Hey, Little Songbird

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your wings

Ophelia sat cross legged on his pristine white couch, his shirt hanging off her shoulders, her bare breasts peeking out.

He handed her a hot chocolate, sitting beside her. She smiled, taking it from him thankfully.

She blew on it.

She heard a click, looking up.

Adrian shook out the picture, the image of her appearing.

"A Polaroid? I haven't seen one of those in forever." She remarked.

He stared down at the photo. "I bought one last night. I was thinking...you look like you would be in an old Polaroid picture, laughing. No one would know who you are, just that you were beautiful."

He looked up. "I was right. You fit perfectly."

She sighed. "You really are too smooth sometimes, Hades."

His lips quirked up. He picked up the camera taking another photo.

"I can't help it. You look like an old movie star. I just want to capture that. That's all."

Ophelia chuckled. "I'm old?"

"Classy," he corrected her. "A type of class you don't see today."

He patted her head gently.

She smiled, looking down. "About your money,"

He paused, removing his hand. He stared down at the pictures he'd taken.

"What about it?" He asked neutrally.

"I want explain. I'm not pursuing you for your money. But it doesn't hurt. A man being rich, is like a girl being pretty. You might not marry a girl just because she's pretty, but it helps."

"Isn't that from some old movie."

She nodded. "The point is, is that, if we got married. I mean, dated for a while, you proposed, we planned a wedding—we fell in love. I wouldn't mind spending your money. Not one bit. And I don't mind a few gifts. But—"

"But?" He asked, looking to at her.

"But...I still don't know you all that well. I don't want to be completely dependent on anyone. Ever. Do you understand what I am?"

"Mh. I understand. " he said.

"But you don't agree?" She proved, sipping the hot chocolate. He put water not milk.

The thought was what mattered, she supposed.

"I don't agree or disagree. I have the means for you to live very comfortably. But I understand your reluctance to rely financially on a man who can at any time and with no repercussions leave, and leave you with nothing."

"Exactly!" She exclaimed. "You're so easy to talk to sometimes Adrian."

"Sometimes?" he snorted.

"Sometimes, you look at me, and I can tell you not listening to a word I'm saying. You're planning your next move."

"You mean what I'll say next?" He asked.

She shook her head. "No. I mean your next move. Sometimes your a little calculating."

Adrian's lips curved up softly. She had no idea.

"I understand. Get some rest, little songbird."

"I want to lay with you," she looked at her cup. "I mean sleep not sex. I'm a little scared. And I'm sad because the apartment I worked for is gone. I want you to hug me."

He smiled, taking a picture and then kissing her head.

"Okay."

• • •

Adrian watched her sleep. Her hair was wrapped up. Her eyes closed, lips parted gently, drooling a bit.

He chuckled. How cute. But expensive. She drooled a lot.

He held her feeling her warm breath on his chest.

Getting to know her...was nice. Taking pictures of her was nice too. He wanted to see every kind of face she made, and take a picture of it.

Her happy face, her sad face. Her confused face.

All of it. He liked it all. And she liked him.

Was that enough? Did that mean...they were in love? Or in like? Or was in like a thing?

Should they get married? They were dating now, right? How long did you date before marriage?

What if she changed? What if the person he was getting to know, getting to like, starting to love disappeared one day?

Money did that. It corrupted. What if her poet won her heart back?

He couldn't sing, and he didn't know how to play anything but Mary Had a Little Lamb in the piano.

He really should've listened to his mother and finished piano lessons he lamented.

They had history. And she said she still loved him a little.

He sighed, his head filled with doubt, and questions. He slid out of bed, grabbing his phone.

He dialed a familiar number.

"Hey Mom. How are you," he asked softly.

"Good son. Good. How are you? It's been forever since you called!"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yes I know. Sorry. I've been very busy is all—"

"Always working! I bet you're not even eating right? Oh my boy! Please don't eat the McDonald's anymore it's going to give you cancer!"

He chuckled. Well. At least some things never changed.

"I met a woman," he whispered.

"Oh? Is she a nice girl? Is she kind?"

"Yes. And she's honest. And greedy."

"For money? Son—"

"No not money. She just wants what she wants the way she wants it. And more if she can. It's cute."

His mother paused. "But she's a good person?"

"Yes. I think she's a very good person. I think I want to marry her one day."

"Oh son! That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you."

"Thanks mom. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yes! Don't forget to take your medicine now!"

"I won't, Mom!"

He hung up. He got back in bed.

"Who was that?" She asked groggily.

"My mother."

"Oh where does live?"

"She doesn't," he said simply.

"Huh?"

He smiled. "My mother is dead."

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