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Raphael Santino Photography.
Bright Idea Marketing.
Sweet Buns Bakery.
What the fuck is my little bird doing here? Not knowing is driving me fucking crazy. But I don't have a choice – there's no way for me to find out what's happening here, not unless I can get a hint somehow. All there's left for me to do is to wait for her to be done. And fuck me, it’s taking forever.
I linger in an alleyway close to the building, keeping an eye on the revolving door. People come and go. Some carry sticky buns in brown paper wrapping, from that bakery I saw mentioned on the plaque. Others carry briefcases, wearing smart business outfits. Nothing like the misshapen, baggy clothes little bird wears to hide her true beauty.
For the life of me, I can't figure out what the fuck she's doing in there. The tension of not knowing bothers me, and my nails dig into the palms of my hands, forming red crescent moons of pain.
I wait. I loiter. No one notices me. I'm invisible in my all-black outfit, the hood of my sweatshirt pulled low over my face to hide it. It's not like anyone would recognize me here, anyway. LA is a long way from home. My past is in New York City. But Dove is my present and my future. She just doesn't know it yet.
Finally, what feels like hours later, Dove emerges from the building. She looks different than she did when she went in, and it pisses me off. Her hair's doing some weird curly shit. It looks as glossy as always though, and she's still wearing the same clothes. The light makeup on her face enhances her features but does nothing to hide the scar on her left cheek. I smirk at that. It pleases me.
I watch her interact with a little girl. I see the pain on little bird’s face when she sees the kid’s fear. I make a mental note of it. As she waits for her ride, I realize I'm being watched, too.
The girl's mother has left her outside, disappearing into the building Dove just came out of. What kind of fucking idiot leaves their kid on a busy street like this? My hands form fists. That woman needs to be punished.
I allow myself to sink into a dark place where I can take out my anger on the girl's mother. I imagine carving her, putting welts into her body as she screams. It doesn't matter what she looks like or if I'm attracted to her. All that matters is taking out my fucking rage on something.
A moment too late, I realize the girl is watching me. When I do, she's already coming toward me. I can't risk Dove noticing me, but I see her Uber's just pulled up, and she's getting into it right when the little girl comes to a stop before me.
"Hello," she says softly, and I groan as I watch Dove's ride drive down the street. Fuck.
"Move it, kid," I hiss at the little girl.
"What's your name?" She stares up at me expectantly. The dumb little thing feared my little bird because of her scar, but she doesn't even flinch in my presence. She doesn't know a monster when it's staring her in the fucking face. "I like your jacket."
I decide to humor the kid. I kneel next to her, waving my hand in front of her and producing a red lollipop out of thin air. The girl gasps as I hand it to her.
"How did you do that?" she asks with wonder in her young voice.
"Magic. You like cherry flavor?"
She nods. "My favorite."
"Enjoy it, kid." I pull away from the shadows of the alley, ready to follow Dove. I'm guessing she went back home. She rarely leaves the apartment, so her little outing today is fucking inexplicable to me.
"Where are you going?"
I turn to face the little girl again, glancing at the building her mother disappeared into. "Where's your mom, kid?"
She smiles. "She's getting us some sticky buns. She says I have to wait here."
"Why wouldn't she take you with her?"
The kid shrugs, rubbing the hem of her pink tutu between her fingers and drawing lines on the asphalt with her toe. She's kind of cute, and I feel bad for leaving her alone on the street. The desire to keep following Dove is strong, but I do my best to fight it. My conscience may be nearly non-existent, but at least it's strong enough so I don't abandon this girl in the middle of the city, unlike her fuck-up mom.
"She likes a boy that works there," the girl mutters. "She says I'll spoil it for her if I come along."
My blood boils with rage. This poor kid. I have a soft spot for children with fucked up situations at home, obviously. And now I can't leave. I'll think about the kid all fucking day if I do.
