I Don't Need Anything Else

3: Security

Elena

I am perplexed.

Shocked. Intrigued. Impressed?

In all my years of life, I have never had to deal with somebody like him. Truth be told, nobody would ever be bold enough to make me deal with them. I always have the last word. It's me who gives the demands. It's me who says yes or no. It's always me.

But this goodie-two-shoes didn't get the memo. Or rather he did, but he didn't care.

And I'm not quite sure if I'm mad. Or interested.

So I decided I want to see where this goes. I want to have some fun. I'm locked up in a castle all day, why don't I have a little fun with the neighborhood watch-boy? Though, he doesn't look like a boy. At all. His muscles move under his suit and I let him push me to the station because for those muscles, why not? He's definitely hot. He might not be an actual cop but he's got the looks. 

But then the first person recognizes me. My blood is sucked out of me. Because it's never just one stupid mosquito. It's always a swarm of them. And they always suck me dry. Of course, like always, I was right. One after another after another, they all surround me. Flashing pictures, screaming my name, shoving a pen and paper at me.

Usually, I have my security team with me. Although they are useless, they can, at the very least, keep the mosquitos away. But right now, I have a good citizen trying to push his way through them and my hands are cuffed behind me.

A shot rang through my ears. And blood spilled out of me.

No, no, no, no. Not here. Not now. I try pushing the memory away. I cannot lose focus right now. But I did. And I didn't notice the glint of a knife until it was too late. This time, it isn't a butterknife. Dammit, is this going to be another scar?

I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself for the next scar that will mark my skin, the next scar I will have because of my status. Hoping it would kill me would be wishful thinking. Then, there is no white hot pain tearing through my skin. I open my eyes and there's no blood. Not mine at least.

And it is straight out of a goddamn superhero movie because the annoying wannabe police officer has efficiently isolated the weapon, his foot stomps down on the attacker's hand where the knife was held. His other foot pushes the attacker's body down to the concrete as he cries out.

He turns to me, the sun making the brown in his iris swirl into a chocolate pool. "Are you okay?"

"No," I blurt out. Since I'm still handcuffed, I motion to my leg. A small slash across my thigh. Barely anything. Almost like I got attacked by a kitten. He nods and handcuffs the attacker. God, how many of those does he have? That's when I see SECURITY across his back. He's security where? For who? 

He sets my hands free and sits me on a bench.

"Can I?" he asks, motioning to my thigh.

"Yes."

He takes my thigh in his hands, his large calloused hands and I swear I see through time and space.

"Does it hurt?" he asks.

"Yes," I lie.

"Can you walk?"

"No," I lied again.

Then he sweeps me in his arms like I weigh nothing. But he carries me delicately like I'm glass waiting to break. I wrap my arms around his neck. He tenses for just a second. And I think I might've told the best lie I could ever tell. The crowd grows smaller behind us as he takes us wherever he's taking us.