Page 31 of Stained Protector

Removing the earrings and ruffling the soft curls, my eyes roam down her body to see if there’s something else I missed. I toss the dirty towel into the basket along with others from yesterday’s painting.

The night is still early, and I’m not tired, nor do I want to paint.

I change into cozy clothing and dim the lighting in the living room. Anya shifts, her lips pouting as the TV screen flashes on her face. Sitting next to her, I fold my palm over her eyes and select a recently released movie with high ratings.

I stopped paying attention fifteen minutes in. The movie premise is great, the cast is killing their roles, and the flow builds suspense.

I’m delving through memories of books, movies, real people, and anything I can think of because Anya moved up and is using my thigh as a pillow.

I clench the other one to test the cushion, and it’s too stiff. She yawns, two small canines twinkling from the TV as she wrinkles her nose. My hand hovers, debating, then I weave the strands of hair around my fingers.

She nuzzles my palm as it rests on her neck, counting the heavy pulses, and her lips press innocently on the fingertips.

We stay like this until the credits roll, and she wakes up during the post-credit scene. Coldness bites the spot her head was on as she sits up, disoriented and somewhat confused about where she is.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaks, frantically wiping the corners of her mouth while searching for drool stains on my pants.

She snatches the box of homemade chocolate from the coffee table and shoves it onto my chest. The power in that shove yanks a dull grunt as she rambles about making it from scratch and hopes I don’t mind the ugly shapes that are supposed to be Valentine themed.

“Thank you, pretty baby,”

Her right cheek quivers as she nibbles the inside. She'll combust if she gets any redder.

I pop a piece in my mouth, the dark chocolate melting bitterly on my tongue as it runs down my throat languidly. I hardly discern the sugar, which is my preferred choice, and particles of cocoa powder.

It tastes awful, but I love it.

“I have something to say!” she bellows as if it’s the last of her courage. “Don’t be mad, please.”

Closing the lid on the chocolate, I place them on the table and lean an elbow on the couch while giving her my undivided attention.

“I’m going to live with my sister.”

I can’t say it’s not predicted. I’ve envisioned her renting a new apartment or asking a family member. Likely not her parents, as they live too far, so her sister is the only viable option.

It’s foreseeable, but fury still obliterates my lucidity.

The room spins, her rambling is background noise, and the smidgen of compassion I discovered from the deepest ocean trench is depleted.

“I see,” I manage to say through a clenched jaw.

She beams brightly. I would’ve enjoyed it, but that was minutes ago, and I want to crush the light in her eyes. Her happiness, at the cost of sacrificingus, is a taunting itch. She thinks I won’t stop her from leaving; how fucking wrong she is, because it’s not my first rodeo with manipulation.

It’s a snake’s forte. Second nature.

I will break this little brat, fast and mean.

No excuse from her can extinguish the furious flow of my blood, nor can anything stop the brawling violence between my bones to punish her disobedience.

“Thank you for…” Anya purses her lips with hesitation. “I don’t want to date right now. I just want to get back on my feet, and I’ll pay everything back.”

I give her the sweetest smile I can muster as she looks from under her lashes. With one wrong muscle, my lips will twist into an abomination.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in when I had no one else.”

Oh, good, she knows she’s on her own. She can still redeem herself if she apologizes, promises to never talk about it again, and be my pretty baby. I forgave her once, and she’s taking it for granted.

My smile has cracks in it as I pat the top of her head and ruffle her hair. Who knows when this act of kindness will return—if it will or wants to.

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