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 can someone 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 that she 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 13 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 a little princess, 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.
She 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 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 tab, but he couldn't have a chance because of her, Zia. She sneaked 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 shuddered.
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 Welton'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 not to step 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 alone 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 had 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 did and let my blood run out until I had no 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 like she deserves
She will be my girl, my sweet baby doll, my Letizia.