The protector

Murder

(This is what I picture Emily's hair looking like)(picture above)

Chapter 9

I watch carefully as her long fingers glide over the grass. I let out a sigh and sit down next to her.

Her short blond hair grazes over her left shoulder, her head tilts down towards a little pink flower, the wind picks up and slides between the trees. A warm gust launches her hair into the air with a push it attacks around her battered face.

A bruise forming right above her cheek in the shape of a pink surfboard. A large gash crawling up her arm, it snakes around her shoulder ready to bite her neck.

The cool wind slightly brushes up against my skin, it makes me shiver.

She looks up for a second before her eyes cast downwards onto the flower she begins to play with, the petals bent lightly at the touch of her finger. "May I." I say as I inch my fingers closer.

She moves away suddenly and watches me. "Will it hurt." She whispers and again glances down at the ground with a sad expression plastered on her young face.

"Just a little." Lying would not be my best option in this moment. A soft sigh passes her lips and she turns fully towards me.

Her expression shatters and pain laces her features. Her lips pinch together as I watch the start of tears gather at the corner of her brown eyes.

"Let's begin then." She nods and I approach her slowly.

Alex's point of view

My feet pounding on the soft ground as I make my way back to the house. The anger I feel slowly eats me from the inside.

I just couldn't believe how stupid this whole idea was. The way she looked at me when I told her who owns the house broke my heart.

Sadness, anger, and regret lacing her features as she stared at me.

It really should not care,  but I just can not help it. My palm stings suddenly, I look down only to realize that I've ripped holes in my hand from my finger nails. Blood slides down my hand and along my fingers.

Her features were covered in disgust and betrayal. It hurt.

I shouldn't feel such a sick reaction to her but Emily's actions pull on my heart. She's so soft and delicate like a flower. I always stomped on flowers as a child.

She is a rose, beautiful to the eye but if you touch the wrong place your going to cut yourself.

I approach the house, and stop at the door to place my hand on the wood. My fingers fall into the cuts, the curves that have sliced deep. I wish it could show me the memories of what it has seen but to be honest I could probably already imagine it all by myself.

Running my fingers through my hair I let out a well deserved sigh and for only a second I shut my eyes tightly. Flashes of color glide by, picket fences and blue houses. So many memories that have become walled away in my mind, a prisoner to my thoughts.

The feeling of the slightly dented metal makes me cringe as I keep my eyes glued to the door. The handle pure silver.

Taking deep breaths I push it wide open and take a step inside to feel the warmth that the house creates.

I am angry at this place or should I say I am mad at myself for being so selfless.

I stop suddenly. Why should I care! I really shouldn't care, but I do.

She's getting under my skin and making me feel emotions that I have never felt before.

The anger seeps out of my body as I slump onto the couch and glance around for a while with the door still wide open letting a subtle breeze push through the house.