Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(46)

Well, fuck.





20





Teal





There’s nothing I hate more than running.

And it’s not only because of the physical activity of it, the shortness of breath, or the screaming of the muscles demanding I end the torture.

It’s the memories that come with running.

Knox and I ran as hard as our small feet could carry us when we decided Mum’s roof wasn’t the one we’d stay under.

We ran and ran in the dirty streets. We ran after we stole food from the market. We ran after we heard a policeman’s whistle, even if we hadn’t done anything. In our small minds, we believed the police would find us for the stolen food and take us back to Mum.

It would’ve happened. We could’ve been forced to go back.

We didn’t because we ran.

Naturally, all my memories of running are rubbish. Whenever I think about running, my brain fills up with fucked-up shit like maybe now we’ll get caught, maybe now they’ll take us back to Mum and she’ll make me do—

I shake my head as I forge on in the park. I stopped counting how many hours I’ve been running. I pause for water and to catch my breath, but the moment I can run again, I do that. I run.

I let my legs lead me somewhere out of this place. It’s transported me back to Birmingham, provoking loathsome memories and shit I don’t want to think about, but it also eradicates the present.

It erases the predicament I’m in — or rather, that’s what I like to think.

I stop, throwing my body on a bench, and a cat hisses then jumps away, glaring at me for disrupting his peace.

My breathing is jagged and choppy and out of control. I retrieve a towel from my bag and wipe my forehead.

The night has turned into morning and it’s now the afternoon. It’s been an entire day since I last had human interaction.

At least with humans I know.

I spent the night running, then I went to the forest and ran some more, and now I’m back to the park.

Dad and Agnus already know, but they probably didn’t expect me to be gone for an entire day. That’s why I chose a night they were spending working in the office.

Even if they do figure it out, they’ll understand. They know I need this.

My therapist used to call it a coping mechanism. I call it purging.

You know, human beings are like sponges. They soak up so much, and there comes a time when they have to expel those feelings so they don’t suffocate — or worse, snap.

I need to purge more than the average person because when that darkness creeps in, I can’t shut it out. I can’t look the other way and pretend it’s not happening and the world can go on.

That type of darkness not only glides under my skin, it also possesses my head and puts crazy ideas in there, like maybe, just maybe waiting isn’t the greatest tactic. Maybe I should make them feel how I felt before I stopped feeling altogether.

Maybe the shadow on my shoulder will finally stop crying.

But no. I can wait. If I suffered, he can suffer.

If I bled, he’ll bleed.

My heart rate escalates at those thoughts, and I’ve never hated my heart the way I do now.

Despite all the purging, I can’t get those stupid brown eyes out of my head. I can’t chase him away from my thoughts.

The harder I run, the faster he barges in. The longer I torture myself physically, the more I yearn for his hands on me, feeling me, touching me, owning —

I shake my head and take out my phone. Ronan Astor is an arsehole, and that’s all there’s to it.

I power on my phone to send a text to Knox and let him know I’ll come back later.

When my screen lights up with a few texts, I’m not surprised. Elsa and Knox tend to worry even when I make sure to tell them where I’m going beforehand.

Elsa: Kim and I are having a girls night if you want to join.

Knox: Why didn’t you tell me you disappeared? I had to hear about it from Dad. You’re losing twin privileges, sis.

Knox: Text me back that you’re okay.

I reply to both of them, thinking I’m done with texts, but then a dozen other messages appear at the top.

My heart does that stupid thing whenever his name comes into view. God, what’s wrong with me?

The first text was an hour after I left school.

Ronan: When I told you to figure out your mistake, I meant to figure out your fucking mistake, not get together with Cole. Spoiler alert: that made your situation way fucking worse.

He sent another text soon after.

Ronan: Where are you? Why is your phone turned off?

He laid off for an hour before sending another one.

Ronan: Teal, don’t fuck with me or I’m tying you the fuck down when I find you. Answer your damn phone.

Ronan: If this is your version of playing hard to get, it’s working. Reply to my texts or answer my calls. We need to talk. Stat.

His next text was a few hours later, at eight.

Ronan: Do you know where I am? At the Meet Up. You’ve been here before, but do you know the story behind it? It’s the place Aiden inherited from his dead mother. It’s the only place where we get to be ourselves and just talk. Usually, I’d do most of the storytelling. I’m not talking right now, though. I’m thinking about you while smoking weed and contemplating the perfect way to get away with murder and if I can melt Cole’s corpse with acid. No idea what that makes you, but it’s something close to being the cause of murder. If you don’t want to become one, how about you answer me?