Dalaric "Ricky" Mikael was known for two things; being the country's best assassin and being a silent brute.
His demons enveloped him in darkness and he saw no light at the end of any tunnel.
Until a girl, who's weird and wears nothing but a pair of...
"Even if she be not harmed, her heart may fail her in so much and so many horrors; and hereafter she may suffer--both in waking, from her nerves, and in sleep, from her dreams."
- Bram Stoker
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"I fell and hit it on the side table."
"You don't have a side table." His eyes narrow.
"Mama's room does."
His face is tense as he glares at me, probably sensing my lie.
It ain't my fault I'm a bad liar.
I made Dalaric breakfast to try and distract him from the question he's been adamant on asking. It didn't work.
Note: Dalaric cannot be persuaded with pancakes. Try with extra butter next time.
I cross my chubby fingers, hoping he doesn't go and check. I haven't been to mama's room in more than a year. Neither has she.
Sighing, Dalaric's hands rub the sides of my waist, his warm skin feeling even warmer on the already warm cloth of the turtleneck.
I smile at the feeling and mentally give myself a pat on the back for hiding his gloves.
Teehee.
I hid them this morning while he was in the washroom.
Only to find out he has a whole drawer of them.
So I hid the whole drawer.
Double teehee.
He only nods as he turns his back to me, putting both my hands on his head as he stands in between my legs.
I'm sitting on a black marble countertop and my butt feels out of place in his fancy open kitchen.
I thread my fingers through his hair as he wraps my legs around his waist, his back pressed to my front as we're on the same level.
It's like a piggy back ride except I'm sitting on a luxurious counter that feels like it might break because of my chubby thighs.
I like how they wiggle, though. Clancy told me bigger thighs give better blood circulation.
So I'm not chubby, just healthy.
Suck it, Shay and Landon and Mikey and- nevermind.
"Can you give me a piggyback ride?"
Dalaric shakes his head-which means he'll definitely be giving me one soon- before touching the tip of my nose with his lips after he's satisfied with his braids. He never actually pecks it, it's just his closed lips making contact.
Not that I mind. I still have to teach him. A powerpoint would do him good. I make a mental note on asking Jim if I can use the café computer again.
I glance at the time as Dalaric rolls down the turtle neck to look at my slightly scabbed wound.
