Page 83 of Close Protection

For me. For us.

And he’s generous.

Generous with his words, generous through his actions, and one day I have no doubt he will be generous with his wallet too.

I’d take a generous man over an affluent man any day.

Money doesn’t equal generosity.

But a man who’s generous now always will be, no matter how much money he makes.

I’ll do anything in my power to be the man you need me to be.

I wholeheartedly believe that.

I get up and walk to my duffel, taking out all the toiletries I need and one of the dresses I packed last night. I rummage through to find some underwear but stop when I realize what perfume I’ve brought with me.

Taking it out of the bag I bring the perfume my father gifted me yesterday to my nose. I’m still a little confused about how he got it to smell so similar to hers, when the one I got recreated ages ago didn’t even come close.

Smelling that scent while standing in my mother’s favourite place brings memories rushing back.

Her sitting on the sofa as I sat on the floor while she braided my hair. Me, her and Daddy playing board game after board game and them always letting me win. Us on the very same sofa where I nearly got defiled last night, watching Christmas movies with a bowl of popcorn, snowman cookies and a cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it.

Her scent makes me feel like she’s a part of my life again, in a weird, comforting way.

Scooping up my things, I walk into the shower and place my toiletries next to Milosh’s, smiling when I notice how domestic our shower gels look standing beside each other.

I’m in and out of the shower in ten minutes and as I begin to lather moisturizer over my body, I hear the door shut downstairs. ‘That was quick,’ I mumble to myself, finishing up and slipping my dress on.

‘Milosh?’ I call, making my way downstairs, last night’s outfit folded in my hand. ‘You didn’t buy any bacon by any chance? I’ve got such a craving for it.’ I walk into the living room placing my dress neatly on the floor next to my bag, but I don’t hear a response.

Wariness pricks at my skin, heightening every second the silence continues. I pick up the fireplace poker and walk gingerly to the door, opening it slowly and making my way into the dark hallway, cautiously peeking into the kitchen.

My blood runs cold.

There’s a man.

A man that isn’t Milosh.

There’s a man that isn’t Milosh, and he’s standing in my kitchen looking out of the window.

My mind whirls, full of questions I don’t have time to think about.

I need a plan.

I need a plan and I need it now, because I’ve only got so long before this man turns around.

Right now, he’s facing away from me and he doesn’t know I’m onto him so I’ve got an advantage. I think back to all the situations Milosh went through with me until the perfect one pops into my mind.

I just need to get to a pan so I can Rapunzel him and knock him out.

Taking a deep, silent breath I steady myself then run into the kitchen full speed and strike him in the back of his knees with the poker.

He howls in agony as I whack him again, hitting the front of his knees this time. I keep hitting until I hear a satisfying crunch. He’s on the floor now, rolling around and gripping his legs.

Still holding the poker, I rummage through the drawers and cabinets looking for a metal pan with my back turned to him.

I haven’t been in this kitchen for so long that I’ve forgotten where everything is. I finally find what I’m looking for and go to pull it out but a hand clamps around my stomach pulling me away before I can do so. Although my bruises are practically healed they still throb when he pulls hard on them. I’m slightly winded as my back thuds against his chest.

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