Page 17 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

FABIO

Ihave never been bored being with by myself.

I also know I will die alone. But what is this emptiness I feel seeing her move about with the kid?

I thought time would do its magic and make it better. I thought I fucking had it under control, but I was only fooling myself. I must get myself under control.

I trace my middle finger along my gun because I am bored. I want to shoot something—preferably her boyfriend. Or, if I am being honest, it is myself I want to shoot, for being this way.

It was I who fucking told her to make her choice. I fucking did that, and now I am not sure how I feel about anything anymore. I am only sure that I want her for myself. But I can’t have her. I don’t deserve to have her. What she deserves is to have whatever kind of life the kid can offer her. A clean slate kind of life. One without baggage.

I crank the air conditioner up and flip the gun from side to side, my mind searching for a balm.

I have spent an unhealthy amount of time on my phone, flipping through the pictures on Eva’s social media. She never posts pictures of herself there, only images of her work, and if I were to be handed a paint brush, I would paint them all by heart because that is how much time I have been spending on her page.

I can’t say I miss her. She was never mine to begin with. But lately, it feels like I have lost her, even though I never had her. It’s the most confusing shit ever. This is why I loathe the idea of my heart being in charge.

“If I kiss you, there is no recovery from that,” I’d said as I was caressing my way up her arms to cradle her face.

There was no recovery from that. I knew I would get infected by her charm. I saw I wasn’t strong enough to fight her virus off. Yet, I gave myself over to the disease. And to this day, I am yet to come up with an antidote for my sickness.

I reach for my phone, searching for any form of distraction. Mindy has yet to text back, even after four days. She avoids me like the plague. It was what I wanted, and I am grateful she wants the same thing.

Unconsciously, I find myself opening my gallery and trying to see if I have a picture of Eva somewhere. It’s a fool’s dream because I am careful where she is concerned. I toss the phone and look in the rearview mirror for any sign of Eva and Gloria since her period is almost over.

I am still looking in the rearview mirror and must have missed her taking the other way to me when I hear a knock on the car window.

She's standing at the passenger seat door, not the backseat where I usually keep her so that there's at least some space between us before my hands wander or before I give in to the urge and start staring at her for too long, which will inevitably result in me killing us both in an accident.

I shove the gun in the pocket of my holster before unlocking the car. I grind my teeth at my pumped heart skydiving at the scent of her near me. She studies me for a while, then she climbs in, not buckling the seatbelt, which means she wants to talk or annoy the shit out of me.

“I have a request,” her voice is low, too low. She is about to ask me for something difficult. I start the car because I will not be sitting through another torture of a date between her and her boyfriend. “Hear me out first…”

“No,” I peg.

“It’s a date, but it’s…”

“No,” I say, dropping my eyes on her seatbelt. She frowns, folding her arms across her chest instead.

“It’s for a study project,” she mumbles, “It’s street photography…”

“Hmm,” I want her to get to the part when the daggers get driven into my heart.

“I will be going with Paul, and I need your help to convince my father,” she slants, the rim of her green dress giving way for the slit to show her silky thigh.

I suck in a gut-punching, cock-straining, and mind-boggling breath at the sight. She had to wear a fucking dress today of all days.

“Fabio?” She calls me again, and I shamefully lift my eyes to her face, “Please, remember you said you would allow me to choose who I want to love and be with…” What does that have to do with anything? Why do I have to fucking lie for both of them to make that possible?

“And you want to be with him?” I hate this. I fucking hate being this way at this age. I hate sounding this pathetic or second-guessing my decision.

She veers her eyes to look outside the car, and a part of me hitches at the thought that she might say no, and I can end all of this here and now, but another part of me is scared to fucking death that she would choose me. If she chooses me, what am I supposed to do with her? How can I have something this… heavenly?

“For now,” she gulps. “For now,” she sucks in a deep breath. “Will you help me?” She turns her eyes to me, and I catch her blinking back what looks like tears.

Not those.

I would rip my heart and serve it to her on a platter if she so much as asked, and she wants to add tears to that arsenal. If she wanted to, I would raze the world and burn it to the ground.

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