Perfect Flaws

17. A Tattered Mind

Elijah

I smile, my lips tingling from the slight embrace of her plump lips.

"I'm offended. I don't have to act, darling. My skills in combat are perfect. Say the word, and I'll clear your path," I whisper in her ear.

She stares up at me, betrayal leaks out of her eyes and into mine, her fear laces itself into her veins.

"You promised," she whispers.

Oddly, and again for an extremely uncomfortable reason, my face softens, my heart races, and a frown etches into my lips.

"Relax, he'll be unconscious, breathing but a few hours lost," I whisper, "Unless you actually want to pretend you love me, and stick your tongue down my throat, then please, do as you want, Your Majesty."

For the hundredth time she gazes into my eyes, something I've noticed she seems fond of. Her eyes show me her thoughts, she's confused, and she doesn't understand me.

I'm glad she doesn't.

I don't need her getting close to me.

I don't need a weakness, and I don't want one.

She sighs, whispering for me only, "Don't kill him, please."

I comply, nodding as I step out of her embrace, feeling the coldness from the wall disappear from my back.

Without a glance her way, I avoid her analyzing eyes, and step around the corner, walking towards a striding guard.

"You aren't supposed to be here, leave immediately," he somewhat shouts.

I ignore his words, continuing to walk towards him at a fast pace, while I check for cameras.

A perfect time to be in a blind spot.

"This is your last warning, turn around and leave."

I grin, "save your breath."

Just before he has time to lift his gun at me, I grab ahold of the barrel, throwing the gun to the floor as I swiftly step behind him, while my arms wrap around his neck.

He struggles, grasping at my arms for a relief of breath. Eventually the tension leaves his body, his heart slows, and he slumps in my arms.

Almost as if he's peacefully sleeping.

I hear a clacking of heels behind me. "You clearly don't waste time," Rhea cringes, staring at the unconscious man.

"Swift as a blade, it's a habit I guess," I smile proudly.

Hastily, I walk over to the unconscious body, and pull him into a random room by his feet.

I prop his body onto a chair, lifting his arms to look like he fell asleep at a glance.

_________

Rhea

I watch as his hands work, purposely and skillfully. He quickly looks for any flaws in his form of art, as if he's done this before.

It's strange.

If I had met this man in a different circumstance, and I didn't witness him kill multiple people. I'd think entirely different of him.

I wouldn't see him as a murderer. I would see him as a cocky, confident, witty, and sarcastic man, who happens to have a dog named Nala. I would see him as someone who has an insanely neat house with color coded clothes, and a knack for cooking.

Not to mention, if you look hard enough, he's attractive.

"You're scaring me," he admits.

I look up and into his eyes. "I'm scaring you?"