In one sentence is the spark of a story. Ignite.
Mission: Write a story, a description, a poem, a metaphor, a commentary, or a memory about this sentence. Write something about this sentence.
Be sure to tag writeworld in your block!
“I’m not here to help you.” He folded his arms across his substantial chest and said nothing further.
“You’re my bodyguard,” she reminded him.
So he wasn’t going to help her. “What if I injure myself?”
“I’ll tell the truth. It was self inflicted.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “I hate you.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“I just wanted a souvenir.”
“This is only memorable when you get caught.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Leave the sign. Get back in the car.”
“Hate!” she hissed as she scraped her boots along the pavement. But she did get in the car.
“You are ruining my new year’s eve,” she told him as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“You did okay.” It was almost dawn.
“Humph.” She had had a pretty good night but any possibilities to use to start the new day with a bang had been scared off by her Lurch. She snorted. He ignored her.
She had deliberately sat in the front seat just to annoy him. He was a stickler for form and etiquette. The client rode in the back. Behind the driver was the safest seat in the car. That passenger survived accidents. She was in the death seat tonight. He had told her that a driver’s instinct was to turn the wheel to save themselves. She knew what he was thinking when he glanced at her and sighed loudly.
“Princess Diana's bodyguard sat here and he was the only one who survived that crash.”
“He was the only one who had his seatbelt on.”
Pulling the inertia reel out a little she let it thunk back against her chest.
“Noted,” he said.
They’d had the seat belt fight on day one. He had threatened to wrestle her into it and she had acquiesced because she didn’t trust him not to do it. He unnerved her sometimes.
“I get why I am being punished, but why are you?” she asked him.
He flicked her a glance as he pulled away from the kerb. “I’m not being punished.”
“Aren’t you? Why did you get this duty?”
“It’s a difficult assignment.”
“I am?” She snorted. “What? Going to parties, clubs and concerts?”
“Crowds, small rooms, bad lighting, multiple exits, dubious people, extreme noise-”
“Fine,” she interrupted. “I get it.”
Silence for a minute. the smooth hum of the engine.
“I need a drink.”
He made a small noise.
“I’m sobering up.”
“Good. You tried to steal a street sign.”
She shifted in her seat suddenly to face him. “Wait up... if I am difficult does that make you quality?”
“You know what I mean,” she added.
“Huh. Well listen to you Mister Wonderful.”
He ignored her.
She gave up talking to him. she had almost fallen asleep when the car pulled up at the house. The main gates opened and he steered carefully up the drive and entered the garage. He usually dropped her at the front door under the porte cochere.
“This is the garage,” she said when he turned the motor off.
“Yes,” he said it super slowly.
“You’re a dick!”
“I was trying to make less noise. It’s late.”
“Or early.” It made some sense and it was thoughtful of him.
The internal door from the garage led into the staff kitchen. There was another one for show. She grabbed a glass of tap water and gulped it down, refilled it and handed it to him. He seemed surprised, but he took it.
And then she waited for him to drink it. She could have just left but it seemed rude to do that and she wasn’t sure why that mattered; why she was still there.
He placed the empty glass on the sink. “So how were you going to reach the screws at the top of the sign?” he asked.
“I was going to do this-” and she climbed him up his body as easily as if he were a set of monkey bars, “-see?”
“Uh, huh.” His hand braced her at her lower back. He hadn’t moved much; just one foot back to brace himself.
She was almost sitting on one of his shoulders. He was looking up at her as the smile faded from her face. “Sorry,” she muttered. Thinking clearly wasn’t high on her list right now.
When she tried to get down he grabbed her. He manoeuvred her around and slid her down the front of his body until her feet touched the floor.
He held her a moment too long and then he stepped back; away from her.
They stared at each other.
“Happy New Year,” she whispered.
His fists were clenched and his body tense. “Same.”
“I have to sign your timesheet-”
She went. Once she was safe in her room she shut the door and locked it, washed her face and fell into her bed. Stared at the ceiling for a moment. If he was still her body guard in the morning, then she knew something about him. If he stayed, he wanted her. If he transferred out, the job mattered more to him.
She had a new aim in life. She had felt his reaction to her; hard as a rock as he’d held her body against his. She wanted to do it again, and naked of course.
The possibilities were endless. Especially given how easily he had thrown her around. Maybe her New Year would be explosive after all?