Chapter 5: You are at once the quiet and the confusion of my heart -Franz Kafka

Micah

              I had never felt so many emotions over a woman than I’ve felt with Sophia. And I haven’t even been with her for a whole day. The thing that bothers me most is when I see how men fall all over her. Seeing the store clerk and the men in line fawn over her was irritating. But when the gunmen focused on her, I hit the roof. Who knows what the men would have done to her if I hadn’t taken them down. Then I see detective Colin Vane comforting her, and my stomach turns. It’s just too much. Men are like moths to Sophia’s flame. And as someone fighting his feelings, it’s very difficult to resist smashing all of their faces in.

              Pulling into my apartment building’s underground parking, I park in my spot and turn off the ignition. Sophia is fast asleep under the warmth of the blanket. I wanted to rip the card out of her hand when the detective mentioned that he gave her his number. Reaching out a hand, I run my thumb over her soft cheek and whisper gently. “We’re here, Sophia.” Sophia slowly opens her eyes and gives me a drowsy smile. “Micah.” She whispers with a kittenish mewl, which makes my stomach tighten with desire.

              “Can you make it out of the car, or do you need help?” I ask with worry. She shakes her head and opens the door. Sliding out of my own seat, I meet her near the hood of the car and catch her when her legs wobble a little. She reminds me of a child who has been woken from a nap. Taking her hand in mine, I lead her to the elevator doors and press the penthouse button.

I live in a large building in the center of Manhattan. I bought the suite years after I joined the Confradia. It’s a beautiful apartment with two bedrooms and three bathrooms. The apartment has a large living area with ivory marble floors and wall-to-wall windows with comfortable living room furniture. My mother decorated it when she saw that my furniture consisted of a futon and a ninety-inch television. She made the apartment comfortable with its contemporary design, charcoal-colored cloth couch, and wrought iron tables. The dining room is a simple glass dining set with side chairs.

              A large glass wall separates the living area from the state-of-the-art kitchen, and the kitchen cabinets are a gleaming obsidian color, gray marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances. There are modern tapestries on the wall with sketches of human forms and a couple of black leather chaise lounges facing the windows.

              Sophia steps into the center of the room and rests the blanket and suit jacket on a nearby chair. I observe warily as she moves around the room, absorbing its decor. “Nice place.” She says with a sincere smile. I’m surprised that she’s not terrified or crying at what happened earlier. I’ve seen soldiers react the same after during a gunfight. They’ll push the memory to the back of their minds and pretend it didn’t happen. I guess it’s a way to cope. Going along with it, I observe her looking around curiously.

              I’m surprised when she turns to the large, customized entertainment center in front of the large couch and hones in on the pictures resting on the shelves. There are three pictures on the shelf. There was one of my father and me when I was a boy. That picture was taken the last time I saw my father. I was ten years old, and he was leaving on a mission with his Marine unit. In the picture, my father is wearing his crisp, pressed uniform, with all of his medals, and I’m standing next to him wearing ripped jeans, a Snoopy t-shirt, and a Yankees baseball cap. The other picture was of my mother and me when I graduated from the Marine Corps. Like my father in the previous picture, I’m wearing a pressed uniform. The last picture is of my mother, Tate, Sophia, and me at my mother’s wedding. I will never admit this out loud, but the only reason I put the picture up is that Sophia is in it, and I wanted something with her to look at.

              Sophia looks at all of the pictures attentively, then turns back to me. “Is that your father?” She asks, taking the picture from the shelf and turning it toward me. Nodding my head, I stop next to her and take the picture from her hand. “Yeah. This was taken before he died.” She nods her head and looks at the picture again. “He was very handsome. You look like him.” I look at the picture for a moment and run my gaze over every angle of my father’s face. I remember as a little boy staring at this picture for hours after my father died. Looking at it now, I can see the resemblance. My mother has always told me that I look like him minus the eyes. I have my mother’s green eyes. My father had dark chocolate brown eyes.

              “How did he die?” Sophia asks with a note of caution. I look back at her to see that she’s sincere in her question and place the picture back on the shelf. “He was on his second tour in Desert Storm. His unit was driving through a town when an IED hit his convoy. I was told that he died instantly.” My mouth tightens with emotion. Even after all these years, it hurts to talk about it.

              Sophia must see my pain because she places her hand on my neck and turns my chin in her direction. “I’m sorry, Micah. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. At least yours did not leave you out of choice. My mother walked out on us.” She mutters with a quiver in her voice. Her eyes gleam as she gazes down at the floor in contemplation. “I was so mad at her for leaving us. For a long time, I thought she left us because I was a bad daughter.” She says this with a sad glint in her eyes. It’s almost heartbreaking to see the pain reflected on her face.  

              Taking a deep breath, she mutters softly. “But then I realized that it was her loss. And that dad and I were better off without her. Dad found Chelsea now. And your mom is really great.”            

              Nodding my head, I take her hand and lead her to the guest bedroom. “Let me show you to your room.” She doesn’t argue as she follows me down the hallway. There are several doors here. One is for the guest room, the one across from it is my office, and the one in the center is my bedroom. Unlike other Confradia Assassins, I don’t keep my weapons in a separate room. All of my weapons are in a secret compartment behind my headboard, secured by an encrypted security system. That was the only room I didn’t let my mother decorate. I bought the furniture and installed the software myself. My mother definitely had a hand in decorating the guest room, though. The room is a bright blue color, with a large king-size bed, a white headboard, and a teal and gray comforter.

              Sophia steps into the room and moves toward the bed with catlike grace, heightening my temperature. I watch intently as she takes a seat on the bed and throws herself back with her arms stretched over her head. “Oh, this is so good.” She says with a soft groan. Her dress strains against the mounds of her firm breasts and rises high over her thighs as she shifts comfortably over the bedspread.

              “Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to get my mind off how badly I want to crawl over her and kiss every part of her body.

              She rises from her stretch and shakes her head. “Not really. I just want a hot bath and some sleep right now.” I nod in agreement and gesture to the én-suite doors. “The bathroom is right over there. There are toiletries and other bath things inside the linen closet.” She nods her head and gestures to the bedroom door. “I should get my bags then.”

              I shake my head as I make my way to the door. “Just go ahead and take a bath. I’ll get the bags.” Sophia waves a hand up with gratitude. “Thanks, Micah.” Stepping out of the room, I head back to the elevators and walk to my car. Two minutes later, I’m back in my apartment with Sophia’s satchel in one hand and her pink rolling bag in the other. My first mistake is that I didn’t knock when I went into the room. I simply walked in, laid her bags on the bed, and nearly choked when I caught sight of her image from the bathroom mirror as she was stepping out of her dress. I couldn’t help but stop and enjoy the view of her silken body, luscious breasts, and firm ass as she leaned down to turn on the water faucet. And I nearly swallowed my tongue when her hair spread down over her smooth back and slid sensuously over the stiff nubs of her nipples.

              Lust turns to empathy when she takes a seat on the edge of the tub and begins to sob. She looks lost and alone, and it makes me feel like hurting something. She was pretty brave earlier, whether she’d like to think so or not. Normal people don’t usually have to deal with a gunfight in a gas station. And unless you’ve been in battle, having a gun aimed at your head or watching someone die can be very traumatizing. Unable to bear her pain any longer, I step into the bathroom and kneel before her. “Shh… it’s okay, Soph.” She sniffles a bit and straightens her spine with embarrassment. But her bravery is short-lived because she’s suddenly sitting in my lap with her arms wrapped around my neck. My hand runs up and down her silky-smooth back, enjoying the feel of her skin and the comfort I am giving her.

 Keeping her sitting on my lap, I roll up my sleeves and reach over her shoulder to pour some bath salts into the rising bathwater. Sophia’s tears subside, but she doesn’t let me go. I know I should step out of the room and leave her alone, but it feels so good to hold her close. Instead, I lift her into my arms, slide her into the rising water, and kneel down on the edge of the tub. She looks lost as she gazes at me from beneath the fringe of her wet lashes. Her lips tremble slightly, and her chin quivers. “I thought that I was okay, and then I saw the water pouring… and…and, it reminded me of all that blood.” She says with a slight croak. She lifts her knees to her chest and rests her forehead on her knees with a bleak slump. Lifting her hair off her back, I push it to one side of her shoulder and lay a soft kiss on her temple. “It’s okay to feel this way, Sophia. It means that you’re a compassionate person. You should have never had to see something like that. You’ll be okay, though. You’re a very strong woman.” Taking the sponge from the soap dish, I fill it up with soap and run it down her bareback. She sighs with relief and closes her eyes as I soap up her arms and legs.

              After a moment, she sits back and gazes into my eyes before she takes the sponge from me and slides her hand across my tattooed forearm. “You have tattoos?” She asks with fascination. Nodding my head, I slide my hand from under hers and lower the sleeves. It’s not that I’m embarrassed by them. I’m just not ready to reveal their intimate nature.

              Sophia’s eyes dim at my gesture, but she doesn’t comment. Instead, she takes the sponge and whispers. “I’ll finish bathing myself.” I remain kneeling down with my elbows on the edge of the tub for another moment. I want to apologize, but I know that there is no point because there is no explanation that I can give her that wouldn’t be too revealing.

              With a clenched jaw, I give her one last longing look and rise from the floor. “Your bags are on the bed, and my bedroom is the one with the red double doors in case there’s anything you need,” I say before I walk away. I need a drink!