I'll Protect You (Re-Edit #2, 2016)

The legend of the Locker Ghost

"I'm sorry, I think you mean black like yours. If you had one, that is."

"Excuse you," I huffed. "My soul is a sparkling fuchsia. If anyone here lacks a soul, it'd be you."

"Park, that's not very nice of you," my father reprimanded me. "Logan is your bodyguard and I didn't even have to warn him about your personality before he signed up. Willingly, if I may add. So, you are going to be polite to him and on your best behavior."

Meanwhile, Logan's cheeks had turned a beet red and he averted his eyes from my smirk. I recalled the conversation on Friday, how he had made it seem like this whole arrangement had been personal and made voluntarily--now I had my father's words to support my suspicions. 

"We should go," Logan coughed, shifting from foot to foot. "The bus will probably leave soon." Then, he bid my father a good day before he turned on his feet and quickly exited into the hallway.

"Did I say something wrong?" my father inquired. "He was all red."

"You, old man, just provided me with the perfect method of blackmail," I grinned while dumping two packets of sugar into Logan's coffee and pouring some creamer into the thick black liquid. My coffee was just about out and I had planned on stealing Logan's--but I needed some substance of sugar and sweetness. 

When the color of the coffee had changed, I capped the cup and grabbed my bag off the chair it had been sitting on. Then, I wrapped my arm around my father's waist. "Have a safe trip back, Father."

He dropped the sponge in order to return my embrace. "Take care, sweetheart. I'll see you soon," he said into my hair before pecking my crown. When I let go, I gave my father a wide smile before I left the house, finding Logan leaning against the railing of the patio. 

I handed him his coffee, and the two of us began our walk in silence. My favorite times of the day were dusk, midnight, and this hour right here. The atmosphere was always quiet and calm during the motionless morning, when people were just beginning to wake up and the streets weren't quite so busy yet. 

The silence cut off when Logan decided to initiate a conversation. "Your father's...interesting. He's not how I remembered him."

"And how was he portrayed in that oh-so brilliant mind of yours?"

Logan ignored the jab and continued talking. "Royal," was his answer. "He was exactly the way a fairy tale would describe its prince. I used to be in awe of him. Don't get me wrong, I still am. He's just more..."

"Kooky?" I suggested.

"I don't want to use that word to describe the prince of Cimeria."

"He used to be that way. He knew I loved fairy tales, so he and my older brother would try and compete to be the best prince. And then--" I cut off because I could feel my throat beginning to clog up. Just thinking about my older brother managed to make me feel like someone had just stabbed me through the heart. Repeatedly. In the most painful manner possible. 

It's not a great feeling let me tell you that.

"Are you okay?" Logan asked.

"Let's not talk about it," I dismissed, detaching myself from the subject. "Alright?"

"Sparrow, what's wro--"

I stomped on his foot, causing Logan to cry out in pain and anger from the surprise attack. Needless to say, he lost all tone of sympathy in his voice (which was a good thing, because the compassion-for-moi façade was beginning to touch the borderline between odd and insanely creepy). The foul look of hatred was back in his eyes, and the rest of our walk down the just-waking neighborhood was filled with angry bickering.