I don't know how much Dove has told Raphael, but I'm betting it's not the whole truth. He seems like a self-righteous prick, the kind that would report me, track me down and make me serve time for everything I've done. But Dove wouldn't. Dove loves me too much to condemn me to such a fate. Now I just have to twist her pretty little mind into submission, convince her that obeying me is what she's wanted all along.
I wait for them to meet in front of his office building. It's only been a few months since they met for the first time. Surely, she doesn't feel as much for him as he feels for her. My little bird doesn't fall so fast, and I know for a fact she's still hung up on me. I know, because I listen to her fucking herself while she whispers my name, coming to the fantasy of me that she can never have in real life. Not because I don't want her to. Because she decided it has to be this way. And one day I'll change her mind.
My gaze is focused on the entrance to the building. But instead of seeing Raphael exit or Dove arrive, I see a young woman pulling a little girl along.
The woman is short but pretty, with an innocent looking face that tells me she's younger than me. She's wearing an angry expression though, pulling along the kid wearing mismatched clothes. My curiosity is piqued, and I watch them approach the building, the kid tearing her arm out of her mother's grasp.
The girl stomps and shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her little body. Her pretty face is streaked with tears. She's refusing to go inside with her mother.
It takes me a moment to recognize the little girl, but when I do, my expression turns thunderous.
I've seen her before. The little girl was here when Dove had her photoshoot, but she never told me her name.
The woman only tries to convince the kid for a few minutes before she shrugs and disappears inside the building, abandoning her child. The little girl bravely wipes her eyes, and that's when she sees me. Slowly, a tentative smile pulls at the corners of her lips and she raises her hand, waving timidly.
I shouldn't engage, shouldn't talk to her. But as she starts coming over to where I'm hiding, I realize just how eager I am for some human contact. How desperately I want to talk to somebody else, even if it is just a silly little kid. I've been stuck dealing with the receptionist, my only human contact, somebody I can't stand. Somehow, I'm starved of conversation, and the kid seems like a better bet of having a good talk with than most adults.
"Hello," she greets me shyly, and I smirk at her.
"Hey, kid. Long time no see."
"I was hoping I would see you again."
I nod in acknowledgement of her words, then nod toward the building. "Your mom still hitting on the guy that works in there?"
"Yeah." She sighs. So grown up for such a little thing. "My stepdad would be so angry if he knew."
I watch her closely, wondering how hard life must be for her. Whether she has anyone on her side, anyone to help her. Before I can come to a conclusion, the kid points to my face.
"You have a new scar."
I touch my fingertips to the mark Dove left on me. Sometimes I almost manage to forget it's there now that it's all healed up. "Yeah. Makes me look like a villain, doesn't it?"
She shrugs. "Sometimes heroes have scars, too."
Her words are so profound I find myself clearing my throat in an effort not to show my emotions. I need to change the topic, and fast.
"So, you said your mom's married?"
She nods. "I don't like the guy."
"Why not?"
Wordlessly, she reaches for the sleeve of her lilac shirt printed with dalmatians and pulls it up. There are traces of fingers being dug into skin there, deep and bruised, an angry dark purple.
"He did that to you?"
She nods, avoiding my gaze. "I don't think he likes me."
My blood boils at the fucking sight. Who hurts an innocent child? I remember my own father then and what he did to me. How he abused me. How he twisted things around to make it seem like I deserved it, like it was part of a lesson I needed to be taught.
"What's your name?" My heart speeds up. I shouldn't ask. I shouldn't get involved. But because of my own trauma, when I see a kid in trouble, I can't help but try and get them out of their shitty situation.
"Willa," she whispers.
"Cute name," I grin, and she smiles back. "Where do you live?"
"Not far from here," she says, glancing at the exit of the building. "Oh, my mom is back. I'll..."