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Anastasia Lenkov wants to live a normal life as a nurse after escaping her old, brutal life. But her past keeps catching up with her. She is on the run from the Russian mafia, because her father, the boss, will n...
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I stared at the ceiling. My hands were tucked under my head and I tilted my head to the side.
Black curly hair tickled my nose and I looked to the right side on the bed. On the side farthest away from the door.
There she lay, looking like a little angel. Anastasia. Her body was in a long dress shirt of mine. She liked those.
I watched for a moment as her chest rose and fell. Her face was covered with her curls. She looked so peaceful. So innocent.
Her nose wrinkled as one of the hairs made contact with it. I loved it when she made those small adorable movements.
I loved every little thing about her. Love. I loved Anastasia.
Me loving someone? I never thought I was capable of something like that.
Her sleep is very light. I can't move too much or she'll wake up. That seems to be her survival instinct. She was a bit paranoid and had been for quite some time, I'm sure.
I stared at the ceiling again. It looked boring. Just as boring as the last few hours.
She didn't say it back.
Her hands had fallen motionless at her sides and she was staring at me, her eyes wide. That damn mask had fallen over her face. That mask that hid her emotions.
She didn't have the responsibility to say it back, but it would have left me feeling a whole lot better. Of course.
She was trained to kill, not to love. She needs time.
Love is a difficult little thing. If you use it too often or say it to the wrong person without meaning it, it loses its value, or so I was told.
The meaning is immense: you would die for the right person. That's what my mom told me when I was a teenager.
I wish I could ask my mom or sister for advice. But they're not here anymore. Not fucking here.
I've never felt that feeling for anyone other than my family. With Anastasia, however, it slipped out of my mouth without much thought.
It was like my heart thought first and my brain didn't register the words until they left my mouth. Love. A strange little word.
The room here is small. One bed and a small closet. I suppose the other rooms in this plain house were not necessarily different.
Soon the sun replaced the moon and brightness flooded the room. The beautiful woman next to me twitched as a ray of sunlight landed on her face.
She stirred awake, her brown doe-like eyes staring sleepily at me. Her lips curled into a warm smile. I love it when she smiles.
"Mornin', baby." I murmured, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her on top of me.
She giggled softly to herself. "Good morning." Her voice sounded husky. It was like music to my ears. She was too perfect.
