Sex (7 page)

She stopped in the middle of the room, slapped her hands on her hips, and let out a frustrated sigh as her eyes scanned the room. “Where is my goddamn jacket?” she asked with a groan.

“It's on the goddamn door,” he said, stepping behind the door and ripping the jacket off the hook. He held it up for her at the doorway.

“Thank you,” she shot back, stepping closer to him and nabbing the jacket from his hands.

“You're welcome,” he muttered pointlessly, still
trying to cut through her dense mental smoke screen.

“I'll check in with you later, okay? To see how you're doing” She crammed her arms through the sleeves and made a move for the hall, but Ed planted himself in the center of his doorway, blatantly cutting off her escape route and leaving their faces much closer together.

“Can you stop this now, whatever this is?” Ed begged. “Can you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Gaia stared at him blankly. “I just
told
you, I have to go.”

Ed waited, hoping there might be more. But there wasn't. He searched her eyes more deeply. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Well, I'm not.”

“Okay, fine,” he conceded, trying the play-along-with-psycho-Gaia technique. “Then tell me why you're leaving.”

“Because I have to,” she said, turning her eyes away.

“But
why?”

“What are you, four years old?” She groaned. “I'll talk to you later, okay?”

“Jesus Christ!” Ed hollered. “I just got freaking shot at, Gaia. Do you think maybe you owe me a little more than this? Do you think after last night you might have a little more to offer than your old-school cold-and-pissy routine?”

Gaia's head dropped straight down toward the
floor, every hair on her beautiful head hanging over her face. “Don't yell at me, Ed,” she insisted. Was she insisting or pleading? Ed couldn't even tell. Especially without seeing her face. Her voice sounded so tight, like she was forcing every sound out from her tonsils. “Just let me go, okay?” she asked quietly.

Ed tried to tip her chin up to look in her eyes, but she backed away from his touch and crossed her arms—the clearest piece of body language in the world. Translation: Don't touch me.

“Gaia,” he sighed to the side of her face. “Twenty minutes ago, we were… What am I saying, you were
there.
Weren't you there? I was coming back here to make you pancakes. And on the way I had one of the worst experiences of my life since my accident. So that's
best
experience in my life, followed by
worst
experience. Either way… I don't see how you could
possibly
leave this room right now.”

“I'm sorry,” she uttered in that same strained voice. He could see her jaw clenching again and again under her skin.

“Don't be sorry, just tell me what
changed.
I don't get it.”

“Nothing changed, I just have to go—”

“No,”
Ed moaned, slamming his hand against the frame of his door. “The truth, I mean. Tell me the real reason you're leaving.”

“That is the real—”

“Spoken honesty”
he interrupted, grabbing her shoulders and trying to get a lock on her eyes. “We were working on spoken honesty, remember? Tell me the truth, Gaia. The truth. It can't be
that
hard.”

“Okay, fine!” she snapped, batting his hands off her shoulders. “The truth is… I just feel…” Her eyes were darting from corner to corner of his room—the ceiling, the floor, her hands, anywhere but his eyes. “I just feel… weird about… what happened, and I think… maybe it wasn't the right thing to do.” She barely had enough breath to finish her sentence.

Ed leaned in to try and see her eyes again. “You're lying,” he said.

“No,” she croaked. “No, I'm not.” Her head fell perpendicular with the floor again. “I'm just… not sure I feel…
that way
about you, and… and I think that what we did… was a mistake.”

“This is bullshit,” Ed said with a resentful giggle. “You're talking crap, and I know it. Where'd you get this speech?
Dawson's Creek
or something?”

There was no way. There was just no way she was telling the truth. He'd seen her face that morning. He'd heard her words. It had been the perfect moment. Two completely content people who'd finally found each other for real. Two people who wanted pancakes. There was no way he was going to let her rip their perfect night to pieces just so it would match the rest of her life. No way. If what she was saying was
true, then why were tears beginning to fall from her supposedly uncaring eyes?

“It's not bullshit,” she growled as a tear streamed down her cheek. “It was the wrong thing to do, Ed. That's it. That's all of it. We did it and it was a mistake, and now I want to
leave.”

“I just don't—”

“I don't give a shit if you believe me or not!” she shouted. “And if I'd known you'd be such an arrogant asshole about it, I would have just snuck out while you were gone. Now, can you please just let me go?”

She shoved Ed out of her way, shot right past him, and ran for the door. She had the front door slammed shut within three seconds. And that was that.

But…
what was what?
What the hell had just happened? Everything coming out of her mouth had sounded so false, but her anger was so unquestionably real.

What if she
was
telling the truth? Was that possible? Ed felt a sudden painful gnawing in his stomach as he stared at his quite suddenly empty room. If that was the case, if she'd actually meant all the god-awful things she'd just said to him…

Then Ed had just suffered two attempted murders in the last twenty minutes. And Gaia had been far more successful than the hideous man in the black suede coat.

Official Letter of Resignation and Surrender

To whom it may concern (including such parties as my uncle, my father, the Fates, God, and Satan),

I'm sure it will please all the aforementioned parties to know that I, Gaia Moore, do hereby officially resign and surrender to your bullshit. I know I've made the same mistake time and time again, but I want it made abundantly clear that I will no longer make that mistake. You win. You will no longer need to torture me or my loved ones in order to remind me that I am not entitled to a relationship or a remotely happy or normal existence. Because your message has been received. Loud and clear.

GAIA

In case the above statement is not clear enough in and of itself, here is a more detailed list of activities and emotions I promise never to engage in again.

I, Gaia Moore, swear to never again:

Fall in love;

Wish for a boyfriend or a family;

Become too close to anyone (as that would result in their death or disappearance, as it did for my mother, father, Ella, Mary, and Sam);

Continue any kind of relationship with Ed Fargo; or

Be hopeful or optimistic in any way.

In exchange for these guarantees, I ask one thing and one thing only. That you do not harm Ed Fargo in any way, shape, or form. That he is permitted to pursue a normal life of his own completely free of the Curse of Gaia Moore, as I will refer to it from now on. I'll never know for sure if that ugly bastard with the gun was actually sent to kill Ed or just to send me a warning, but it really doesn't matter. I'll never know for sure which one of you sent him (uncle,
father, Fates, God, Satan?), though I'm pretty sure that I can narrow it down to two possibilities (as in the two despicable humans in that list), and that really doesn't matter, either. All that matters is that Ed has suffered enough undue torture in his life, including the very poorly executed pack of lies I was just forced to yell in his face, thus obliterating one of the greatest mornings of my life. I have now left him alone (as per your barely cloaked demands), so you have to do the same. You have to leave him alone. You have taken Sam, and that is enough.

I would also like to put down here for the record-not that it will matter to you, but just so the truth exists somewhere other than inside my head—that I am completely in love with Ed Fargo and know in my heart that what we did last night was not a mistake, even though you've so kindly reminded me that my getting too close to anyone is a mistake. I
do not think I will ever love anyone in quite the same way that I love Ed, especially given the fact that you have already taken Sam Moon away from me. And I am more than happy to resign myself to a permanent state of misery if it will guarantee that Ed has a chance at a normal, happy life. (I'm quite sure he will get over me in no time, as who in their right mind would not?) In fact, the moment I left Ed's room, I immediately began the “permanent state of misery” plan, and you'll be glad to know I've only stopped crying long enough to write up this agreement. Then, I promise you, I'll go right back to crying. That or beat the shit out of some asshole on the street (I hope you'll still allow me that one minimal pleasure in life).

I would also like to state for the record that if you do not hold up your side of the bargain, if Ed is harmed in some way even after I've broken my own heart in a trillion pieces by avoiding
him, then I will find you and I will kill you. That also is guaranteed (assuming you're one of the two people I think you are).

So let's hope we have a deal here so that I can move on with my miserable, pathetic life, Ed has a chance at happiness, and you can all go to hell (with the exception, of course, of you, Satan, for obvious reasons).

Now, if I just had somewhere to actually mail this freaking thing. I'm not sure how to get an exact address for God or the devil. I don't think “heaven” or “hell” would do the trick. Then again, finding an address for my father or my uncle would be just as hard.

Gaia Moore

In her new, officially lonely life, there was only one remaining solace, and that was the kicking of degenerate ass.

mr. streaks and tips

GUILT HAD QUICKLY BECOME A SIDE effect in all of Tom's meetings with Natasha. Almost instantly. There was no question that they had a certain undeniable chemistry. A chemistry that two world-class agents
should
have had no problems overcoming.

Shameful

But at each meeting, Tom had found the task of overcoming his guilt just a little more difficult. And for some reason, tonight the guilt had officially become more than a side effect. Maybe it was just sheer exhaustion or the disheartening lack of progress in his investigation, but after one drink at this seedy bar with no name on Clinton Street, Tom's guilt had left the realm of side effects and become a full-blown disease.

He wasn't sure what was troubling him more, the fact that he was in New York City and keeping it from his daughter, or the extent to which he'd begun to look forward to these covert midnight meetings with Natasha. No, of course he was sure. Keeping his whereabouts from Gaia was for her own benefit. Exactly who was benefiting from these late night briefings was becoming less and less clear. As long as Natasha was living with Gaia and taking care of her, she would be Tom's only connection to his daughter. So of course he wanted as many reports as possible about what took place on the home front. But these meetings had
begun to feel like more than just agent to agent, and Tom knew it.

“Tom…? Are you all right?” Natasha inquired. Even her elegant Russian accent was becoming a distraction.

“I'm fine,” he replied, offering only as much eye contact as was absolutely necessary. “Sorry, I'm just checking through my notes.”

“Of course,” she said. “Take your time.”

“So she came back this morning?” Tom asked. As long as they only discussed Gaia, he could keep the guilt in check.

“Yes. She left Ed's house, and she was home by about eight-thirty or nine this morning. And she stayed in her room the entire day, Tom. It was so unlike her to stay in our house for so long. She didn't leave her room until about eight o'clock this evening. I imagine she's headed out for her usual ‘roaming.'”

“I'm sure,” Tom agreed, shaking his head. He wished that somewhere along the way, Gaia had developed a hobby other than self-appointed vigilantism. But he supposed it was his own fault. He'd spent so many years preparing her for the worst that the worst was really all she knew now, all she was comfortable with. Yet another parenting mistake to add to Tom's endless and fast-accruing list.

“But I tell you, Tom,” Natasha added, squeezing his hand on the table, “she looked even more sullen and
detached than usual, as if something had upset her so terribly. Just the look on her face was enough to break my heart. I can't blame her at all for not wanting to speak with me.”

Here was another disgusting example of Tom's growing problem with Natasha. Once she had placed her delicate hand over his, he'd missed the entire second half of her statement. And he was no longer making an effort to avoid physical contact, either, as he'd attempted to do in their earlier meetings. Because her touch was comforting, and he was too tired tonight to deny it. He could only deny so many things at the same time.

Once she removed her hand from his, it was much easier to focus again.

“Do you think she and Ed had a fight?” he asked.

“I am sure this is so,” Natasha agreed. “A very bad one. Very bad.”

Tom felt a sudden wave of nausea pass over him. “Oh God.” He sighed quietly.

“What is wrong?”

“She's doing it, too,” he murmured, half to himself.

“She is doing what?”

Yet another shot of guilt right in his heart.
The sins of the father…,
Tom thought. Gaia was cutting herself off from the outside world, one person at a time. He was sure of it. He could sense it just from the few details Natasha had given him. Soon she'd have absolutely no
one left, and she'd learned that very self-destructive skill from her father. A horrific method of coping he'd apparently taught her by example: Detach yourself from people, and people don't get hurt. One more mistake to add to his list.