Zayden leaned against the wall beside Angela's room, smoking a cigarette. One of the rules he was supposed to follow as a bodyguard—according to Henry—was to never smoke inside the mansion or anywhere near his daughter. But then, Zayden was hardly a follower of rules. He did whatever the hell he wanted, wherever the hell he wanted, and no one—not even his employer—could stop him.
Zayden puffed out the smoke and closed his eyes, searching for one of his best memories of his mother to relive.
A beautiful young elf lady scrawled with a pencil in her slender fingers against the cream paper on the table before her. A warm smile graced her lips as she continued moving her hand that held the pencil. She looked over at the next table, where her son was drawing God-knew-what on his paper. "You're getting it all wrong, Zay," she laughed heartily, dropping her pencil on her paper and moving closer to share warmth with her son. "This eye is bigger than the other." She noted, and ten-year-old Zay harrumphed.
"I keep getting it all wrong, Mama. I'll never be like you." His soft boy's voice made his mother chuckle.
"Oh, sweetheart, if only you knew." She tucked an unruly black strand of hair that hovered before her eye behind her ear. "You just need to set your posture straight and get your angles right, hm?" She told the boy, who nodded and attempted to try again, and she smiled, patting his hair that resembled hers. "You'll be even better than me, sweetheart. You will." She kissed his cheek and let him focus on drawing.
Zayden opened his eyes and took another drag of his cigarette. Like his mother had said, he was going to be better than her. He had left home, promising to be a man who was good at drawing when he returned. Instead, he returned to a burnt-up, empty house.
"Hey." He heard a small voice and whipped his head to the side to see the little girl with blue eyes standing beside him. He must have been lost in thought; he didn't even hear her door open. "I couldn't sleep and wanted to get water. Since you're here, can you escort me down to the kitchen?"
Zayden stared at her, momentarily forgetting that he was now a bodyguard. Her bodyguard. Despite what she had said about not being able to sleep, she sounded extremely sleepy. "Okay," he said and let her walk past him. He stood behind her as they walked down the dark hallway, the candlelight having died out. His sharp eyes caught the red moles on her shoulders, as she hadn't worn a robe out. It was one of the qualities of being an elf.
The lady and her bodyguard climbed down the stairs that led to the kitchen. The house was big—a fine mansion indeed. Zayden watched as the girl poured herself a glass of water, and he asked if she would pour him a glass too, but he would rather not drink water; he still held his smoke.
"Sorry for troubling you," she said as she placed the glass back on the counter. Unlike the tigress she had shown at noon, she now seemed like a meek mouse—an exceptionally meek and quiet one—that Zayden thought must have had a nightmare.
"I'm your bodyguard; it's my job," he said, leaning against the counter as he watched her sit on one of the counter's chairs.
"Yeah," she replied, pouring herself another glass and drinking the whole thing.
"Did you have a nightmare?" Her behavior didn't match someone who had just stayed in bed.
"I battle with sleep paralysis." Angela didn't know why the truth rolled off her tongue so easily. It was something she had never told her father, her sister, or even the head servant in the mansion she spoke to occasionally. She believed this man had compelled her to speak.
"Bad." He clicked his tongue. He didn't battle with sleep paralysis; he struggled with insomnia. He knew what sleep paralysis was like, and for her—being a human—it must have been really terrifying. To think she battled with it. "Do your parents know?" he asked as he watched her trace the rim of her glass cup, looking down at it as though something interesting, but invisible, was going on inside it.
"No." She shook her head. "It's no use. My sister wouldn't even spare me a glance; my father would think I'm just seeking his attention. My stepmother? Who talks to that woman?" Angela scoffed.
Such a messed-up family she had.
"I don't know what to say to you," Zayden sighed. He was the worst at comforting people, let alone being a shoulder to cry on. Hell, he would push your head away if you leaned on him. "Sorry won't drive away your demons," he said, hearing her chuckle lowly.
"I know. I don't really expect you to say anything; there's nothing to be said. I just needed someone to tell. You know, maybe you can check up on me every night." The words left her lips before she could even wrap her head around what she just said, and she widened her eyes, looking up at him. "I don't mean—"
"Do you pray before you sleep?" he asked her, watching her slowly nod.
"I do. Some nights I miss praying before I sleep, but I never leave my room in the morning without praying." Angela watched Zayden nod.
"Well, I heard prayer helps in fighting sleep paralysis." He finally took the jug and poured himself a glass of water. It was the most he had spoken in one night; he usually wasn't so talkative.
"Do you believe in God?" Angela asked him as he brought the glass up to his lips, noticing the movement of his throat as he drank. She quickly raised her head.
"No, princess."