saying, "Is that why you've been so angry with me?"

My stomach boils. "Of course. I liked the way things were before you came along, no offense. My team and I had a system. We knew what to expect and when to expect it. Then, we had to kidnap you and then save you and then work with you and lean on you."

She remains silent as I let out a huff. "And it doesn't help that it all happened within a few weeks."

She waits for me to continue, but I am busy trying to calm myself down. I wish I didn't get so angry so quickly. She nods after a moment, mumbling. "It did. What was it like before these past couple of weeks?"

"It was good." I feel a small smile cover my lips. "Everyone was getting along. Tony would make us some dinner and we would drink beer together and share some laughs after work. Sometimes, we'd have some missions where things would get under our skin, but we knew that if we had each other we would be okay."

"Like what things?" She questions softly, jotting something down on the paper.

I think back to the missions before, but I can't find it in myself to speak of them. "Things that you don't want to hear."

"It's not about me." She tells me as she glances up with a steady gaze. "Tell me, what gets under your skin?"

"A lot of things get under my teammates' skin." I explain, trying to avoid the question.

She senses this and narrows her eyes at me. Finally, I let out a long breath and tell her. "The main thing that gets under my skin is when the bad wins."

Her pencil is still as she peers at me. "How does the bad win?"

"Let me give you an example." I say aloud, tired of her prying. I'll tell her exactly what she wants to know, even if I know she doesn't want to hear it. "One time, we were on a job, and our mission was to extract a CIA operative who was ratted out for being an undercover agent in a sex trafficking ring. We had to get there and get her out before she was lost in that system for good, but the thing that got under our skin is that we could only get her out."

I can tell that Vanessa has stiffened, but I don't even know why I notice or why I care. She wanted to know, so I told her. Big deal.

I take a breath and continue. "So, when we got there and got the woman out, there were others. We saw at least forty women who were drugged and barely clothed. Some were in cages, some in chains. It was like a horror movie. Most of them were high and were cooing at us to come and join them."

Vanessa writes something down as I say, "It was a nightmare. I wish we could've gotten them all out. The mission was across the globe, though, so there was nowhere safe to take the women, even if we wanted to disobey the CIA's orders and save them."

Vanessa's eyebrows perk. "But, you thought about it."

"I did." I reply. "But, we followed our orders. We got her out, and we left those girls to the wolves."

Vanessa shakes her head. "Yeah. That kind of shit can get under your skin."

I haven't heard Vanessa cuss that often, so hearing the curse word fall off her lips at this moment sparks something inside of me. What's weird is that when she looks up at me there is nothing in her gaze that hints that she thinks any less of me. There's actually genuine understanding glittering in her caramel irises, and I stare at that for a long moment just to make sure I'm not imagining it.

"Yeah." I reply, glancing down at my knuckles. They are still bruised from the other day when I had to bash some people's skulls in at the hotel in DC.  "Sometimes, I think that I'm not doing much in this job. Like, I'm not helping enough. But, the weapon we secured on our last mission saved a hell of lives. Perhaps, millions. That's the good stuff, and I wish the good won every time."

Vanessa nods slowly. "Was there a lot of good in your childhood?"

"Ha." I know she read my file. She has to be joking. "Not so much."

"Why not?" She queries, readying her hand to write more.

I glance away, my eyes zeroing in on her bed, which is right beside her mother's. What I wouldn't do to have my mom that close to me every night. Sometimes, I try to remember her face, but I can't anymore. I remember she used to have freckles, but I can't visualize them. Were there a lot of them? Bright? Dark? Did they cover the bridge of her nose, or all of her face?

And my dad--his memory has dwindled as well. If I remember correctly, he had hair like Elvis. Or, that's how his image stuck in my brain all of these years. And his smile was huge, bigger than anyone else's. Bigger than Tony's when he sees a girl with a smoking ass.

I smile at that thought, and Vanessa's caramel eyes hold questions in them. I quickly say, "I'm just thinking of my parents."

"You remember them?" She asks as she scribbles something on the piece of paper.

"Not as much as I'd like to." I reply honestly. "I just remember a few things about them. Like the way they loved me so much."

Vanessa stops writing because she must hear the scratchiness in my voice. I look away, wondering why the hell my throat is suddenly stinging and my eyes are begging me to let tears fall. It's like a sudden wave of longing flows over me, reminding me how much I miss them.

"I..." Dear Jesus. Why am I confessing all of this to Vanessa? "I miss... I miss the feeling of being loved like that."

Vanessa blinks, her eyes falling to the floor. "You're a strong man, Drake. I don't know how I'd be able to survive without knowing my mom is by my side. Truly, Drake, you deserve a plaque or something."

A half-smile takes over my mouth as I glare at her. "Is that so? A plaque?"

Vanessa glances up and sees the humor on my face. She rolls her eyes, grinning back. "Yes. And a big goddamned plaque at that."

I can't help but to chuckle. Damn. Vanessa has got some redeeming qualities to her.

But, she still isn't my favorite person in the world. I'd rather be spending time with my brothers or even with Jerome. Spilling out my guts to Vanessa makes my insides feel all mushy and gushy like a rotten banana. Gross.

"Well, are we done?" I query, placing a hopeful smile on my lips.

"Well," she glances down at her paper and shakes her head. "Not quite. Looks like we've still got a lot of other things to talk about."

"Great." I say with a shake of my head. "What else?"

"There are a lot of things that haven't been addressed." She replies.

"Like..." I say, my voice trailing off.

"Like the fight you had at the foster home." She says while gazing into my eyes. "What was that about?"

"Well, I opened up to my friend, and he told everyone else." I respond, leaving out the part about my gayness. "And what he said turned everyone against me. Let's just say, he was no longer my friend after that."

Vanessa mumbles something under her breath and I lean forward. "What did you say?"

"Huh?" Vanessa pretends like she said nothing, but that only sparks anger inside of me.

"No, really. What did you say?" My voices rises a little bit.

She looks at me knowingly. "I just said that you can't catch a break."

"Oh." Suddenly I feel bad for getting irritated. What's wrong with me? "Well, that isn't totally true. I think I'm happy where I am."

"Happy?" Vanessa repeats back to me.

I simply nod. Of course I'm happy. I have brothers--something I haven't had my whole life. It's better than anything I could ever ask for.

"Good." She says. "And you're happy with your job?"

"I couldn't imagine doing anything else." I relay with a firm nod.

"But, you had another job before this one." She slips the words in with ease.

"That part was blacked out in my file." My eyebrows snap together. Then when she gives me a look, I know in an instant that Jerome shed light on the dark. "Of course, you found out that I tortured people."

"Well, I heard that first you had to be tortured yourself." She tells me slowly, a little bit of curiosity in her tone.

"It's true." I say shortly. I really hope she doesn't ask me about that. It's something I put it my past and something I want to stay in my past.

"What kind of torture?" She queries, and I know we're about to ride the Delorean to a place I don't want to go.

"Lots." I say. "I think I'm done with this assessment. Can we be done?"

"Why don't you want to talk about it?" She doesn't even look up at me as she writes things on her paper. "It was years ago."

"Well, would you like to talk about your torture?" I fire back at her, but I don't get the response I am expecting.

"Sure." She smiles. I can't tell if she is being truthful or is mocking me. "I haven't been able to talk to anyone about it, really, except Ethan one time."

"Ethan?" My heart twists. "He asked you about it?"

"Well, I woke him up by having a nightmare, so yeah." She responds. "Do you have nightmares?"

"No." I tell her truthfully. "I buried the torture in the past because that's where it belongs. What is done is done. Now, I'm a better man. No amount of physical pain could ever make me crumble."

She studies the features of my face. "But didn't it scar you?"

"Of course it did." I affirm as I rake a hand through my hair. "But I dealt with the pain. I learned how to cope. I've already moved on."

"When you tortured people," she sets her paper down and leans forward. "Did you feel remorse?"

"No." Is my immediate answer.

Vanessa's lips turn down to a frown. I can see the disappointment in her eyes, but since I'm not looking for her approval, it doesn't bother me. I say, "The people I tortured were bad people--sex traffickers, rapists, murderers, terrorists. The list goes on."

"So you think that if they did something bad, they deserve bad?" Vanessa queries with a disagreeing tug of her eyebrows.

"Yes." I respond without a trace of doubt in my tone. "I don't think I'm some kind of justice-seeker or anything like that, but when the CIA needs information, it needs it to save people's lives. I was proud to be the one to do what it takes to save lives. I would want someone to do it for me."

"Like, what kind of torture?" Vanessa asks, her voice small.

I stare at her for a moment. Maybe, if I tell her, she'll end the conversation because she is too disgusted. "I've pulled people's teeth. I've broken bones. I've played Russian roulette. I've stabbed and skinned and burnt and hurt people in countless ways."

"And no remorse?" Vanessa looks straight into my eyes almost as if she is challenging me.

"None at all." I shrug my shoulders. "Because you know what I do when they're screaming and begging for mercy? I imagine the six year old girl the man sold or the old woman who lived on the end of a block a guy blew up. I imagine the woman who was raped so many times she had to kill herself to feel okay. I imagine the child that had to be born without a father because the father was murdered by those dirty scums."

Vanessa remains silent. I continue. "I imagine all the pain that will come to people if I don't do my job and if I don't get the information. I feel remorse for them, not the wolves."

There's a long moment of silence where the air is thick. I am waiting for Vanessa's response, for hatred or disagreement, anger or resentment. Something. Anything. But she is deliberately staring me down for a long amount of time.

Then, she asks, "Have you killed someone before?"

My insides harden like my blood has become steel and my heart has become a rock. Without me even saying anything, Vanessa knows the answer. She can see it written in the features of my face. I don't know how, but she does.

She looks away from me, blinking. "Who did you kill? Why?"

I can tell I let her down, but I don't know why her expectations were so high. "I mean, it's part of the job. Sometimes it gets down to kill or be killed."

Her lips tighten. "You didn't do it because you were angry?"

Every time I killed someone I was angry, but my anger wasn't the purpose of killing them. It never has been. I've been so blinded by anger that I've made several, several mistakes, but never murder. Never murder. "No. I know I'm an angry person, but I've never lashed out that badly."

She drops the pencil and paper. "So, you've killed people, and you don't even act like you care."

"It's part of the job." I remind her once more. "If the people were not going to kill me, or if they were innocent, I'd have a huge weight on my chest, but that's not the case."

"They're people with families, with friends." She tells me and rises from the chair. I watch her heatedly walk to her sink and pour herself a water. "Imagine the daughter whose dad never came home because he went down a wrong path and got his head bashed in because of it."

I glare at her. "Imagine the mom who never gets to see her child grow up because she was nabbed of the street by the very man who I bashed the in the head of." I fire back at her. "Imagine the hundreds of other little girls I saved."

She tilts her head. "I don't think murder is the answer."

"Well, I'm glad you get to decide that." I smart off with a shake of my head. "When you get in a situation where a guy is aiming his gun at your head and you have to either shoot him first or die, you tell me what the right answer is."

She closes her eyes, and I climb to my feet. "What about U.S. soldiers who have fought for our country? You know what they are called? Heroes. And you know what? They murdered people just like I have. For the same reasons. For good. For the good of our people."

When Vanessa opens her eyes, I can tell I have swayed her slightly. I continue. "And I'm not the only one who has killed. You know who else has? Everyone. Everyone in the CIA who I know."

Vanessa stops breathing then. I can tell because the glass in her hand trembles and her chest has stopped rising and falling. "What?"

"That's right." I bark at her, but I immediately want to take back the statement. The look in her eyes is filled with so much bewilderment and terror that I just want to go back to when she thought we were the good guys. Now, she doesn't. There's no way in hell she does.

"Felix? Ajax? Tony? Ethan?" Her voice is as gentle as the sea's foam. Her eyes fall to the floor. "My... My dad?"

Oh, shit. My bad.

I open my mouth, but Vanessa drops the glass that resides in her hand. It falls to the floor, shattering into a thousand little sharp pieces.

My heart skips a beat. Jesus. What have I done?

"Where's your broom? I can sweep up-" Vanessa cuts me off with the lift of her hand.

"I'll clean it up. I think your assessment is over." Vanessa says softly without looking into my eyes.

I remain silent as she stares at the floor. I whisper to her. "I'm sorry."

That's when she peers into my gaze. A small smile tugs the ends of her lips up. "It's fine. Really. I know you guys do what you have to do. I... I just need time to process this."

+10 respect.

I nod. "Take as long as you need. I'll let you have some time alone."

I move toward the door, but as I reach it, I turn on my heel. "Hey, thanks, Vanessa. For this."

She smiles as she meets my gaze. "Thanks for letting me."

"This doesn't mean I like you, though." I point a finger and jab it in her direction. Her grin grows. "And, the team wanted me to ask you if you wanted to go out to dinner tomorrow night."

"Dinner?" Her expression softens.

"Yeah." I say, my heart speeding up. This is the moment of truth. "Are you in?"

Is she in? Does she still want to be around us after hearing that we've tortured, that we've killed?

She hesitates, but then she nods. "Count me in, but let Tony know that he's buying."

The smile on my face is huge, and I don't like it. Why am I so happy? I have hated this girl's guts since the moment I laid eyes on her.

Before I can think too much into it, I walk outside of her apartment and shut the door. And for some reason, I feel refreshed.