Vicious Prince (Royal Elite #5)(69)

“Here’s the thing, belle.” My voice drops. “Since you came into my life, I don’t need people anymore. I just need you.”

I sound like a sappy fuck, but I don’t care. I’m not allowing her to walk away from this. It might have started wrong, but she’s grown to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“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.

Ronan: Why the fuck do I have no pride when it comes to you?

Probably the same reason I have no walls when it comes to him. After that therapist called me a well, I started to believe it. I started to think no one could understand me or dig deeper into me, and that’s why I strengthened those walls.

Until he came along.

I’ve never felt as open and as in danger as I do with him. I always thought people aside from my family would eventually leave. Not Ronan.

Never Ronan.

He barged in so easily it’s as if the well never existed.

And that can’t go on.

For his sake, not mine.

He’ll eventually hate me, so I might as well do it now rather than later.

I knock on Dad’s office door.

“Come in.” His reply is curt.

I push the door and step inside, inhaling a deep breath. Dad and Agnus are sitting across from each other in the lounge area. Both their jackets are discarded and they have the cuffs of their shirts rolled up. Dad doesn’t have his tie on, but Agnus still does, and he generally looks in a less dishevelled state. They each have their tablets in hand, which means they’re exchanging data.

“Am I interrupting?” I ask.

Dad’s face eases with a smile. “You can never interrupt me. Come here, Teal.”

I sit by his side, in the spot Dad pats.

Agnus starts to stand up. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

“You don’t have to leave,” I tell him. “I want to talk to you both.”

Agnus settles back down. Now, as I look at him, I realise whatever I felt for him in the past was fleeting. He’s been there for me and Knox our entire lives, and that gratitude has lived with me for as long as I can remember, but that’s it.