We look each other in the eyes, holding a silent conversation in our minds.

I know she's lying about something, or at least holding something back. Catching Giselle sneaking around in her dad's office made her suspicious. Mr. Paques hasn't answered my calls or messages these last few days, I'm sure she has difficulties contacting her dad as well. Something is off in China. After all, Jean Paques wouldn't want to miss an update from this case, as it could save his daughter's life.

Giselle's shoulders go up and down, as they always do when she's frustrated. Why can't she understand I'm not her enemy?

Suddenly, I notice her posture being skew. The naked legs under her short pyjama shorts reflect light, being covered with some sort of moist. And why is she holding her hand against her stomach?

Then I realise.

I feel the blood extract from my face when I do.

Did I hurt her? The intense beat of my heart in its ribcage is causing me pain. Did I really hurt her?

I want to know the answer to that question so badly, I think of nothing else when I step foot in her direction.

"Don't!"

I freeze when I hear her broken voice. Is she scared of me?

My feet weigh as heavy as concrete when I ignore her and walk towards her.

"No, don't come closer!"

Every word hurts me, coming from her especially, but I need to know if I've really lost it and hurt this girl. So I take her hand from her stomach and I'm about to slightly lift her shirt to inspect the wound I may have caused, until I get slapped in the face.

It was probably one of the weakest slaps or punches to the face I've ever received, but none other gave me such a mental strike as the one Giselle just delivered. I let go of her hand and step back. Before I can say something, she turns around and flees upstairs.

It seems like the sound of her bedroom door closing and then locking is repeating itself eternally in my head. Did I scare her that much? I honestly can't tell anymore. I've been awake too long: I can't think clearly anymore. But that's no excuse for what just happened.

The silence embraces my realisation of loneliness. If I did hurt her as her bodyguard or as a friend, if she has ever accepted me as one, or as whatever else I could be to her, I would never forgive myself. I knew this case was getting too personal. Why did I even agree with being her bodyguard? Why do you even ask yourself that question when you already know the answer?

I rub my eyes while remembering the day Mr. Paques contacted me. He was desperate, as they all are. Usually, I turn this sort of cases down, as mean as it may sound. Kids run away from home all the time and I don't lose my time trying to find someone who doesn't want to be found. But something about this case was odd. Terry, from down town police station, told me this wasn't the only disappearance lately in a five mile radius: six girls in their twenty's have disappeared out of nowhere. Only the station didn't think Giselle's case had something to do with the other six's, as she was abducted in a deserted street and not around college campus, like the other girls. Besides, Giselle's three years younger than the youngest of the six.

That being taken in consideration, it is quite odd seven girls disappear around the same time. I thought the police were wasting their time by handling it like two separate cases. So maybe that's why I agreed to Mr. Paques to find his daughter. That's not the only reason though. One night, after researching the six girls who went missing, I decided to do some standard research on Giselle Paques, just out of curiosity. On the internet, I stumbled upon a video of a piano contest in which she participated and eventually ended up second place.

Everytime she appeared on screen, she looked like the only one who mattered. Not to me in particular, but there are just that kind of people who unintentionally draw all the attention to themselves. Giselle was definitely that kind of person. Something about her made her stand out above all the other people on stage. I guess she fascinated me as well.

Now I've scared her and possibly also hurt her. Dammit, I can't stop thinking about that. I have to know. I have to know for sure.

So I head for her room. The cracking of the stairs get intensified by the discrepancy of a night's silence and even more so by the suspense, created by my own tenseness. Apart from the enerving sound, I worry about the lack of sound coming from Giselle's room. I walk to her door and gently knock two times. "Giselle?" I get no answer. For a moment, I consider using the key that her dad gave me to force the door, but I quickly decline my idea. Maybe it's best to leave her alone for a bit. I need some rest as well.

I walk back downstairs while silently repeating the same words in my head. This can never happen again.

I cannot let this happen ever again.