- Lucifer -
Why did I agree to this?
To be honest, I just felt bad for the small girl. Seeing how sad she was when I silently declined her offer made me feel terrible.
She just wants a friend
She's one talkative little thing, even more talkative than when we first met. It was probably a hilarious sight to those around us, a 5'4 petite girl chatting happily with 6'6 grown ass man.
Very fucking funny.
It was certainly entertaining. Although it gave me a fucking headache, there was never a dull moment with her. Any time there was a hint of awkwardness, she quickly filled in that gap with her most random phrases, and I can't say that they didn't almost make me smile a couple of times. Usually, my job as a guard is boring as fuck. I mean, I pretty much just stand for hours, with small breaks here and there. But with her, it's different. It feels like less of a job, and more of a hobby.
Sure, I don't want to be friends with her in slightest, shit I have no friends at the moment except Bentley, but still, that doesn't mean I want to befriend her.
She'll get too comfortable with me, try to initiate a relationship, and fuck up my plans.
I will be leaving New York by the end of this year, and I don't intend on leaving anyone significant behind. That'll just make shit more complicated than it already is.
But what's a few reading and writing lessons gonna do?
It's an innocent activity, and she's willing to help me, and I have to admit, I need someone's help. Regular tasks are difficult because of my dyslexia, like shopping, reading labels is fucking hard, reading letters I receive in the mail, following instruction manuals, and the list goes on.
I'll always have it, that's never going to change, but I can improve it, make do with what I've got.
And Dior is willing to be the person who guides me.
So fuck it, why not?
I mean, I did explain why the fuck not, but whatever
So here we are now, in her study room which has shelves of books leaning against all four walls. She did mention that she's more of a writer than a reader, but I guess reading helps you write better.
(It truly does, if you wanna be an author, READ. A LOT)
"Okay, so which book would you like to read?" she asked, breaking me out of my own thoughts. I looked around at the multiple books available, but had no clue which was best to read.
I don't even recognise any of them, which is slightly embarrassing
I looked back at her awaiting self and just shrugged, not having an answer for her. She smiled and stood up from her white desk chair, making her way towards me. I followed every action of hers until she was right in front of, looking up at the shelf beside me.
"Oh! How about we read a little bit of Jane Eyre, it's a classic!" she exclaimed, picking up the heavy book and clutching it against her chest tightly, as if it would float away at any second
I just nodded, I don't have any preferences anyways.
She skipped back to her seat and placed the heavy book onto the table with a thud. She clapped her tiny hands together and motioned for me to sit next to her.
I'm already extremely uncomfortable
I sat down on the spare chair and looked at the now opened book.
"I researched on how people with dyslexia can improve their abilities, and one of them was just to read, keep practicing and it specifically said to not stop reading, since it will take you back to square one," she explained proudly and I hated every bit of what she said.
I hate it
I hate how she acts like she knows everything.
I hate how she's trying to help when she has no clue about what is going on in my head.
I fucking hate it.
I kept my cool and just nodded at her words, looking down at the first page.
"So, what do you see?" she asked quietly.
"Words."
No shit sherlock
"And what's happening to them?"
"Moving."
I answered briefly, just like how I told myself before.
"How about you try to focus on one word at a time, rather than the full sentence," she suggested and I did what she said for some stupid reason.
I looked at each word and tried to comprehend what it was saying.
"There....was...n-no....prob-probability?"
The first words were fine, but as soon as the larger words came up, it became more and more difficult.
"Possibility, take your time Lucifer," she corrected me calmly, making sure not to shame me.
"Of.. t-taking....a....walk that day," I completed the first line and she gave me a proud grin, swinging her short legs under the chair back and forth excitedly.
"That was great!" she applauded, but it didn't make me feel better.
This is so fucking embarrassing. I look stupid in front of her. She's 8 years younger than me, and is trying to teach me? It should be the other way around.
I sound so idiotic and unintelligent, and that's not what I wanted when I agreed to this.
This was her plan all along, wasn't it?
To have a laugh, make fun of me, that's what everyone did.
I remember in High school, whenever it was my turn to read from the textbook, I would hear giggles and sniggers around me, and the teacher scolding me for getting everything wrong. I was too ashamed to say I has dyslexia, since I knew they'd treat me as if I were an inferior.
I had the chance the improve it when I was younger, but working for my parents took up all my time, and I couldn't take up reading or writing classes, which is why I suffer so much to this day.
And now she's turning into those High school kids.
"Would you like to carry on?" she asked.
"No."
"W-Why not-"
"I don't need help, I don't need you to teach me. I'm fucking capable of doing this shit on my own. This is just embarrassing and a waste of my fucking time, okay?" I lashed out, I couldn't handle it anymore.
I was angry.
At her, myself, my parents, everyone.
I leaned back on the chair, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, already having a fucking migraine because of everything that just happened. Though I couldn't see, I could sense her standing up with the book in her hand and returning it to its original place. She sat back down on her chair, staying silent for a couple of seconds before speaking up.
"That's o-okay, just know that y-you did great," she said timidly, her voice lacking its usual enthusiasm and excitement. It sounded quiet and plain, like everyone else's voice.
I sighed deeply, opening my eyes and looking at her through my peripheral vision.
She was looking down at her lap and fiddling with her shaking fingers, and nipping at her lips every now and then.
She's anxious
Maybe raising my voice wasn't the best thing to do, but I was aggravated by what happened, you can't blame me.
She looked bored and unhappy.
"Dior, just do what you usually do, forget that I'm here. I'm your guard, not your friend," I told her and she looked up at me with her doe green eyes, innocence and melancholy emitting from her body. She nodded and stood up from her chair, making her way out of the room. I followed her after a few seconds, since Dante strictly told me to never leave her side.
After a couple of steps, we made it to what seems to be her bedroom. It looked fit for a princess.
For a person like her, I expected something more extravagant and over the top, but it was quite simple and elegant. It suited her aesthetic.
Why am I saying that as if I know her aesthetic?
I don't know shit about her
"I'm gonna g-go change," she stated shyly, walking into the bathroom attached to her room. I was left alone in her room, not knowing what the fuck I should do.
Do I sit down?
Where do I sit down?
I can't be on her bed, she might not let.
I'll probably break her bed if I sat on it anyways.
Am I even allowed to sit?
Bodyguards never sit down.
Why is something so small so fucking stressful?
I all of a sudden heard a loud, pained groan coming from the bathroom.
Fuck
I tried opening the door, but of course, it was locked.
"Dior?!" I called out, but go no response.
"Dior, unlock this door right now," I ordered, sounding a little more demanding than I wanted to, but that didn't matter at this point.
I banged on the door several times, but again, a voice wasn't heard.
"The door is coming off the wall if you don't open it!" I declared.
3
2
1...
"I'm fine! I-I promise," she squeaked out, the door opening abruptly.
I looked down at her, giving her a questioning expression.
"Girl problems," she whispered, the tips of her ears going red as she looked down in shame.
Oh
"Scared the fucking shit out of me," I muttered under my breathe.
She mumbled a quiet 'sorry' and sat down on her bed, wrapping her arms around her stomach and leaning her head on her knees. She was now dressed in a beige sweatshirt and matching sweatpants.
What do I do now?
For someone who's been a guard for the past 8 years, you'd think I know everything about it, but I don't. I've never been a personal bodyguard, and that clearly shows.
Do other bodyguards find it extremely awkward?
Or are they cool with it?
I just need time, I'll get used to this soon enough.
"Lucifer?" I looked at her when she called out my name.
My name sounds so nice when she says it
Shut up Lucifer
I hummed in reply.
"Can you get me a hot water bottle please? It's in the first cabinet to your right when you enter the kitchen," she asked sweetly.
"Dante said I can't leave your side."
"Oh, it's okay," she breathed out. "I'll get it myself."
She sighed, standing up slowly, and I mean very slowly.
It probably took her a minute just to stand up.
I feel bad now, she's clearly not in the right shape to be standing up and walking around.
I have no clue how to help women on their periods, since I don't experience in that field.
I'm just following Dante's orders.
I followed her as she made her way to the kitchen and filled up her fluffy water bottle and putting it in the microwave.
I'm assuming those help?
We waited patiently for it to warm up completely.
"So...what's your favourite colour?"
Here we go again
"Grey."
It perfectly describes my mood all the time.
"Grey is mine too! My whole room is pretty much grey," she responded, her voice a little strained, as if she's talking through the pain.
Grey doesn't describe her mood at all.
But it might do. I don't know what goes on inside her head.
"Yeah."
"What's your biggest fear?"
"I don't have one."
Attachment
That's my biggest fear
I'm scared of getting close to people, growing a bond, finding happiness, because all of that will go to shit.
They'll leave me
I don't want to tell her that though, it'll freak her out.
"I'm scared of people," she said with a light giggle at the end. "That sounds so stupid," she added.
Why?
I want to ask why so badly.
Bite your tongue Lucifer, don't pry, you can't just ask stuff like that.
It's an irrational fear anyways, she most likely won't have an explanation.
The microwave began to ding, indicating that the time is up. She quickly grabbed the water bottle and wrapped a cloth around it. She walked back to her room, with me following her of course, and laid down, placing the cloth-covered bottle on her stomach, sighing in relief and closing her eyes. She looked exhausted and in pain.
I wanted to help, but I don't know how.
"You can sit down, Lucifer," she whispered, covering herself with the blanket.
I didn't want to at first, but after a while, I got tired and decided to sit on the edge of the bed, by her little feet.
It wasn't until I sat down that I noticed she had fallen asleep. She was now laying on her side, and the water bottle had fallen off the bed.
Do I put it back on her stomach?
Do I just leave it?
Do I wake her up?
No, you idiot
Overthinking is something I never did before I got this job. I can't understand why everything has changed so much since I've met her. Not all of it has been bad, I must say. I now realise that I have to think about what I say or do before I do it.
Fuck it
I picked up the water bottle and rested it on her flat stomach, and as if she sensed it, she subconsciously moved closer to the source of warmth, moving her hand over the bottle and placing it directly over mine.
Shit
Her little, soft hand is now on mine.
And I can't find it in my heart to move it away.
It looks like it fits there, like it's meant to be there.
Just like the first time our hands connected, there are sparks.
Bolts of energy zapping through my hands.
Does she feel it too?
How could someone's touch affect me this much?
No longer did I feel stressed, or confused, or angry, or annoyed, I just felt...at peace.
I don't want to move
With my other hand, I took hers and intertwined our fingers together, admiring the size difference and how her palm felt against mine. It's like a work of art that you can't keep your eyes off of. I just stared at our hands for what felt like forever, a small smile on my lips.
A smile
It's been years since I've done that, and she just made me do it.
It's something special, but I can't act upon it.
I won't act upon it.
I'll enjoy this while it lasts
I wanna kiss her hand
Can a hand be cute?
Because hers is
Shut up Lucifer
"Lucifer?" I heard a voice break my out of my trance, and I instantly removed my hand away from hers.
I'm gonna fucking kill whoever this is
I turned around and saw Dominic standing by the doorway.
"You're home already?"
"Yeah, work finished a little earlier today, so I guess you can go home now," he stated, looking at the ground.
I don't think he saw us holding hands, he'd be livid if he saw.
I nodded, giving the sleeping girl one last glance before stepping out of the room and finding my own way out. Zeus was asleep by the couch and I whistled, waking him up. He followed me towards the door.
"How was it, Lucifer?" Dante asked from the living room.
"Fine."
"Just fine?"
"It went perfect, no problems," I elaborated and he nodded.
"Thank you for your work today, see you tomorrow."
I nodded and walked out with only one thing in my mind.
I just held Dior's hand for a good 5 minutes straight
A/N - Who else is like Lucifer and can never accept help from people? Cuz same.
They held hands aweee
If you have dyslexia, don't be ashamed of what you cannot control, you're perfect!
Comment and vote!
Love you all!
2681 words