Guilty Pleasures   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

He dangled the crucifix in front of my face. I grabbed it with one hand and squeezed until my hand shook. It didn't take long. Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes. I wasn't crying, not really. I was exhausted.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

I nodded and forced myself to sit, leaning against the bathtub.

“Can you stand up?” he asked.

I thought about it, and decided no, I didn't think I could. My whole body was weak, shaky, nauseous. “Not without help.”

Edward knelt beside me, put an arm behind my shoulders and one under my knees, and lifted me in his arms. He stood in one smooth motion, no strain.

“Put me down,” I said.

He looked at me. “What?”

“I am not a child. I don't want to be carried.”

He drew a loud breath, then said, “All right.” He lowered me to my feet and let go. I staggered against the wall and slid to the floor. The tears were back, dammit. I sat in the floor, crying, too weak to walk from my bathroom to my bed. God!

Edward just stood there, looking down at me, face neutral and unreadable as a cat.

My voice came out almost normal, no hint of crying. “I hate being helpless. I hate it!”

“You are one of the least helpless people I know,” Edward said. He knelt beside me again, draped my right arm over his shoulders, grabbed my right wrist with his hand. His other arm encircled my waist. The height difference made it a little awkward, but he managed to give me the illusion that I walked to the bed.

The stuffed penguins sat against the wall. Edward hadn't said anything about them. If he wouldn't mention it, I wouldn't. Who knows, maybe Death slept with a teddy bear? Naw.

The heavy drapes were still closed, leaving the room in permanent twilight. “Rest. I'll stand guard and see that none of the bogeys sneak up on you.”

I believed him.

Edward brought the white chair from the living room and sat it against the bedroom wall, near the door. He slipped his shoulder holster back on, gun ready at hand. He had brought a gym bag up from the car with us. He unzipped it and drew out what looked like a miniature machine gun. I didn't know much about machine guns, and all I could think of was an Uzi.

“What kind of gun is that?” I asked.

“A Mini-Uzi.”

What do you know? I had been right. He popped the clip and showed me how to load it, where the safety was, all the finer points, like it was a new car. He sat down in the chair with the machine gun on his knees.