His Angel

Chapter Eleven

"One more question, and that's all you get!" the snap came quickly after. A clear indication that he was fed up with her, at least to her it seemed that way. "Then, you shut the hell up! got it?!"

"Ok," she responded quietly, certainly too low for the microphone to pick up. She rubbed her lower lip with the folded clothing against her chest, walking out of the closet and back into sight of the camera. He watched the way she moved, almost an unconscious crouch signifying just how scared she was.

"Can I bank it instead?" she asked abruptly. His eyebrows raised at her words, she keeps surprising me

"Bank?" he asked

"Yes..." she responded, holding foot in his sight "Can I use it at a later date?" she clarified. What she had asked, it seemed pointless to him, what good would it do her to simply wait to ask and receive an answer later? He mumbled under his breath, falling forward on his desk, propping his cheek in his hand as he used his other to grab the glass bottle of whiskey with its top off, draining a portion of its contents into the glass he had emptied the moment before.

"Sure, whatever" he muttered. He didn't really care enough to ask why.

"Thank you" she responded kindly. Too easily pleased, was all he thought, bringing the glass to his lips.

~

This morning was an important one. He dressed silently, pulling on his suit jacket and tightening the noose around his neck in front of the bedroom mirror. Wearing a tie was so fucking stuffy, he hated it more than anything else. He pushed back his hair, using gel to hold it, clear eyes staring at their own doppelgängers in the glass. He could hear her voice, at least the hints of mumble, he couldn't decipher the words for. But, there she was, on the screen of the monitor above his dresser. This one had no speaker, so he could only guess what she was saying. She appeared to be conversing with the dog, what on earth she would have to say to a mutt that didn't understand a word she said, he wasn't sure. Perhaps she was delusional, believing that the dog could actually understand what she said. She was sitting on the bed in a shirt that looked too big for her, he realized it was his, a KISS t-shirt with the lips from his days as a moody teenager with nothing better to do than slam doors, sniff cocaine and curse a god for all the shit he had been put through in his short life. She may have been wearing shorts, but he couldn't tell, the shirt was too long to see. But, he did know that her small, thin legs were on direct display as she fell back against the sheets, her head hitting the pillow and feet sliding over the fabric of the duvet. His eyes widened, realizing he had been unconsciously staring at the screen. His brows furrowed at his own idiocy.

"The fuck?" he muttered his distaste, shaking his head and looked away quickly from the screen. He couldn't understand his own mind sometimes. He hurried to do up the top button of his shirt, slamming his hand on the monitor's sleep button and watching the screen snap black. He had to admit, it wasn't like she was bad to look at, but kind of plain for his taste, certainly a cream puff by every sense of the word.

"Sir?" he glanced to the right, sighting Lancelot by the door "Spike and the entourage are ready and are just waiting on your arrival"

"Thanks," He grabbed his cell phone, his handgun off the bed, pausing to look down at it between creased fingers. Mumbling curses and tossing it back on the bed, he knew he couldn't take it, but he felt naked without it.

Staring out the window was basically the only thing she could do now, a single room was limited in its entertainment capabilities. But, over the past few days, the snuff at the back of her head kept tingling, she suspected this place wasn't just a random apartment building. Just watching the world below was enough to understand that.