no control

• eighteen •

elijah

The jet touched down late Sunday night. After a series of technical issues, we arrived hours later than expected. My temper and anxiety could only handle so much, and I hadn't calmed in the least. If anything, being so close to my angel without knowing if she was alright unraveled me more.

If I at all considered what I might find when I went to my angel's home, my cool snapped. I paced uncontrollably. I broke two drink glasses in one fit of fury.

I clung to the notion that if Raman's man got to her and she was dead, I would know. Although it ridiculous—childish even—to believe we had some psychic connection, I couldn't help but believe I would sense the loss of her light in this world. For me, she was the last bit left.

When we touched down at the airport at last, Aaron and I split ways. He left directly for the warehouses and I left for her house.

I sped as quickly as I could but it was still nearly midnight when I parked down by the playground.

My heart crawled into my throat as I hiked up to her house. Her bedroom window was illuminated. I crept underneath it to peek through a misalignment in the blinds.

She lay in bed on her phone. The blue light of her screen illuminated the relaxed expression on her face. For the first time in hours, tension leaked out of me.

I sat there for a long time and just watched her. Since I hadn't slept a wink all weekend, I was completely exhausted. The added stress of her possible kidnapping, rape, and murder didn't help.

Some vague stretch of time passed before she put her phone down and left her bed. She stretched, walking to the door.

I watched her move the chair from under the door knob with practiced fluency. Originally I assumed she did that because I was there and she didn't want someone to barge in. Now I realized it was routine for her. She placed the chair under the door knob frequently. Probably every time she entered her room.

There must have been some reason she did that. People don't lock doors in places where they feel safe. That realization didn't sit well with me.

My fingers moved to the latch on her window. I was ready to crawl in, slip under her covers, and hold her through the night. I had one hell of a weekend and I needed to rest knowing she was safe.

Raman's threat wasn't empty. He paid someone out there to hurt my angel. The person just either had failed to do so or hadn't tried yet. I didn't want to leave her yet in fear that this person may arrive at any point in the night.

What if they found the rickety latch? What if her cousin left an exterior door unlocked?

There was no alarm system or guard dog. Anyone could just pop in undetected. She hardly had security here and that irked me deeply.

Gladys returned the room and propped the chair beneath the knob again. Instead of going to bed, she putted around with putting away laundry and tidying her spotless room.

Her military precision impressed me. It demonstrated a thoughtfulness that roused some long dead part of myself.

She cared about all the little things that I couldn't be bothered with. She cared so much about everyone and everything.

Oh, how I craved to be on the receiving end of that devotion and care.

Why aren't you in bed? I wondered. You have school tomorrow, angel.

After quite some time, she finally settled in for the night. I waited for her to put her phone away before leaving.

I wanted to stay all night but I was too tired. I needed a shower, rest, and a hot meal and I'd finish what I had set out to do this weekend—protect what was mine.