After ten years on the job, it was only natural that I would grab the gun and point it at the door when I heard the soft sound of a clicking lock.

It was early in the morning, and I was already high and drunk, so it took me a while to realize that anyone I anticipated might actually do the deed for me. I lowered the gun but still kept it in my hand in case there were two of them and they needed a bit of encouragement. The sight of me might prove too depressing, and I became afraid that Ruskis-for-hire would decide to just leave me there to die on my own. I wanted them to have second thoughts because I'd like to take one of them with me, provoking the second one to do the job. I wanted to murder someone as much as I wanted to kill myself.

I sat naked on my living room carpet to have easy access to the gun laying on my low willow coffee table while I waited for an impulse to finally use it. But, up until then, I took advantage of the table's proximity to snort the carefully arranged lines of heroin.

I sighed with disappointment when I recognized the woman who entered my living room, despite her face being covered by a silky scarf.

"It's not Iran, Jenny, you don't have to cover your hair here," I hid the gun under the sofa and imagined that she already made quite a commotion on the streets of Baghdad, walking around with her smooth, milky skin and dazzling azure eyes.

Jenny was beautiful, but she wasn't my type. She wasn't brunette, she wasn't tall, and, most importantly, she wasn't married to any of the Agency's higher-ups, whom I disdained. The only "fuck-you" option towards them was to fuck her ever since she became my administrative assistant. This was a single no-no in otherwise relaxed guidelines that the Agency put in place. The company would never be able to control ever-horny individuals risking their lives on a daily basis. That's what the field-work's adrenaline did to you - it made you want to fuck. But still, there were a few rules which I absolutely needed to break. I never felt sorry for making her fall in love with me and thought that it's good to have someone who cares for me.

She took off the scarf and revealed her long, blond hair. They fell on her large breasts, which contrasted with her petite physique.

“Where’d you get that stuff from?” she queried upon noticing the drugs on the table.

"Shishanis forget all about their holy texts after sunset," I said, referring to the Chechens by how they were called locally, “They’re the biggest fucking junkies I've ever met.” I finished and lit a ketamine-spiked cigarette I found lying idly by my still exposed genitals. I looked for it for hours the previous night and I had barely moved since then.

Jenny told me how worried she was and that Ben, the only other person who had any knowledge of my situation, discouraged her from contacting me. He had lost his son and wife, so he understood the process of grief better than anyone.

I tried to focus on the cigarette while Jenny kept asking me questions I pretended not to hear. The opium and ketamine weren’t helping because I could still understand her, but I did get introspective for a moment.

Sara, at the height of her fever, asked her mom where I was. Layla wrote that right before she fell into a coma, our beautiful daughter thought that the doctor caring for her was actually me. They played along because it made her not afraid anymore, knowing, that her daddy was close.

I flew to Baghdad two days after her funeral. I stayed at the safe house that only I, Jenny, and Ben had access to. I came here to say my goodbyes. A week had passed, and I was still not able to force myself to go and tell her how sorry I am. To tell her that I should be with her before she went to sleep.

"You haven't even visited her grave, did you?" she wouldn’t be able to say anything more triggering even if she tried.

I jumped to my feet, hurried across the room, and grabbed her by the neck, slamming her head into the corridor's mirror.

"Ask me one more time."

"Let me go."

"Ask the question one more time, you cunt." I glimpsed at the shattered mirror and saw that I was smiling devilishly, teeth out as if ready to bite her beautiful face off.

"You're hurting me," she muttered, determination still on her face.

"Get the fuck out." I let her purpled neck go, turned around, and went to the bathroom, where I leaned against the sink and felt as if I had sobered up. I looked at the mirror and deep into my soulless eyes. There was nothing in them.

I put downward pressure on the sink, breaking the pipe connecting it to the wall, and threw it through the shower doors. I started to punch the cabinet's mirror above the space where the sink was a second ago. I howled like a wounded animal after I was done.

I sat on the toilet's floor, pieces of glass piercing my thighs and ass. By the time Jenny entered, the floor was already red. She carefully walked through the marble and kneeled down, weeping silently.

“Jenny..." she put her silky hands on my cheeks. This was the moment I was supposed to say how sorry I was and thank her for not giving up on me. "I will break your neck if you don’t leave me alone," I raised my head to meet her eyes. All I saw was terror.