She paces around the house back and forth, her bare bony feet hardly making a sound as she walks the dim corridors. She sits in the main-room for a while, listening to the two broad-shouldered guards chattering and cracking jokes while they clean their guns. She doesn’t feel like laughing.
She pours hot water in a tub and sits on the edge, making foam castles, but never gets in. She feeds bones to the attack-dogs, watching them growl as they fight over a piece of their favorite treat. Finally she stops near his room, opens the door as soundlessly as she can, sneaks in and curls up in a chair, watching him do what he does best – work.
She can sit there for hours, trying to figure out what he’s reading by the way he frowns, watch him go through the papers or fiddle with the guns. Every gesture, every move, every sound he makes tells her a million stories. No one else in the world knows him as well as she does…
“What do you want?” – He interrupts her melancholic thoughts, his voice dry, harsh and tired.
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” – She murmurs under her breath, pulling her knees to her chest. It’s always a lottery. Some days he will burst into anger and throw her all the way across the room, other days he will tolerate her presence with annoyed sigh.
“Then go make yourself useful. Daddy’s busy. C’mon, get off my sight.”
She hesitates for a moment. She doesn’t want to get into a fight, but she doesn’t want to leave either. Finally she curls in a chair tighter and looks away, for looking him in the eyes for too long sets him off almost instantly. He hates his eyes, she doesn’t understand why, to her they are more beautiful than anything the world can offer. She tells him that sometimes, but doesn’t agree. He never does.
“I told you to get out.” – He repeats, his frustration growing. She can feel it with every inch of her skin as if the air itself suddenly became thicker.
“Get. Out. Now.”
She feels the tears burning in the corners of her eyes, but she tries to hold them back.
“I don’t want to.”
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion. Out, princess, now, unless you want me to get up and make you leave.”
She scoots out of the chair and walks towards the door, not willing to test her luck, but still slamming it harder than she should.
It’s unfair. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier if he hated her, but he doesn’t. The amount of emotion he shows her is already a miracle for a man like him. She knows it and she accepts it and yet it hurts nonetheless. If only he would let her stay, if only he would let her love him and care for him, if only he would speak his mind and share his worries… But she knows that wouldn’t be him, that would be a different man and she doesn’t need a different man. She wants him and nobody else. Loving him is not easy, it’s not pretty and very hurtful at times. She knows he’s too damaged to give, too hurt to trust, but she loves him the best she can anyway, for she knows deep down in his own way he cares for her as well. She couldn’t wish for anything else, she would die for him, but he wants her to live for him. He never lets her have it the easy way. Sometimes it feels unfair or perhaps sometimes she just needs to cry herself to sleep…