Dita slept upon my chest. I moved my leg carefully, not wanting to wake her, and yet I wanted her to be here, to talk to me. I wanted Dita to wake up and move and smile and kiss me. Surely this was not what my "father" had planned when he instilled human emotions in us. He had wanted us to love, yes, as he had once loved my "mother", but his love for my mother was not the aching, killing, painful love I felt now, as the slight weight of Dita shifted carefully, precisely, angelically on my chest. She was a feather, a feather to tickle my heart.
Dita's eyes moved insanely behind her lids. I wondered what she dreamed of. She mumbled in her sleep, and then lifted her head, eyes fluttering. She looked up at me and smiled sweetly. "How long did I sleep?" She wondered aloud. It had been fully light when she and I had perched atop this apartment building ledge, and now the last dusty blue shades of dusk were fading into the black night sky. Her pale skin shone like the absent moon, shimmering as she sat up in my lap. As an exact, trained response, I answered, "Four hours, thirty seven minutes, and twelve seconds. But not to be exact."
I smiled my most charismatic smile, and then caught her small frame up in my arms. Today she wore a tight black summer dress with slits up to her hips, and tight black shorts underneath. Strapped over her shorts was a heavy pistol in a thigh holster, and at her left side was a cruel-looking dagger. She took my breath away every time I saw her, her fierceness making my heart beat quicker. I wanted to protect this little girl, and she would not hear of it. I was appalled.
She beat small fists against my chest, trying to free herself from the inevitable. I moved a hand up from her back and pushed her face into mine, kissing her passionately. I then prompted the commands in my mind while she was occupied. I dropped off of the side of the building, and felt her lips breaking off from mine as a slight scream escaped her deep pink lips. We plummeted 10 feet before we soared back upwards and over the small restaurant in front of us. She looked furiously at me, eyes boring holes through my head. She tried to pull away as we landed on the top of the large industrial building she had angrily directed me towards, but I held her close.
"You bastard," she said through gritted teeth, "you could have killed yourself. You…don't do that again!" She exclaimed.
I smiled, knowing she was only mad because I could have hurt myself. This was a mistake. She stepped forward and smacked me sharply across the face, cheeks flushing a delicate rose color in her anger. "I am not toying with you!" She exclaimed, and stomped off across the cemented roof. I stood, stunned, looking after her.
I knew it would be useless to talk to her in her anger. She would just grow more upset. I put a hand on my cheek, remembering the feel of her anger. I collapsed to the ground, stung by the ferocity of her mood, and drew my cloak up around me. Before I knew it, I felt the tears flow from my eyes. Damn my father and his emotions, damn my mother and her love, damn Dita for hurting me so. Damn. I cried myself into a fretful slumber, sleeping for nearly an hour by myself before Dita found it in herself to come and look for me.
I felt a soft hand stroke my cheek, and I knew it was Dita. A small hand cupped my face, and a tender kiss was placed upon my cheek. I felt her pull my arm off my stomach and reclaim her rightful place upon my chest. I pulled my arm up and over her back to let her know I was aware of her. "Decide to not be so hateful?" I playfully asked, a smile forming upon my lips.
"Perhaps." She said, toying with my hair.
"What do you mean, perhaps?" I said, shoving her off of my chest and glaring down at her sternly.
"Okay! Yes." She said, a pout playing cutely across her lips, hair falling into her eyes as she looked up into my face with those gigantic ebony eyes of hers.
"Good." I said, mocking her angry tone. I pulled her back up upon my chest with a swift hand, tactfully tucked under her knees. I noticed that her long stockings were mismatched. Again. "Why do you insist upon wearing your socks mismatched?" I asked playfully.
"Why do you care if my socks match or not?" Repeating what she had said almost every day for the last year and a half.
It was a game of ours, to annoy one another with our little habits and then make it up to each other when night began to draw to a close. The sunrise was our time, a time when only the two of us existed, a time when everything except for the sun stood still.
We sat on the ledge of the large building and watched as the black night dissipated into dark blue, and then green, and finally the hazy light blue of the early fall morning. We watched as the clouds turned a deep purple, then crimson color as the rusted sun peek-a-booed over the horizon. Dita grabbed firmly onto my shoulder, pulling a little at the thin coat I wore. We breathed in the dewy morn air, and I leaned back against a vent that came over the side of the building.
High in the sky we watched over the city, like guardian angels. We were one step closer to heaven, and both of us were a gigantic leap closer to euphoria. We were in love, just as it was planned to be.