Y/N 💥

Wednesday, 12:35am

_

I DON'T CARE IF THE WORLD HATES ME.

I don't think it's my problem, honestly. If they decide that my actions bother them so much, then it's their fault for having me on their mind this whole time. I didn't ask for their opinion. I didn't ask for their snide remarks and backhanded compliments.

I only asked for my own opinion, because that's all that I know.

I know what he's thinking.

I know he wishes I could 'understand' how he's feeling, and how my unreturned feelings 'hurt' him, but I don't see how he could expect me to take time out of my life to understand him, when he doesn't bother to understand me.

People only know what they've had the chance to see. If he's the only one spreading his thoughts, then all they will hear is one side of the story. They'll hear about the love, the heart-break, the spiteful scorn tossed out like petals of a dying flower.

They don't know how hard it is to love, when I find it hard to live.

My brain is wired differently. Instead of a circuit board of working plugs, I've got a bunch of missing wires that were clipped short by people of past torment. Unfortunately, the side of my brain that knows what 'love' means, is nowhere to be found.

And sometimes those wires start to poison the mind.

"Because I love you," he had said.

I remember every bit of that moment, standing in a small London apartment, watching as a boy poured his heart onto the table and expected it not to spill over the sides and drown us all. It drowned me, at least.

'Because I love you'.

He's lying, he's lying, my brain said to me, over, and over, and over again, he's lying, just like your parents did, when they said they loved you.

But he looks like he means it.

You can't trust him.

I should.

If you did, you wouldn't question his words.

I'm not sure if I ever fought with him in the way I fought myself. I was constantly doubting myself, and constantly putting on a facade for other people just because I didn't want to be perceived as weak. He wouldn't like me if I was weak. He wouldn't like me if I was bad. He wouldn't like me, and he doesn't love me, because no one does.

"Why do you always run from me?" He asked.

Because you never asked me to stay.

And because the last time I chose not to run, I found myself battered, bruised, and thrown into a jail cell for finally choosing to trust him. He was one the first people I thought highly of. But then he betrayed me, then so did Millie, and finally my parents. It was all so messed up, even more so than I am.

So I shut the door, retreating into my room and hoping he'd leave me alone.

I didn't sleep that night.

I just sat on the balcony, watching the sun rise, staring at a tattoo that now matched a boy who said he loved me.

Sad, my thoughts said again, he did all that for you, and you threw it all away.

I didn't throw it away.

But if he was ready to mark himself to you, why don't you trust he loves you?

I felt so lost, even though I knew exactly where I was, and who was with me. I felt alone, even though I knew someone was sleeping one door away from me and in the next room. I felt so worthless, even though someone said they loved me.

Why was everything so twisted?

I felt sick.

Maybe I am.

───── ⋆⋅🔥 ⋅⋆ ─────

"MISS ME, BABY?"

Seeing the fear in William's eyes was something I found to be rather amusing. If I wasn't so bothered by the way Louis was staring at me with adoring eyes, I might have had a chance to revel in my laughter.

But no, it was too awkward for that.

I didn't really want to look at him at the present moment, because who knows what he's planning in that meat-head of his? I bet he's writing a poem. Or singing a song about this 'love' of his. Something sickly sweet, because he's currently looking at me like I'm the most brilliant person in the world—all because I'm holding a gun to William's figure.

Jeez, Partridge.

"Ash," Miller spat out, "I should have known you'd show up at one point."

I gave him a sour look. "And why is that?"

"You and your lover-boy are never far apart," the man smirked, "although, I have to say I'm surprised, [y/n], I never took you for the dating type."

"That's because I'm not the dating type."

"Then why are you with Partridge?"

"I'm not with Partridge!" I exclaimed, "but besides, our personal affairs don't concern you."

I was trying to shut the conversation down, but when Louis heard my previous sentence, he let out a scoff under his breath. I gave him a glare, and returned to threatening the man for information.

"What time is the bomb being set off?" I snapped.

William frowned. "I'm not telling you."

"You know I will use this if I have to," I said, nodding to the weapon in my hand, "so talk."

Taking a step back, the double-agent held up his hands defensively. Even with that stone-cold expression he tried to wear, I could sense the fear radiating off of him like an aura of pure grey. Bleak and mindless, just like he was.

"Even if you kill me, you won't be able to stop it," he hissed, "you two have the world against you."

I gave him a glare. "Your point?"

"You won't win."

"It's never been about winning," I said, stalking across the room.

Tossing the rifle towards Louis, I grabbed William up by the tie, yanking him forward until I could hear the quickening of his breath as he was threatened under my stare. He was always a coward, even when he played the part of an Agent. He was scared then, and was scared now, and I wanted him to be scared for the rest of his life.

"Never had the chance to fix your tie, did I?" I spat out, my voice seething, "so start talking now, or you'll find it a little too close to your throat, Miller."

The man let out a squeak, before dropping his act entirely.

"Three hours," he blurted out, "the bombs are set to blow in three hours."

"Bombs?" I pressed, "there's more than one?"

"There's three. Each one is located in a different tower of the Westminster Palace."

"You've got to be bloody joking me."

Shoving him out of my grip, I let my fingers slip around his navy tie, yanking it off of him and stringing it into my hands. I couldn't let him run free, even though he told us the plan. Sending Louis a distasteful look, I tied William to his desk with a knot he wouldn't be able to untangle without scissors.

Louis just stood awkwardly from the side, eyes furrowed and lips pressed together. I couldn't tell what he was being petty about this time. It was always something with him. Whatever.

"So we've got three hours," I stated, beginning to pace, "we need to get to Westminster, find the bombs, and defuse all three of them."

Louis cocked a brow. "Do you even know how to defuse a bomb?"

"I build them, of course I know how."

"I was just asking."

"No, you were judging me."

"No, I wasn't!"

"Yes, you were!"

"Can you both stop fighting?" William added from the side, "my ears are beginning to hurt."

I whipped my head towards him, resisting the urge to send some courteous fingers his way. I was getting more annoyed by these men every second, and I had half a mind just to leave them both here and go save the city myself. Unfortunately, I'm running on time, and I can't do that.

"Have fun, Miller," I said, turning and stalking towards the door, "thanks for the info'."

"Ash, wait!" Louis called out after me.

I didn't wait.

He was annoying me.

Continuing to walk down the hallway of the S.I.S, I let the man catch up to me, face flustered as he scanned my face for any sign of emotion. He always tried to read me. I wish I could hate it, but at least he was trying to understand. But, then again, I'm not on the best terms with him right now.

"So, Westminster, hm?" He asked, keeping up with me.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"You and William seemed close."

"If you mean close to killing him, then yes."

"Well, I'm just saying," Louis mumbled, hands shoved into his pockets, "you didn't seem so off-put getting up in his face."

Coming to a stop in the hallway, I grabbed the man's wrist, yanking to a harsh stop. He stumbled backwards, and I didn't even try to catch him. A fool, he was. As smart and attractive as he may be, he was still an utter meat-head in the worst moments.

"Jealousy is a sick look on you," I said, "I was doing my job."

Louis frowned. "You had your hand around his tie."

"My point still stands."

"The last time I checked, methods of intimidation don't require—"

He was cut off by the presence of someone else in the hallway, coming to an awkward stop a few paces away from us. I let go of Louis' wrist, turning my head to see who'd just stumbled upon us.

A short woman with flaming red hair was staring directly at us, her cheeks flushed red, and her expression meek. She glazed at Louis, then at me, and then her eyes dimmed.

"Agent Partridge," she said nervously, her voice forced, "I..."

Louis took a step back. "Linda?"

"Who the hell is Linda?" I snapped.

My question was ignored, because apparently this woman was of more importance than the task and conversation we were having. Who was she, anyways? Why does she know Louis, and why was she coming here to find him? And also, why was she looking at me like that?

But somehow all the tension was directed towards the petite figure at the end of the hallway, where the woman was struggling to speak.

"Partridge, I..."

Oh, get on with it.

"I really am..."

Wasting our time? Stuttering? Standing like a cabbage patch kid and making eyes at my Louis? At Louis. Louis. Hell, I don't know why I'm getting bothered over this, it's making my brain short-circus.

"I really am sorry," she finally said, "but I had no choice."

No choice to do what?

I didn't have a chance to question it, when I felt Louis grab my hand, immediately pulling me backwards and towards the other end of the hallway. I let out a confused yelp, but wrenched my hand away from him. I could run on my own, I didn't need him dragging me.

"Why are we running?" I yelled.

He narrowed his eyes. "She ratted me out."

"What?"

Turning my head back, I saw a swarm of S.I.S tacticals filing into the narrow hallway, armed and ready to track us down. Oh, that made sense. This 'Linda' woman somehow knew about our whereabouts, turned us in, and now we had to worry about getting to Westminster in three hours, while also trying not to die.

"This way," Louis said, turning a corner, "run faster, please."

I frowned. "Shut up."

I could hear the sounds of the tacticals behind us, the soles of their boots thudding against the ground like a stampede of elephants. Louis didn't seem bothered, though, because he calmly kicked open the door of a fire escape, ushering me through.

"So who's Linda?" I pressed, running up the stairs.

Louis gave me a look of disbelief. "Are you really concerned about that right now?"

"Yes."

"She's the one who helped me get in," the man explained, kicking open another door, " but she's also the one who just snitched on us."

We were running onto the roof now, the skyline of London towering over us like domineering shadows. The tacticals would be hot on our trails, but we had nowhere to go. We were stuck on this desolate roof, with nothing but flat concrete surrounding us.

"If she ratted you out, why would she help you get in?" I frowned, my head spinning.

Louis shrugged. "Because I flirted with her."

"You did what?"

"Flirted with her," he repeated, "I bet she realized she'd gotten played as soon as I walked out of her office, and turned me in."

He was saying something else, but I tuned him out. All that was playing in my mind was the fact that he just said he flirted with this Linda-person. The plan was for him to sneak in through a back door or steal a uniform. What was he thinking? What possessed him to talk to another woman and flirt his way in like some sort of cheeky sod?

I bet Linda didn't even appreciate it.

She didn't seem like his type either, so really, I don't know why she'd even bother—

"For God's sake, Ash!" Louis yelled, snapping me back to reality, "let's go!"

I had gotten so absorbed into my own bitterness, I didn't realize Louis was standing on the ledge of the roof, holding out his hand towards me like some sort of angelic idiot. I didn't have time to question him before the fire escape door was blasted open, and the tacticals came running in.

Hell.

"You better have a good plan," I yelled anxiously, beginning to sprint towards him.

The agents were close to me, yelling directions at each other. One of them even fired a shot out of their handgun, but it flew right over my head.

"Of course I have a good plan!" Louis yelled.

I was a few steps away from him now. "Then what is it?"

Dodging another bullet, I placed my hand in the man's outstretched palm, jumping onto the ledge beside him. My heart was racing, not because we were being chased by a dozen tacticals, but also because when I turned my head to ask what the next step was, my gaze clicked into place with the man beside me.

He seemed so sure of whatever was happening in his mind, his messy brown hair brushed over his eyes by the blaring wind of the rooftop. He squeezed my hand, nodding his head like I was supposed to know what he was thinking. I didn't. I just had to trust him, even though I didn't trust myself to make that choice.

But then he smiled.

"Jump," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"Jump!"

Before I could let his words process, Louis hurdled himself off the ledge and towards the roof of the building across from us. If I didn't let my reflexes take over, I probably would have just toppled off and into the alley below.

And for a split second we were floating in the air, bullets whizzing past us in slow motion like birds in the sky. My hand was still clutched in his, and my heart was beating faster, and faster, and faster with each second that passed.

We went toppling onto the next roof, bodies hitting the floor like knocked over bowling pins.

"You okay?" Louis asked, scrambling to his feet again.

I winced. "Yeah."

"They'll still chase us."

"Clearly."

"So we have to keep running," he said, "Westminster, right?"

"Right."

Body aching from the fall, I heaved myself onto my feet, beginning to stride towards the other side of the roof. We were going to have to keep jumping. It was a rooftop chase, the most cliche thing I'd ever heard of. I didn't realize how real it was until this moment—and how damn scary it was too.

But in that moment I felt a strange sense of reassurance.

It didn't take me another second to look down and realize my hand was still clenched tightly in Louis', even as we ran across the rooftops and hurdles over buildings like a game of leap-frog.

Wind in my face, I couldn't help but slip my fingers away from his, my hesitation to let him touch me protruding out of habit. I wasn't supposed to like this. I wasn't supposed to trust him.

But as we breezed through the sky, I realized I couldn't pull my hand away. Every time my fingers would slip out of place, Louis would pull them back again, tightening his grip. And for the first time in my life, I didn't resist. I didn't even complain.

So we ran.