❝You think we're going to live happily ever after? Newsflash: I'm not a fucking princess, you're no prince and this fucked up thing between us is not a fairy tale.❞
Ian raises one perfectly arched eyebrow, unfazed by my outburst. ❝Fairy tales can be...
Everyone wants the fairy tale, but don't forget there are dragons in those stories. —R. Queen, Darkchylde: The Ariel Chylde Saga
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Epic Summer To Do List B4 I Turn Eighteen: #6: Shoplift. *Edit: Stay home due to the fact that I'm "grounded" and Father has hired a hulking beast of a woman to guard my room door. And my pepper spray has been confiscated so I can't even try to escape. Yay.
Maybe under different circumstances, Galina the heavy set Russian bodyguard Father hired to keep me in check, would have been my friend.
You know. If I didn't pepper spray her before she dragged me back to the prison I call my room right before I could make it to my car and escape.
I look away from my laptop to meet her red rimmed, green eyed glare. I pretend like I'm not (only slightly) intimidated by her look.
She has the features of the Black Widow-auburn red hair, sea green eyes, a pretty face- and the body of Captain America. She must be an Avenger hybrid; I have no other logical explanation.
All in all, she's intimidating. And unfortunately, we had to meet when I was getting ready to go out after explicitly telling Father I'm "unground-able as fuck" so he should leave me alone. But then, like a cliché love story gone wrong, I collided into her and my dreams were dashed.
I pepper sprayed her because it's a common reflex action of mine and she blindly tackled me to the floor because she was probably a football player in her last life.
And now, here I am; locked in my room with a scary woman, trying to watch season one episodes of The Big Bang Theory while thinking of the large tub of vanilla ice cream I could have stolen from a random store.
Oh, Father. I hate you.
"So Galina..." I clear my throat and force a smile on my face. "Where in Russia do you come from?"
Her left eye twitches. She doesn't reply.
I'm determined to get her to say something. "Um, so, I love your hair. It's so red and healthy looking; what kind of conditioner do you use?"
She crosses her arms over her broad chest and says nothing. I nod to myself. Maybe she doesn't understand English. Or maybe she just isn't a woman of too many words.
"Okay, it was nice talking to you," I murmur under my breath, looking down at my laptop again. Truth to be told, I don't mind The Big Bang Theory. It's funny, it's full of nerds and Sheldon Cooper really is king in a freakish, slightly twisted kind of way.
