See? I don't need a bodyguard!

Car

Do you think something happened? No. Nothing happened. Nothing changed.

Droid had been on his feet since morning, and nothing changed. The only thing that convinced me it wasn't just my imagination were the bruises on his face.

Again, I didn't see him sleep, eat, drink, or go to the bathroom. Again, he was like a robot, just as he was before.

His behavior towards me was also disgusting again. He completely ignored my attempts at normal conversation, always brushing me off casually and dryly, and on top of that, he added a biting remark about my behavior.

Once, when I went to see my parents, he pulled my father aside and they talked. He was interested in what happened to his face, definitely. But he never told me anything about it. He didn't talk to me about anything. He just followed me everywhere and never talked to me about anything unless he was forced to respond to my sometimes (Sorry, miskate! ALWAYS) annoying questions.

Right now, we were just returning from a concert. I was sitting in the back seats. I leaned against the door, with my feet on the seats, and my calves on Droid's lap. I took off my shoes so I wouldn't dirty his beautifuly clean and black tighter pants. He didn't seem to mind. And even if he did, I wouldn't know, because that cold expression made me shiver more than the sub-zero temperatures in winter.

"Droid?" I asked him. I have to try the conversation again. I need to see him smile or blush again. It's been a month since it happened. And he thinks all of this has long been swept under the rug?

Never.

"Yes, sir?" Ah! Again! I've reminded him several times to call me Pezzy or Pezz, not some fucking 'sir'! It annoys me that he doesn't call me by my name. Come on, at least Max.

"I'm Pezzy," I said angrily, gently kicking him in the lap.

"I apologize, Pezz." There, now I was happy. No, not that I'm Pezzy, but I'm Pezz now. Just Droid will call me Pezz, no one else.

"Thank you. Do you like my music?" I asked him. I wanted to ask him why he's avoiding me and why he's ignoring the incident that happened a month ago, but somehow it didn't come up and I said this first.

"Expressing opinions on your music, clothing, behavior, or personality is not part of my job. My job is to keep you safe and not be friends with my clients," he replied coldly, still looking ahead. He wasn't wearing his glasses, but he had them in his hands. I still don't understand how he can stare into nothingness for hours without being on his phone.

"Screw your workaholism. I'm asking you something, so answer me. It's called courtesy," I said angrily and kicked him a little harder. I wasn't hurting him, but I wanted to show him that I could hurt him too. Even though I wouldn't do anything to him. He could kill me with one move, and I could barely hurt him.

"Expressing opinions on your music, clothing, behavior, or personality is not part of my job. My job is to keep you safe and not be friends with my clients" he repeated that annoying line, and I almost lost my temper. Can't he be like he was a month ago? He was so cute and huggable, I could've hugged him. And not like now.

"Fuck you, actually, you're really annoying," I said angrily and started looking at my phone. I had an article open about the world's favorite singers. I'm second. The first is Taylor Swift, and Katy Perry is right behind me.

I'm an icon for the youth. People put my pictures on the wall. And then they say I shouldn't have a God complex. I am an icon of today's young generation. An icon for men and gays. And the best part is, I didn't even call myself that.

(Well, let's calm our ego down, past me!)

Suddenly, I felt a pleasant feeling on my feet. Droid was massaging them. If he thought I would forget about it, he was wrong. Until he starts behaving normally and naturally in our privacy, I will be mad at him.

When we arrived at our house, Droid pointed out, and while I was putting on my shoes, he was inspecting the house.

When we entered, my attention was drawn to a box on the table. It didn't seem familiar to me, and apparently it didn't seem familiar to Droid either.

Fortunately, it was openable, so while I was behind him, slowly approaching, he opened it. I looked inside and was shocked. It was a dead rat, and there was also a photo. A photo from when I was bringing Droid home that time a month ago. I don't remember meeting anyone.

Droid turned the photo around and saw a small letter. It was a threat to both me and Droid. They couldn't wait to torture Droid in front of me and then kill me.

Droid decided that I wouldn't go to school for a few days just for safety, and I agreed. I don't want them to hurt us. Droid was watching out for me and constantly looking around, and he insisted on adding security cameras that only he and I know about.

And I just agreed. Like alway.

I started to notice that Droid was getting worse and worse day by day. Dark circles under his eyes, weakened, and increasingly paranoid.

And I didn't like it. Droid was ruining his health for me. Yes, it's his job, but this is too much. Droid should rest.