Mr Bodyguard

|07|

- Lucifer -

Why did I agree to this?

To be honest, I just felt bad for the small girl. Seeing how sad she was when I silently declined her offer made me feel terrible. 

She just wants a friend

She's one talkative little thing, even more talkative than when we first met. It was probably a hilarious sight to those around us, a 5'4 petite girl chatting happily with 6'6 grown ass man. 

Very fucking funny. 

It was certainly entertaining. Although it gave me a fucking headache, there was never a dull moment with her. Any time there was a hint of awkwardness, she quickly filled in that gap with her most random phrases, and I can't say that they didn't almost make me smile a couple of times. Usually, my job as a guard is boring as fuck. I mean, I pretty much just stand for hours, with small breaks here and there. But with her, it's different. It feels like less of a job, and more of a hobby.

Sure, I don't want to be friends with her in slightest, shit I have no friends at the moment except Bentley, but still, that doesn't mean I want to befriend her. 

She'll get too comfortable with me, try to initiate a relationship, and fuck up my plans. 

I will be leaving New York by the end of this year, and I don't intend on leaving anyone significant behind. That'll just make shit more complicated than it already is. 

But what's a few reading and writing lessons gonna do?

 It's an innocent activity, and she's willing to help me, and I have to admit, I need someone's help. Regular tasks are difficult because of my dyslexia, like shopping, reading labels is fucking hard, reading letters I receive in the mail, following instruction manuals, and the list goes on. 

I'll always have it, that's never going to change, but I can improve it, make do with what I've got. 

And Dior is willing to be the person who guides me. 

So fuck it, why not?

I mean, I did explain why the fuck not, but whatever

So here we are now, in her study room which has shelves of books leaning against all four walls. She did mention that she's more of a writer than a reader, but I guess reading helps you write better. 

(It truly does, if you wanna be an author, READ. A LOT)

"Okay, so which book would you like to read?" she asked, breaking me out of my own thoughts. I looked around at the multiple books available, but had no clue which was best to read. 

I don't even recognise any of them, which is slightly embarrassing

I looked back at her awaiting self and just shrugged, not having an answer for her. She smiled and stood up from her white desk chair, making her way towards me. I followed every action of hers until she was right in front of, looking up at the shelf beside me. 

"Oh! How about we read a little bit of Jane Eyre, it's a classic!" she exclaimed, picking up the heavy book and clutching it against her chest tightly, as if it would float away at any second

I just nodded, I don't have any preferences anyways. 

She skipped back to her seat and placed the heavy book onto the table with a thud. She clapped her tiny hands together and motioned for me to sit next to her. 

I'm already extremely uncomfortable

I sat down on the spare chair and looked at the now opened book.