Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(64)

Her face flashes back and forth as if it’s a ghost. Terror like I’ve only felt once in my life plays in my head over and over like a distorted film.

Manic laughter, drunk people, dark, so fucking dark and alone.

So alone.

Mother.

Father.

Help me.

“R-Ronan?”

“Remove it.”

“W-What?”

I grab her by the arm and rip the thing off her.

Her yelp and my groans fill the space, but all I can hear is that small child’s quiet sobs.

Help.

Help me.





27





Teal





The bunny outfit goes to shreds around my body, and for a second too long, I’m so stunned I can’t react.

I can’t react when the bunny ears break in two.

I can’t react when the cloth is ripped, revealing my breasts and my stomach and pooling around my waist.

The only thing I can look at is Ronan’s face, the way it’s blackening and nearly spiralling out of control.

It’s too similar to my phases.

It’s like one of those times where everything feels like too much — the world, the people, even the fucking air.

It’s too strong, too potent, and you can’t escape it no matter how much you try.

I run, but it follows.

I sleep, but it perches over me like a constant weight.

People say it’s just a phase and that it’ll eventually go away.

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.

“What are you doing, ma belle?” There’s a slight amusement in his tone, and I nearly jump to the ceiling because of it.

“I was promised Ron Astor the Second, and I still haven’t seen him yet,” I joke.

“Does that mean you only want me for my dick?”

“Of course. You thought it was you?”

“That sounds as if I’m your whore.”

“You are, just like I’m yours.” I finally manage to free him of his boxers after so much stupid fumbling. He doesn’t even attempt to help me, the dickhead.

“You’re mine, huh?” He grips me by the hip as his other hand clutches my jaw.

This time, he’s the one who’s making me stare at him, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As long as he looks at me, I pathetically feel like maybe everything will be okay. No, maybe not pathetically, but magically. So…magically.

I never believed in magic, but I also never believed in feelings or in people. Now, I believe in Ronan.

Maybe it’s because I now know he’s probably not Edric’s son and his origins aren’t what I thought.

But would that have made a difference?

It’s Ronan.

He didn’t ask for permission when he invaded my life, and he certainly won’t be asking for it now.