I wished I could sleep forever. But the rollers I stuck in my hair the night before (to forget about my problems) were hurting my head; a dull, revolving pain pulsed through it.

It was hard to sleep after that.

I swung my legs out of bed, and my pink covers spilled halfway on the gray carpeted floor. I smoothed out the weirdly shaped creases in my navy blue nightgown and stretched my arms. Slowly, I made my way, still overcome with the drowsiness of sleep (or lack thereof).

My reflection was a girl who I can't recognize anymore. I haven't recognized her in a long time. I touched my face. My skin was real. I dug my fingernails lightly into my skin. My skin was real.

A soft knock rumbled against my door. I gasped, slightly out of breath. I saw the door open in my reflection of the floor-length mirror that stood right beside my vanity. I flutter my lashes and rub the sleep from my eyes. "Don't you know how to knock?" I toss Emaad an unsatisfied look, my lips full and pout.

"Relax, it's just me," he said, sliding right in not taking the hint that I needed him to leave so I could look decent for the morning. I watched him practically swat my room, his large paw-like hands (carefully) rummaging through my things.

"And for the record, I did knock," he added, his tone brisk.

"Yeah? Well not loud enough," I said, folding my arms over my chest. "Out ya go. Shoo."

Emaad straightened himself up, looking at me with a pleading look on his face.

"What?"

"I don't know where I put my special autograph pen," he said with a sheepish, boyish smile.

I let out an exasperated sigh, pressing my lips into a thin, firm line. "It's in the mug on my vanity."

Emaad's so-called special "autograph pen" is what you'd think it is. It doesn't have some fancy or cool-sounding name. It was a gift from Matthew Harley, his favorite singer. Emaad was gifted it when he was twenty-one after he performed his first sold-out show in New York City. I never had the heart to tell him that the ink in the original pen had dried out years ago. I always bought replacements and he never knew.

I study his person growing larger and larger, closer and closer to me. He reached behind me on my left, and with his equally long arms, grabbed the mug from the white vanity. I heard him laugh a little.

I moved back just a tad so I could give him ample room to put the mug back without him falling on me.

"Why do you need it?" I asked politely, feeling a strange sensation pool in my core.

"People are coming over," he said before planting a suspiciously sweet kiss on the side of my head. "Hair looks nice, by the way. Get down in... fifteen?"

He closed the door.

I hated it when he closed the door.

People are coming over. What people? Since when did we start inviting randoms into our home? I thought he was one for privacy and protection?

I swallowed the last bits of my dignity before striding over to my wardrobe and picking an outfit. I decided on a black, knee-length, elbow-length sleeved dress with a boat neckline and white trim at the collarbone and hemline. I paired it with a silk, white bow tied up in my hair, sheer tights, and a pair of black loafers.

I came downstairs to a nearly empty house, Emaad was in the corner and noticed me right away.

"Perfect timing. I've just got off the phone," he said with a smile.

I gave him a deadpan look. He knew I hated surprises. I slowly descended the steps, my right  hand gliding down the railing until I reached the bottom-most step.

"Come–sit down." He nudged his head towards the sofa.

"Why?" I apprehensively sit. Far away from my brother, on the far end of the sofa. "You know I hate surprises..."

Silence filled the room pretty quickly. For once I didn't mind it. It was peaceful, minus the surprise Emaad kept from me. No one else was here; I felt calm enough not to do anything outrageous. I was safe in my own home.

But I had to ask–if my suspicions were right–: "Who were you on the phone with last night?" I paused. Emaad opened his mouth to speak, but I went on leaving no room for him, "And, what did you mean by 'already made arrangements'? What arrangements?"

He tore his eyes away from me in an instant, interlocking his fingers together, and leaned forward. His head dangled.

"You're going on tour with me."

I gasped, my hand immediately shooting to cover my mouth from the shock of the news. I hadn't been able to do anything the past year without some kind of supervision. Like going grocery shopping, going to the mall with my friends, and even going to my company's office building–so this was news to me. After the shit-show last night of him telling me no, what made him so eager to change his mind so quickly?

"Really?" I asked, but it was more of a confirmation statement than anything because right now it felt like a dream. I shoot from my seat on the ridiculously comfortable sofa, barely containing my excitement. I raced to the telephone that was near the stairs, about to grab the phone to call our parents. "My, God, pinch me if I'm dreaming right now."

With hardship comes ease.

"Sir down, Aya."

"I can't!" I squeal, staring at the rotary dial ready to punch in Papa's number. Mama and Papa went out in the town. Oh, they were going to be thrilled with the news!

His large shadow cast over me. He lunged his hand atop mine, gently peeling it away from the dial. His other hand clasped with my other one that held the phone; he set that one down, too.

I waited for him to step back, the small of my back was against the small round table the telephone was set on.

"I'm not... finished."

I took a good look at him this time. His stance was cool; hands shoved in his suit's pockets, feet shoulder-width apart, back straight.

He tapped his foot repeatedly.

He redirected me back to the sofa; unexplainable tension began to fill the air.

"What's there more to say? Emaad–"

The phone rang.

We glanced at each other again, then ran like wolves racing to grab the telephone first.

Unfortunately for me, I wasn't fast enough.

Emaad sneered, a grin plastering his face at his taste of victory. "Hello–great, you'll be here in an hour? We–my sister and I–were just talking about you. You're like a mini-celebrity of your own." He laughed. I cringed. Whatever he was yapping about I wish I could take his large grubby hands and snatch the phone from him and hang up.

I tried to listen to more of their conversation, but all I could hear was inaudible static that I couldn't decipher and Emaad's boisterous laugh screaming against my eardrums.

By the grace of God, finally, he put the phone down.

I looked at him expectantly, my arms crossed over my chest, my eyes wide.

"You can come and finish the tour with me," he said again. I noticed his pacing was slow and steady, "but... I've made some slight changes to my plans."

"Which are?" I began to grow more irritated than I already was. I pressed the pads of my fingertips to my temples and started to massage them.

"I've hired a bodyguard," he said flatly.

He did not meet my eyes.

But I was still lost. Wasn't this a good thing? His team didn't have one, and Lord knows it was about time it did. Other musicians and actors of his prestige had many, so I didn't understand the hesitation.

"Yes, and?" I gave him the side eye, narrowing my eyes. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

He nodded, turned on his heel, and began to pace. "Yeah."

"Emaad..."

"The bodyguard is for you."

Yet, I could sense that Emaad wasn't entirely convinced, either.

I didn't know when or how my jaw dropped, but it did. Oh, you've got to be shitting me.

"Me?" I yelled, flailing my arms. "This is... oh..." I trudged back to the sofa and sat. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't going to say thank you - I didn't even want this! I was starting to get to my senses, you know, accept it, but this...

This was a low fucking blow I didn't know was possible.

Rich people are stupid, every single one of them.

No amount of money or prestige could grant you happiness and safety. You just have to be smart about your choices.

But a fucking bodyguard?

I wasn't even going to go, he said so last night.

"You are insane," I said eerily calmly. I looked at him deadpan. "Mama and Papa knew the entire time, didn't they?" I scoffed. I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. What I was experiencing. "That's why they're not here."

He said nothing, but his eyes said everything I needed to know. This would've been helpful yesterday.

"The only way I'm allowing you to come along is if you agree to this one condition."

"No."

He continued, "Have a bodyguard."

No, I thought darkly. That would make things worse.

That would make things all the more real.

I gave him a stern, sharp stare. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my composure. "Is this the only condition?"

"Yes, unless you count don't be an asshole as another one."

"I'm not an ass." I scoffed.

Oh, I was, and he knew it. He gave me an unimpressed look.

But if this meant I could have what I wanted: getting out of this house, being a proper journalist, and having independence...

The condition seemed to matter little.

I could have it all if I accepted...

...And if I didn't, I'd die with regret because of it.

This person–this bodyguard–was my ticket to freedom.

I turned my face away, trying to collect my thoughts. My hands sat neatly on my lap, and my red press-on nails dug into the skin of my palms.

"You were on the just now," I said flatly, trying to be calm. "Was it him? The bodyguard?"

Emaad sat next to me. He nodded. "He has a name."

"I don't wanna know."

"His name is Darren Alexander."

"What he do?"

"He was in the military before he quit a couple of years ago. Now he's here."

I roll my eyes, resting my elbow at an angle, pressing the right side of my cheek to the back of my hand. "Of course he is," I mumbled.

Emaad's gaze burned. I had no choice but to shift in my position and look at him. "This is the only way I can go?" I ask.

"The only."

I shuddered and exhaled a shaky breath. So this was it. There was no room for fighting. The decision was already made before I could even say or do anything.

"Okay," I said softly.

"You'll do it?"

"I'll do it."

And that was that. I had a bodyguard named Darren. And I was going to Emaad Huseinni's tour.

I'd finally gotten it all. All it took was me saying yes to one, small, life-altering choice.

It was the most embarrassing thing I've experienced. After everything, this was how I was going to reenter society?

Apparently so.

I heard car tires pull up in our driveway.

Then a slam of the car door.

Footsteps.

Rustling of a bag.

...and the doorbell rang.

My face flushed. Oh, my God, this cannot be happening right now. This was not real. I did not just say yes to having a fucking bodyguard.

But I did, and I had to own up to my own choices.

Emaad and I stared at one another, both with startled expressions.

"He was supposed to arrive in an hour," he hissed, just as confused as me.

"Dude," I whispered back, blinking profusely.

Neither of us moved for a good while sitting on the sofa that was suddenly far too comfortable to leave.

"Get up," I went on, doing some kind of hand gesture to signal for him to get up from the sofa first because I wasn't going to do it.

Emaad got up after that, and I followed suit. He started to make the ground floor look a bit more put together (I had conveniently left various ribbons scattered across pieces of furniture I never pickled up. Go me).

And I stood in front of the door.

My hand reached for the doorknob–at the same time it had opened.

"Careful, love."

The person let go, and I opened.

I had to crank my neck up to see his face. He was tall and lean, with sharp angular features, jet black hair combed and gelled that of the devil—the kind Mama would wholeheartedly disapprove of.

I slammed the door in his face.

"Well, open the door," Emaad said, coming to the foyer where I was.

"I did," I said, breathless. "And I closed it." I couldn't do it. I couldn't shake the feeling I was doing the wrong thing.

"Open it again."

I did. I looked at him, holding my breath—scared that if I breathed in his direction he'd destroy me.

Literally, speaking.

He was a military veteran, after all. My skepticism made perfect sense.

He nodded in my direction, giving me a deadpan look before entering.

I returned the look, taking a massive step back.

He wore a black leather jacket and a well-fitted shirt to match; a silver chain dangled from his neck.

We didn't make eye contact.

"Ah," Emaad said, opening his arms. "Darren, it's good to meet you." He turned to me. "This is my sister, Aya."

"It's a pleasure," Darren said, his tone flat and monotonous. He didn't look like he wanted to be here.

Me, too.

Then, Darren turned to me.

"If you're going to slam doors in people's faces, love, be careful not to hurt yours in the process. You nearly flung the door in your direction."

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

Darren moved away from the door, sighing. "Now, where do I put the sweets?"

"On the dining table in the far back, just over there." I nudge in the general direction with my head. "Here, I'll take it." I grabbed the bag from his hands.

But to my surprise, he said, "Oh, thank you. No, I've got it."