She'd always come running when I called.
It didn't matter what it was, she always came. At first, it was out of gratitude, I had taken her off the streets, gave her a home, food and clothes, but lately, I've been re-thinking my position. I couldn't be considered her guardian, for she was about the same age as me. She wasn't my lover, for our relationship rarely went beyond providing her with what she needed, while the rest of the time she rested, healing from her injuries. But I found myself, awake at night, asking myself when I'd be rewarded, or reimbursed, for my troubles. The little chores and favors she did for me, after a while, became meaningless to me. I took them for granted, and I began to desire more. I didn't just want my bathroom cleaned, my groceries brought home, I wanted true gratitude from her. I sat her down one day and told her I wanted her to be my wife, rationalizing myself with the fact the two of us weren't so different; we've both been alone most of our lives, leading us to relatively secluded lives. The only difference was, while I went to college and got a job to support myself, she was reduced to working in the streets, and on corners. She refused me, stating that she had long since repaid her debt for me rescuing her. I didn't want her to go, I didn't want her to leave me alone again. She came to me for a reason, I know she did, but for some reason, she refused this idea. So, I did the only thing I could in order to keep her confined to my small apartment; with a hard thrust, I covered her face with my pillow. She would no longer be able to deny me, only stay with me, and thank me for my kindness. She would stay with me, and keep me company, for it was the least she could do for me, her life-long, and eternal Hero. I love her.