The sky was as blue as the sea, the clouds pure white, the grass, an intense, bright green, and the blood so red...

Seeing the muscular man groaning and twitching on the grass, and thinking of my weak and short arms, I gave up the idea of stabbing Jonathan in his back. When I was 13 years old, inspired by TV, I intended to poison him with food. Of course, I failed to get a deadly poison, colorless and tasteless. But I was able to get a bottle of sleeping pills successfully from the pharmacy.

One night, I took a cup of coffee mixed with sleeping pills in his study. He leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed. Even the cigarette between his fingers had nearly burned his fingertips. He was not aware of it. He looked so tired and exhausted that he even went to sleep silently. 

So, I put down the coffee cup and carefully pulled the cigarette out of his hand. The smoke was blowing, and the ashes fell to the ground. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked at me quietly with bloodshot eyes. I was startled and step back instinctively. "Did I wake you?” I asked and holding my breath.

"No. Do you have something to say?" he replied and stretch himself off.

" You looked so tired, so I just made a cup of coffee to perk you up."

He unfolded his wrinkled brow, sipping coffee, then he frowned again and sniffed it, and did not drink anymore.

"Why aren’t you drinking?" I asked, and my voice and my body began to shiver.

Then, he put down the coffee cup, he brushed my wet hair, holding me in his lap, with his powerful arms around my body, "It’s so late. Can't you fall into sleep again?" he asked gently.

" Yes," I said.

"Have you taken the pills?” he asked. I nodded. His lower forehead pressed against my cheek, warm and comfortable. I stopped trembling as my whole body was surrounded by his warmness.

"I'll accompany you to your room and sleep beside you." He took me back to the room and I laid on the soft bed. Then, he wrapped me up in the duvet, only leaving one of my hands sticking out, and switched on the orange table lamp beside the window.

He sat at the bedside, holding my hand. After looking at my little hands, he wrapped them in his hands, which were as warm as my mother's. "You’ve grown a lot... "he said. I knew he didn’t hope I would grow up. Because he liked it when I clutched his index finger with a soft, little hands, or when I shook my short legs when I sat down on his knees and smiled, or the way I sat on the sofa with bare feet, waiting for him to return home, and how I always said goodnight to him.

And he loved to throw me into the huge swimming pool and watch me crying, "Help!", in a panic.

When he pulled me out, I wrapped myself in a bath towel, and could only look at him miserably with water blocking my view. At that time, he would say that I was an angel, a pure angel.

I didn't want to grow up, either. But it was out of my control. Later, I heard that Anton died that afternoon. It’s said that Anton had been shot to protect Jonathan during a certain encounter they've met.

When I got the news, I should have laughed, somehow, I didn’t feel happy knowing that one of his bodyguards were killed after protecting him.