So he wasn't an idiot, I was.
Secret Services were hella dangerous. I know because in my bust to arrest the main Mafia behind many local gangs, I was injured.
I needed probably physical therapy to move my left arm properly, I needed physco therapy because fuck! Those monsters tortured me for 15 days, apparently.
It took me 2 years to dig all the information, gather recruits, assimilate people, infiltrate and to make evidence visible. And that left me with one month paid leave, and shit load of therapy because they found out I was the rat.
Therapy wasn't easy. It really hurt like a bitch and I realized I never want to do this ever again. Every time that cute little doctor moved my arms, I'd wonder if my dad had to go through the exact pain, only maybe worse- he was compromised waist down and mine was only one arm.
I looked at my phone with longing. I had long since changed my phone number after that last call and I hadn't been able to hear his voice since. Some nights, I regret changing my number, some nights I was glad.
He had resorted to emails and an old fashioned way of leaving messages at the nearest precinct to pass them onto me and get some information from them because he had no idea where I was. I didn't want to tell him.
My only solace was his emails and he didn't know even if I'd read them or not. It was better this way -
"Hi, ratty. I got Chinese and Thai. Give me a minute and I'll help you freshen up, okay."
I just wished my seniors had not meddled and let better way be better. Someone in my department had to call one of my emergency contacts when I was compromised for 15 days. They believed me dead, I think.
They had no one listed, I didn't want him worrying about every new case and news so I never mentioned him much.
But from occasional talks, my fellow agents knew of him. So, they contacted the local precinct to find out more and the precinct Chief ran straight to him like a dog to its owner.
He's been in my hospital room from day 3 till now, month 5 of therapy.
I was so angry, I almost ripped off my Chief's head.
And I was worried because this asshole is a professor and he couldn't exactly leave his job in autumn - there were no breaks this time around.
"Your kung pao and noodles." I didn't even have the energy to push him away when he kissed my head. It sent all sorts of crazy signals to my brain and body, and I wish he'd stop.
"Guess who I met? Your Chief came by when you were asleep -nice old lady. I swear I wanted to keep her here."
"You hate old ladies."
"I liked her." He flicked my nose. "She is your boss and she cares about you. I like her."
I felt so defeated, I didn't have energy to care about this. So, I just enjoyed my food.
He hadn't known Chinese was my favourite until I had been drunk on my mom's death anniversary in college and gorged on Chinese like I have never had food before.
It wasn't exactly a healthy meal and my aim was secret services- eating such food wouldn't do me good. He had, which is why, always saw me eating healthy food. When he learned about my secret obsession of Chinese and Italian foods - he took me out every two weeks.
"Need to live a little, ratty, or you'll just die of boring salads," he'd laughed.
Salads weren't boring. They were just...plain, and tasteless. But they worked wonders, too.
"My mother called. I have to go back soon."
Of course he did. His mother had to have gotten wind of where he was, of course she would call him back. And of course, the guilt-ridden little boy would go back.
He looked sad at my indifference, but he had to have known I was done fighting for him. I had no strength left to deal with his cowardice or his horrid mother and father.
I just wish he hadn't come at all.