STITCHED THE FRESH SKIN, SCARRED THE (HE)ART
The first time I saw her, I thought she was the cutest and most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Her chubby cheeks, tiny chin, and cute little nose. Her eyes—oh, her eyes—were so blue, like a sapphire gem, fading out to the outer in a light blue diamond shade. There were so many shades of blue in her big eyes. Her hair was intensely black, contrasting with her pinkish skin.
She was like a doll, a baby doll.
And I wonder how someone can be so fucking beautiful like this at this age. All I thought about was how attractive she would be when she got older.
Every time I went to Ivan's house, I saw her. She was always there with Ivan's sister. I was so fucking stunned, startled, astounded when Ivan introduced a little girl to me who had moved in three years ago, but I had never ever seen her before.
Her name was Letizia, and she was pretty and elegant, like her presence.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. I wanted to squeeze her and hold her up, swing around, and squeeze her again like a fluffy kitten that everybody craves to have. But fuck, she was thirteen back then; I couldn't. I had to keep my distance and my fucking eyes from her. It was so fucking wrong.
People around her: Ivan, Ivan's parents. They adored her. They interacted with her like she was one of the little princesses, a fragile doll. She was a nice, innocent girl that everyone wanted to protect, protect the sweetness and the softness. She was not loud like other kids; Ivan's sister was loud, screaming like the sound of the boiling water in the kettle, crazy. I hated it. It hurt my ears.
Letizia acted and behaved genuinely and smiled softly when she was pleased or pleased others. And when she was very excited and very happy, her eyes closed, and her lips would curl wider; oh, and when she laughed, fuck. It was the cutest, the most adorable thing. It lit up my fucking world. It made me smile along. It made me want to snatch her away and take her home.
I saw Ivan hug her like there was nothing, pat her head, and play with her hair. Ivan's mother fed her a tiny piece of cake. Ivan's sister never took her hands off her. But I couldn't. We never talked; we just knew each other's existence. She wouldn't mind my quiet; she didn't care what I was doing; she just let me be like I let her be.
I didn't think to do anything to her, but I felt something. If I kept my existence in her life long enough and close enough, I was scared that I might invoke dark thoughts to the surface.
It took two years and fucking biker gangs to destine me to have our first real interaction. When that fucker, Winston, tried to use a knife to stab me, he did once and wanted to double stab, but he couldn't have a chance because of her, Zia. She snuck out from behind and grabbed that mother fucker's dirty helmet and hit his head. She saved me; my sweet Zia crushed his head for me.
I was shocked, and she was shuddering.
I took back the helmet and threw it away, and then she flinched. My blood was running out like crazy, but my eyes were on her. I had to take her out of there before someone saw her in the middle of an awful situation. I grabbed her wrist and took her away.
Then, I realized there were security cameras there; I didn't fucking care if I was caught beating some shitheads, but Zia was in there; she crushed Winston's head. If that fucker was dead, he deserved it, but not by my sweet Zia's hands, and she could be in danger and her reputation; her parents would take her away from this place, away from me. I had to do something.
She kept asking me to go to the hospital. I couldn't go there. Everything would be more complicated.
"No? You got stabbed, Zygmunt!" Zia shouted my name.
Fuck, for the first time, she called out my name but in a hasty, frustrated way. I didn't want our first interaction to be like this. And she kept on begging with those blue eyes. Even in the darkest dark, her eyes are so bright. I had to take her home, but I couldn't, not because I didn't have enough strength but because people would see my organs before I even sent her home.
"You, go home," I said, letting her delicate hand go.
But she didn't; she persisted, followed me, and repeatedly called out my name. "Please..." She begged.
Fuck, her voice.
"Go home. Don't go the same way you usually do." I said to her one last time. I couldn't help myself, and then I saw her teary eyes about to run down.
Fuck, I stopped myself from stepping closer to her and turned my head back.
"For heaven's sake, Zygmunt, stop." She cursed at me, held my hand, put my arm around her tiny shoulder, and supported me. I heard her mumbling on her own, but she made sure I could hear it. She was so adorable.
That night, she didn't let me die or feel my pain alone. She was there with me; her tiny little fingers stitched my flesh back together. She was so fucking fearless she offered to do it for me, not the word offer—she demanded. She looked at my red blood running down the sofa to the floor and kept on stitching it with her shaking hands. I felt terrible to let her soft skin cover all the blood and face something awful like this. Her fearless innocence was still sweet. Too sweet. I was in pain. I bit my lips while her skin touched mine. She glanced at me several times to check that I was awake or had any pain.
Her unexpected side amazed me and made me want her even more. I tried not to laugh that hard when she turned on the video to watch how to stitch the fresh scar. She could let me be like the way she was and let my blood run out until I had none left, but her quick wit and her softhearted side won her over.
She cared for me. She almost cried for me. She saved me from a fucking knife, and she saved me from dying.
I could die from all the blood running out and suffering with the pain until it was numb, and I lost my last breath alone in my house. And my mother would come back home from her trip and see her son's body. My mother would be petrified and live her life in fear. But she saved me.
And I knew from that day I would make her mine. Only mine. No one could touch her or take her away from me.
Her sweet sixteen has turned to horror for her now, and I would always be ashamed of this for my entire life. But I would make up for it; I would. I would make her smile shine again as she deserves.
She will be my girl, my sweet baby doll, my Letizia.
After she went home safely, I dragged myself the same night to get rid of the footage from the security cameras around the gas station. Some of the bodies and bikes were still there, and there was no sound of wailing. Even Zia told me she already called the police. As expected, the police were late as usual, as if they knew that bikers were the ones who beat the one innocent man, but they didn't know that I was not that innocent. There was no innocence left in my soul. Erasing the footage was easy, but the memory of the person was a bit harder.
Shit. I saw Winston's face, bloody, messy fucked up face.
My baby doll Zia was quite something, huh?
And about the time the wailing sound of the police finally arrived, I hid myself back in the woods. Some of those fuckers must be back to their place. I waited until they took care of the bodies; they carried Winston's body in the ambulance, and they left the scene.
If he died, good, but if not, I had to ensure he did. But before that, I had to erase the memory of his minions. Making sure that no one there witnessed it. I won't let anybody target Zia, even cops, high authorities, and that fucking Winston's gangsters.
I trashed their place at the back of Oldwood Street. Some of them were already badly injured, and I had to repeat myself so we were on the same page. Some of them, well, returned to Mother Nature.
After that, I went to the hospital. His brother, Welton, was waiting outside, talking on the phone angrily, not in tears or mourning. I snuck in without them noticing and did the deed. I quickly snuck out before the rest of the nurses stormed inside because of the emergency sound. I couldn't stay to let the doctor check my wound, even though I felt a bit of aching pain, but it was just a fucking ant biting me, a fucking thousand of them to be exact. I hurried to get out and back to my house before the sky turned bright.
I looked at my wound. The stitches that Zia did for me looked messy, but they tightened enough that even after the long active mission, they didn't open. My Zia was the best; she was great at everything she did. I needed to take care of my scar. She put her effort into making art for me. I would cherish it forever.
The news arose the following day. Winston's death was around the town, and the suspects weren't that far away from the police's eyes, but they could do nothing since the witness and the evidence were destroyed.
Then something disrupted at the worst fucking time. I just had time or a chance to be with her—closely. It was the time for me to spend my miserable life with a rare flower that bloomed in the rare time that she, my Letizia, planted it for me, a whole garden. A life that I couldn't imagine, running and watching myself and her—holding each other through the peony and rose wilds, even with thorns; I would not feel any pain, only love and warmth. But the call from my father changed everything. I had to visit him and join the military for him. No, it was for my mom's sake. She begged me to honor his will before his breath would disappear from this world. I didn't want to. I didn't fucking care if that man had died. But how could I say I loved my mum so much that I couldn't see her sadness?
So I went—left.
I left my mom, and I left Letizia.
When the silver car parked beside the road, the long black hair and milky skin shone right through me, and the sun was about to set from far away. It was her, Letizia, my girl, the girl I dreamt of every fucking brutal night, and even I opened my sore eyes every day. I had to glare so hard to ensure it was her. I noticed the girl next to the driver, Ivan's sister, and then I knew the beautiful girl in the back was Letizia. I couldn't believe my eyes that it was her in front of me. I had waited and crawled myself out from the dirt to see her.
Oh, fuck, my Zia looked so stunning, more than I imagined her. Her long black hair slid down her cheek, over her shoulders. She pulled her high-knee stocking on that beautiful leg before every man's eyes—she was so nonchalant. Did she know that every fucking man here wants to snatch her away?
I heard the conversation between them. Of course, all the boys wanted her. They would run after her kitten tail, but I was almost surprised that she was not with anybody, and I realized that they were boys. They were intimidated by her, which I didn't understand because of her fierce looks under the cutesy, sweet, gentle face, or perhaps her bright dimension of blue eyes that could cut through boys' skin.
However, she would like a man who takes action to pursue her rather than be afraid of denial and let their friends feel shame instead of themselves, and probably talk behind her back, so childish.
As she walked inside the garage, her sapphire eyes sapphire me right through my black shield helmet as if she knew where my sight was at her.
FUCK.
If my eyes could be drooling, that could be it.
And that fucking Kay, the son of the owner of this garage, the son of the bitch whom she ran to hug him, and his face was full of fucking joy, and he also dared to ask her, was she pleased? He found her a rare custom engine just because he wanted to get under her skirt.
Before introducing myself to the town, I had to introduce myself to her first, but I didn't want to scare her away or build a wall between us. She didn't know who I truly was before, and I was so fucking sure that she wouldn't know who I had become. I needed the plan to slowly present myself in my own way so she couldn't deny or resist being with me even after tasting my darkness. I didn't want to force her to do anything she despised, but if it was uncomfortable, it could become accustomization.
If it was fear, it would follow her everywhere: her mind, her bones, her soul, even her heart, and soon enough, she would turn to face it, and not only would her feelings change, but her body would be able to handle, welcome, and embrace me.
I had to know her routines, times, schedules, and every habit she had been doing. Who had she been interacting with? Who was on her wrong side? And who was she interested in? Who she kissed or any fuckers who tried to get in her pants.
The house—my own home, where my mum used to live—wasn't homey anymore without her. My father left us when I was ten and never fucking came back, yet he had the fucking nerve to call my mum and ask me to leave her the same way he had walked out on her. I would rather scratch my own liver out. I would never, ever have left my mum if it hadn't been for her—and for my Zia.
I got into my bedroom, pushing past my old clothes, still hanging there in good condition—my mum. Dust flew everywhere. I entered the passcode in the hidden corner, and the wooden door opened.
The secret room I built for my work—the security cameras around my fucking house and along my street, which I had secretly set up without the police knowing—fed into my computers and the six televisions stacked beside my desk.
It still worked perfectly.
I replayed the clips from the first day I left my house—the town. All night, I kept my eyes open, watching her. My sweet Zia ran to my house, interacted with my mum, and smiled at her until my mum was no longer there. But even then, she never stopped looking up at my humble home.
It was like she was obsessed—addicted to my house, or to me.
Oh, fuck, please—I hoped it was me.
She didn't just fucking save me; she also saved my mum—kept her alive, kept her smiling. Fuck, my tears fell without me realizing it. She pushed herself through that gas station, struggling, agonizing. She has been suffering from the awful past I caused for the past two years. I hated myself for that.
After witnessing everything, I was so proud of her. She always faced her fears, even with tears in her eyes, even though we hardly ever saw them.
The reason I came back was because of her and only her. No one fucking matters to me anymore, and I will do anything to make her mine—part of my soul. I will make her choose me willingly, and we can officially start a family together, just the two of us.
No one deserves her.
I even doubt myself, but that isn't going to stop me. I will prove to myself and to her that I am the only one who can be that man—protector, provider, and lover.
I will kill anyone for her. I will be her executioner if she wants me to be.
I will do anything for my baby doll, my Zia.