Page 14 of Stained Protector

“Have you thought about what to do next?”

She blinks, and realization leisurely squirms on her face. Pretty eyes flicker up for a split second, then she drops them to the loose collar of my shirt. My lips twitch, unable to stop the smile that forms as her face shines with redness. It’s softer, the tinge of solace, and it elicits vague desires to be nice.

Nice, my mind chews on the irrelevant notion.

I’ve tried something similar to it when dealing with people, a formality of sorts, but there was never a genuine moment to it.

“I’m not sure what I want,” she says, “I’m not a fan of weapons, but I might need to get one. There’s a popular martial arts school a couple of blocks down.”

“Ah.” The flat tone slips from my mouth, but I didn’t hold it tight anyway.

Imagining men or women putting their hands on her, adjusting her form, and talking beside her ears pours acidic poison on my hands to disintegrate the idea out of her mind. I worry that she’ll come to work with delight because someone with the audacity to cross my boundary has asked her on a date.

Years of self-discipline would go down the drain, and I’d be forced to retrieve the violence locked away in my blood.

“Strangers touching me…” Anya winces, her lips curling in agitation as she shudders. “I’m fine with people I’m close to—”

The instantaneous blush marks her cheeks when her eyes wander up to mine, intensifying the heat searing in my stomach.

“People I know,” she corrects shyly, “I don’t flinch when it’s my family and you.”

The last word flees in between two loud heartbeats, and it begins an unrelenting rhythm as the melodic tune washes tranquility down my spine.

“I’m happy to be special to you.”

And smoke can emit from the tip of her red ears.

She coughs into her fist and dodges my shrewd gaze. “I’ll think of something later.”

Contacting Davis sounds like her next step. That man has no qualms about work ethics, but it’s not shocking when the core of him is as rotten as Eden’s forbidden fruit. He’ll use Anya to anger me, and doing so will snap a cord of humanity.

We’re not a good pair. He hinders the changes I want to make in myself, good or bad, and Davis walks a narrow path of vile games.

He knows I want to kill him. I said it to his face, and he never hides the fact he wants to see how long I can play on the good side.

He hasn’t overstepped once, so he’ll continue to stand on the sidelines of my life. Although, there are times I want to hack off the foot that toes the line.

Why do I keep him around? That question can’t be answered, and it’s too much work to care.

“I can help.”

It’s a cruel thing to do, the way her head tilts with eyes shining expectantly, but I snatch the leaving breath at the last second. The sensations I feel, fickle emotions, they’re boundlessly thriving in my heart with abundance.

“I was a cop,” I say, searching for guidance in her eyes. “I can protect you.”

“As a bodyguard?” she intones as skepticism sways in her fidgeting limbs. “I don’t want to trouble you. And besides, you’ve done plenty for me already!”

I have done way more than I can remember doing for anyone. Not my parents, who died in a kayaking accident. Not the foster home. Nor do I feel indebted when a family adopted me. Especially not Davis, who has been with me the longest.

If I have to describe our relationship, it’s purely business.

The gears move in sync, turning out an idea I nearly forgot. It was an accidental slip of the tongue, but it rolled so fluently. It felt like a dose of sugar sprinkled on a thick layer of honey, and the revolting sweetness latched onto my tongue for the longest time.

“As your husband.”

The words fly over her head. She dazes through the tweeting birds, the distant plane, and a picturesque sight after the morning dew. But as she looks at me with intricacies parading in each blink, I want to understand the emotions.

I’ve never seen them before, not in books filled with clinical meanings or people orbiting sins of life—she’s different, that’s why.

---