King of Anything

25

That night, I went to sleep confused. I still love him of course. So much. But I need to escape from him. I have to. He's a black for me—

I rouse from my sleep, at the feeling of a touch on my neck.

His eyes glow down at me, his lips tugging up a bit. "I know," he whispers, "it's creepy."

I swallow harshly. What is he doing?

"You're just so beautiful," he whispers.

"I look horrible," I croak, turning away. Morning breath. What is he doing here?

"I don't mean physically. Your soul is so beautiful. It's brilliant to me."

My...soul?

Am I dreaming?

"I couldn't sleep. I was thinking about...about you, and that beautiful soul you have. I just...when we first started, all you wanted was me. And now all you want is freedom."

Where is he going with this?

His knuckles stroke my cheek tenderly.

"I wish I could have it for my very own," he whispers. "Your soul. I wish I was more like you."

I frown. "Scar?"

"You want to leave?" He hurriedly says. "If you...you promise not to turn yourself into the authorities, then fine. But you'll come back to me if you need anything won't you? Anything? Won't you?"

"What's happening?" I whisper.

"You told me...if I really loved you...I'd show it. I'm showing you. Tomorrow morning, if you want to go, you can. And I won't bother you again, unless you call for me."

"Where's this coming from?" I whisper.

He looks at me. "I realized that I want to hold you, but I don't want to hold hostage anymore. But please, let me hold you tonight. Before you go."

His voice breaks in the dark. I've never heard that.

"Why are you doing this?"

He breathes softly, scooping me up in his arms. "I love you. And you're right, I'm not King of anything. I just hurt people. And you're someone...I don't want to hurt."

I swallow, saying nothing, enjoying the warmth of this dream.

My fingers find a bandage. "What?"

"I needed focus," he whispers. "Let's just sleep tonight."

Focus?

"Why are there burns on your wrists? Did you try to cook?"

"It helps gives me focus. I needed focus."

I gasp.

"Scar?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. "I worship you, Maureen. I'm just a terrorist in that I do it. Please sleep."

Wha–why?

"Tell me what happened tonight," I demand. "What's this really about?"

"Nothing. Everything will be fine, baby."