Vicious Prince (Royal Elite 5)

“How can you make me cry when I can’t cry for myself?” More tears soak her cheeks, but she doesn’t attempt to wipe them, as if it’s freeing in some way.

“We’re so alike.” She sniffles. “It’s scary.”

I smile tentatively. “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”

“No, Ronan. It means I need to stay away from you so I don’t destroy us both.”

29

Teal

People say actual craziness isn’t noticeable.

It seeps under the surface and eats at you piece by bloody piece. It creeps up on you like a vampire to blood or a predator to prey.

But I do. I feel it.

I wouldn’t call it craziness, but it’s something abnormal.

It’s what stops me from laughing out of courtesy when everyone else does. They recognise the societal norms; I don’t. Even Knox does. He’s way better at blending in than me, and it’s probably why the therapist liked working with him, but never with me.

I heard her tell Agnus I’m a well. She said there’s a lot of digging that needs to be done, and I’m not allowing her to do that.

I’m an anomaly even with the people who treat crazy, and I’ve always taken pride in that.

I looked in the mirror and liked my scowling face. People react differently to trauma. There are those who lean on their closest family and friends. There are those who fight so they can smile again. And there are those who close in on themselves and eventually spiral out of control.

Then there’s me.

I never spiralled out of control; I didn’t drink, do drugs, or even try weed or smoking. I was always a good girl, but with the worst facial expression.

I didn’t allow myself to smile, and eventually, I didn’t know how to smile. What right did I have to laugh when I never made peace with myself?

What right do I have to exist as if nothing happened?

There’s a girl I left behind, a small child no older than seven who screamed for help and I didn’t hear her — or rather, I couldn’t. That girl, the seven-year-old me, wants retribution.

No — she demands it. And I have to give it to her, even if a sacrifice has to be made.

I walk down the hall to Dad’s office, determination bubbling in my veins.

When Ronan confessed his trauma to me a few days ago, I couldn’t breathe properly.

I still can’t.

Every time I think about him, I have this ball the size of my head clogging my breathing. I can’t stop dreaming about a small child running alone in the streets with no place to go and no one to ask for help.

And then, the face of that child wasn’t Ronan’s. It was mine. It was the girl who stopped smiling because someone confiscated that smile and refused to give it back.

I unlock my phone and stare at the texts he’s sent since that night at the Meet Up.

Ronan: When someone pours their heart out to you, the least you can do is not leave.

Ronan: Aside from the tidbits I told Xan, you’re the first person I’ve told the entire story to. Now, I’m feeling rejected, and I’m tempted to find you and punish you.

Ronan: I wish you trusted me enough to let me see you.

Then his last text came today.