Vicious Prince (Royal Elite 5)

It doesn’t.

You breathe it in the air, drink it with water, and taste it with food.

It doesn’t only become a part of you — it is you. If you somehow managed to remove it, you wouldn’t recognise yourself anymore.

It’s not a fucking phase. It’s a state of being.

And sometimes, it acts out.

Sometimes, you can’t control it even with carefully developed coping mechanisms.

I never let anyone see me when it’s about to come out. I run and hide.

I purge.

The moment I feel it coming close, I just leave.

The only people who’ve seen me at my lowest are Knox and Ronan.

And now, I’m seeing him at his lowest, too.

The fact that I could be the cause of this creates a black hole in my chest.

What have I done?

The only reason I did this was because he always said it’s his fantasy. He begged Kim to wear it, and I was secretly green with envy whenever he asked that of her, and not me.

Today, I wanted it as a gift after his win. I never meant for it to turn into this.

His fingers stop at my sides. Both his hands grip me, his fingers digging into my flesh as he lowers his head, breathing harshly.

Damn it.

It’s the guilt. It’s catching up to him, and that shit fucks you up.

I know because even now, I feel it. Even now, I feel those hands digging their way into my skin.

“R-Ronan…” My voice trembles, and I hate myself for it.

I hate that I can’t be a solid rock for him like he was for me that night at the Meet Up and every night he spent with me, pretending he didn’t witness my nightmares.

He just held me and whispered soothing words into the top of my head until I fell back asleep.

Why am I so broken that I can’t do that? Why does it sound like I’m the one who’s asking for help instead of offering it?

“Stay like this,” he says quietly, so quietly, I suspect I heard him right.

“But…”

“But what?” His head is still lowered, and I hate that too. I hate that I can’t get lost in his rich brown eyes and have them invade me, own me. They can even shred me apart, as long as they look at me.

“I hate this,” I confess.

“Hate what?”

“Not looking at you. The fact you’re not looking at me.”

I make a bold move then, something I’ve never done before. I hop over him so I’m straddling his lap, my knees on either side of his seat, and I fumble with his belt.