The Nanny ✔

#34

Word count: 1343

Sophie's POV

*

"Why are you doing this? Please don't kill me. I'm sorry if I ever spoke rudely to you or displeased you in any way." I choke tearfully as he slams the door.

He pushes me on the ground like a sack of potatoes and I make a hiss as my kneecaps comes in contact with the solid ground.

"You should shut up. I hate it when people whine." He complains in an irritated tone, just standing still at the entrance. He looks agitated, this scares me.

I press my lips together and inhale harshly. "Please, I won't make noise, I won't even speak a word anymore if that's what you want. I promise."

"You sure?" he looks unsure like he needs some convincing so I nod furiously.

"Yes. You have my word."

The silence stretches between us so well that I hear the pounding of my heart against my ribcage in my brain.

"Let me tell you a little story. Are you listening?" He suddenly asks.

"I'm listening." I mutter thickly.

With eyes trained on me, he sits on the iron chair which is close to the door and my eyes instantly dart around. There aren't many items in the room. A few random scraps of metal, a chair which he's currently sitting on, another dirty chair with a black and white nylon, a few tyres and a small paint bucket.

As he stares at me, his eyes softens a little and he heaves a sigh.

I adjust myself and sit up so I won't look as vulnerable as I know I am.

Are these the last thing I'll see before leaving this world? I look up at him again, tightening my eyelids close together to release the tears brimming while my heart keeps beating like crazy in my chest.

"There was a little boy, ten years old at that time who loved his little sister so much. Their parents had just two of them."

I nod in response.

That's all I can do.

"The boy loved his little sister so much that it hurt. He cherished the ground she walked on and always made sure to fulfill every wish of hers. He used to take her around, carry her places and he even introduced her to his friends. They all loved her like she was theirs." With a smile that tells more stories than one is willing to know at a glance, he keeps staring into the distance.

Who could the little boy be?

Did he ever have a son? Or how is this story even related to me?

I ponder over these with a slight frown and notice my hands have begun to slowly tremble.

Then I hear a sniff.

I furrow my brows when I take a glance up and catch him wiping his nose. Surprised that a grown up psychopath is crying, I adjust myself and sit properly.

It seems I am not the only vulnerable person at the moment.

"What happened to her?" I ask, already into the story.

I am not supposed to care but it seems the story has something important to do with why I am here right now. He's saying the story as if something really bad eventually happened to the boy or the girl.

His eyes turn from sad to cold when he snaps his gaze to mine.

"The girl was killed, brutally killed but not by actions. She was killed just by mere words. Careless words."