Watching Her Sleep by Corrie
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He sat quietly on the edge of the windowsill, watching her sleep.
Moonlight shone dimly through the window, bathing her in a faint bluish light.
She slept on her stomach, covers pulled to her waist. Her head was turned to
him, mouth parted slightly as she breathed. One hand rested by her face, the
other on the pillow next to her. She looked so innocent as she slept, not the
killer he knew when the sun was up or down.
He sighed and crossed his arms in front of him. His blue eyes quickly flicked
about the room, coming back to rest on his lover. He stood and turned to the
window, looking outside. Nothing looked suspicious. A deep sigh brought him out
of his trance at the window.
He turned back to her, eyes resting on the small of her back. She hadn't moved,
only sighed. He took a deep breath, and sat back down on the window's edge.
From anywhere else in the room, he just appeared as a black silhouette in the
window, looking dangerous to anyone but her. She knew he was there, watching
over her.
His mind flew back through the events of the night, only hours before now.
He had been waiting in her house when she arrived home. Locks were no way to
keep him out. He had waited patiently at her kitchen table, sitting peacefully
with a loaded Beretta in front of him, just incase anything but her were to
come through that door.
She appeared surprised, but not totally caught off guard when she saw him
sitting there, though they both knew what was going to happen. She would put
her stuff down, and walk over to him coyly. When he couldn't take watching her
standing there any longer, he would pull her into his lap, and things would go
from there.
He loved the way she straddled his waist and threw her head back in pleasure.
She loved the way he would grab her hips and move her just so just enough for
both of them to…
He fought to take his mind off of what usually happened, and listened keenly
for any suspicious noise. Not a sound. Not with him here.
Afterward, as he moved from the bed to grab his pants from the floor next to
him, she had grabbed his arm and said quietly, "Don't leave this time.
Please."
The way she looked at him so helplessly (though she was anything but) and the
way she ran her lips down his arm to his hand he couldn't leave.
So tonight he had stayed. Stayed after. He had just lay on his back, arms
behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. She had quickly fallen off to a
quiet slumber next to him. She hadn't felt it when he got up and stealthily
dressed, weapons and all. He smoothed his blond hair back with one hand, the
other resting on his Mini-Uzi. He paced around her room at first, then settled
in a chair, then finally sat at the windowsill. Which left him at the present
time.
He remembered the time he'd told her, "Rest. I'll stand guard and see that
none of the bogeys sneak up on you."
It was just like that time again. Watching over her.
Then there was, "You do have a last name, don't you Edward?"
And his reply, "Of course. Goodnight Anita."
So long ago. And it all led up to this night, with him, Death, and her, The
Executioner, in her room in the middle of the night. The sound of his name
brought him back to reality.
"Edward," she moaned in her sleep. She turned onto her back, turning
her face away from him. She wasn't awake.
He took a deep breath to slow the rapid beat of his heart. If she'd been awake,
seen him out of bed, fully dressed.
So he stayed. He still sat on the windowsill, eyes on her. Sitting in the
twilight, watching her sleep.
Watching her sleep.