Imagine. Me in my muddy and torn clothes seated at the head of his freshly polished mahogany dining table with silver and crystal strewn all over it. Is Warlike thinking about having to clean the seat after I get up? Someone is.
Of course I didn’t really like showing up injured, I felt it could make me look weak, or maybe it makes me seem especially hardened. My surprise appearance in his room was good, but even better is my new policy of total honesty. Well, maybe not total, I didn’t tell him about my parents, but I did tell him that MI6 was gunning for him and they were using me to do it.
His response, “You owe me two dogs.”
I eat heartily. This is good food. The man does not skimp on these kinds of things. I’m gonna take all I can from the bastard for what he did to me and if that means stuffing myself to the point of sickness it is well worth the price.
I ignore him in a similar fashion to his dog comment I say, “I want to be a free agent; you pay me like the others. None of this belonging to the company shit. The feds think I’m on their side. I’m on my side, bottom line, and if I get the inkling that you are trying to play me I am out of here.”
He doesn’t know how to react. I can see each word he speaks is weighed carefully. He gives nothing away and makes no promises but in the end he is willing to talk more after dinner. I can see he is willing to see how far this thing can go. At least I think he is. He is intrigued by my transformation and wants to why and how.
The three of us enjoy our meal as if this how every morning is spent. He chats me up with small talk, who, what, where, when. I drink my coffee, eat my eggs, and answer his questions with teenager recklessness. I play up the ‘I don’t give a damn’ attitude. He is not convinced. I think he may still be in shock at my return, but he’s keeping it cool.
I thought this would be fun. This messing around with Warlike’s little world, but I am exhausted already. I kind of wish I was still with the Feds. I don’t know if this is how I want to spend the rest of my life, in constant alert, ready for anything.
About Me
- Peaceful Kingdom
- The names have been changed to protect the innocent, though I doubt very much that such a thing exists. “Peaceful” is the definition of the name they call me, but I don’t believe it’s my real name nor do I get much peace so I resent it twice as much. These moments here in cyberspace, an empty, made up place, have become my small chance to have to myself and changing the names keeps it that way. I am an amnesiac. Sometimes I remember things by instinct but everything else is locked up in my subconscious beyond recall. Intuition is my only plumb line for what is true but here truth is determined by necessity and thus the basis of my problem. I am told what is true and I am expected to swallow it whole. I may not remember anything, but I’m not naïve.
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