“I'm married!” she really was shrieking, slapping at his chest. “I don't know what you want from me, Tal! I'm fucking married! I wish I wasn't! I wish it had been you from the start! I wish everything was fucking different, but it's not! I'm fucking married! Of course he was always there – he's my goddamn husband! I'm married, Tal. I'm married, I'm married to him, I'm married,” she sobbed it over and over. Kept repeating it, hoping it would sink in for him. For her.
He moaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, ducking his head to press it against her chest. She sobbed harder and coiled her arms around him, holding as tightly as she could. He sank down, and his weight dragged her with him, all the way to the floor.
“I didn't mean for this to happen,” he told her, wrapping his body around hers.
“I know. Me, neither,” she was having trouble breathing.
“I wish I had been there first, too,” he whispered. She cried harder.
“God, me, too. So much. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me.”
“I don't hate you.”
“Please forgive me.”
“There's nothing to forgive.”
“I wish I could stay with you. I really do. I wish we could just disappear, but I already did that to him once,” she breathed, moving so she could push her forehead against his clavicle.
“No. Now you're just going to disappear on me,” Tal replied. She took a breath. Nodded.
“Yes.”
“Before you go,” he began, and his voice was thick with emotion. So low, it made her heart vibrate. “I want you to know something.”
“Please, don't say anything.”
“I have to.”
“It'll make it worse.”
“It's already as bad as it can be.”
“Please.”
“You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, Mischa. I'm glad I found you.”
She took a deep breath.
“Me, too.”
~Mischa~
It hurt. God, it hurt. It hurt so bad. It hurt so much worse. It hurt the most.
I hurt and he hurt and we hurt.
Detox is the worst of part of being an addict.
~Letting Go … ?~
Tal drove down a dusty road. The summer had gotten ridiculously hot, even for late May, even by Southern European standards. Everything looked like it had caught fire. They were surrounded by glowing embers, burning gold and orange and red. It was almost like a drought, everything had dried out and turned to sand.
If that's not an analogy, then I don't know what is …
He put his elbow on the side of the door, rubbed at his forehead with his fingertips. He had such a fucking headache. A heartache. What the fuck had happened!?
He could remember the first time he'd gotten a good look at Mischa. She'd been sitting at a high top table, wearing a long sleeved, low cut top and some incredibly short-shorts. And those legs. Goddamn, those legs. Crossed at the knee, one foot swinging idly back and forth. Her hair had been up in a bun, high on the back of her head, and she'd been reading a book. Her posture had been very straight, with her head bent to look down. He didn't need to know her background to know that she was dancer, her body language screamed it¸ and his next thought had been to wonder how she would feel dancing her ass in his lap.
That's all she'd been to him. Just a hot chick, sitting in a restaurant.
That first night, in his hotel room, he could admit it – she'd been a challenge. So unsure of herself. She had wanted to run away. He had wanted to stop her. Mission: Accomplished. Holy hot damn, she'd been incredible. So much pent up sexual energy, she'd run rampant all over him.
When she'd disappeared, Tal had given her space. It was just sex. No big deal. She was gone, probably for the best. No, definitely for the best. He didn't need that kind of complication in his life, not with everything that was going on.
But he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. The only reason he'd fucked his maid was because he'd had a hard on from thinking about Mischa. Made him sound like a horny douchebag, but he was a guy – and most guys were horny douchebags.
And he hadn't known her yet. Not really.
The speed and force with which he fell for her astounded him. Tal was a man's-man – he liked fucking, fighting, God, and his country. Matters of the heart were best left to pussies and women. Mischa was supposed to just be a good time. A challenge, a dare, a dirty secret.
But she'd turned out to be so much more. She was funny, and smart, and understanding, and … and so much more. He could tell that being with him made her feel like a better person. He knew because he felt the same way; she was making him a better person.
What the fuck.
He pulled into an empty field, put the car into park. The sun was setting, burning up the horizon. He felt like shit. He wanted to be with her, wanted to take away her hurts. But he couldn't, because not only was he the one causing them, but he had a job. A job that had called while she'd been crying on the floor.
How does a person choose between what they know, and what they love?
Another car came cruising from the opposite direction. Tal shut off his engine and took a deep breath. Well, apparently he'd made his choice. Two weeks lost in an Italian dream didn't cancel a lifetime of work. Didn't change the mission at hand. He had to keep that in mind.
No matter how much he didn't want to.
An older model Humvee came racing towards him as he climbed out of his car. The Humvee had long since been decommissioned, from the Italian or Greek army. All the gun mounts had been taken off, and at first glance, it just looked like an old Jeep. It screeched to a stop next to him and Ruiz got out of it.