The Author and Her Bodyguard

Chapter 10

I don't like to analyze my life. I'm a "live in denial" kinda girl. But when you are on the verge of death, your mind works so fast that everything you've ever done, every regret you have slaps you in the face without remorse.

As I laid pinned to the ground, face shoved into the pavement, I thought of my parents and it was the image of them that made me cry out when I got my breath back. "Don't be such a drama queen. You're fine." The man protested.

But I wasn't. Everything in the world made me scared and all this man had done was make it something I couldn't hide from anymore. The fragile image of the world I had built in my head shattered.

"LET ME GO!" I yelled. He tsked, as if he was addressing a child. "Not until I've had my say." He shoved me, forcing me to turn over and look up at him, his features still in the dark. The man stared down, foot on my collarbone. "You've been given a gift. One that was meant to be shared. And you've turned it into something that only you can enjoy."

I gritted my teeth, trying to think of a way out. I couldn't focus past the panic that filled my chest. I answered carefully, not wanting to provoke this clearly deranged person. "I don't understand."

"Didn't you get the last message?" he asked playfully.

Chills ran down my spine and all breath left my body. This was the man who had been in my house. The one who had left a note for me in lipstick on the mirror. "You—." I said but was cut off when he adjusted his foot and put pressure on my throat.

"Now now, if you aren't going to thank me for putting you on the right path, it is better to not say something you will regret." His voice was clear, every word carefully pronounced, every syllable enunciated with care. 

I began to see spots. I didn't understand. What had I done? What was he claiming I change?

"Shit!" The man glared down the alley. Then he offered me a dangerous smile and whispered, "do better," before disappearing into the night.

Another figure came into my field of vision. A pair of blue eyes found mine. He saw the terrified look on my face, one I didn't care to hide, and instead of chasing after the man, he knelt down and gingerly helped me sit up. 

He crouched before me, beautiful blue eyes staring into mine with a force that should have been illegal. If there was a way to make eyes less intense by filling out a pile of stressful paperwork, I would have happily stood in line to make that happen.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, scanning me for potential injuries, eyes sparking with concern.

I shook my head. "No, I'm fine," I replied, looking away. 

"What the hell were you thinking?" he asked, killing all potential butterflies that had worked their way into my stomach at the sight of him.

Clearly, he is terrible at the knight in shining armor dialogue. I stared back at him, suddenly seething with rage.

There are different types of anger. Some wrap-around, transforming you in the span of a single moment like you've become the Hulk, but if the Hulk was a warlock that could destroy the world with words and glares chorded in magic. That kind of anger doesn't sneak up on you. It hits you like a ton of bricks. It's all-consuming.

Then there is the type of anger that is filled with disbelief. Exasperation because you are thrown into a position to either stand your ground and fight for your opinion with every last breath or yield. This kind of anger can fizzle out just as quickly as it hits you. It isn't as concrete. It's more a spike of will and rage.

The third is a calculated one. It is built up over YEARS. A stronghold of memories of how someone has wronged you. Evidence that feels a mile high. It's strong, and brings a set of deadly focus, and is terrifying. It's the most poisonous kind because even if the person wants to make things right with you, it's too late in your mind because you've wasted too many years hating them.