King Cave (Forever Evermore, #2)(184)
My eyes began to burn. “Did I do something you don’t approve of?” Still nothing. I shook my head and wiped a tear that fell, and I pounded on his shoulder and chest, screaming, “Why the hell aren’t you trying to fix this? I know I wouldn’t do something bad enough to deserve this! Don’t you f*cking love me anymore?”
His arms were instantly around me even as I continued hitting him, his voice choked. “I love you, Lil. Don’t ever think I don’t. I love you with all my heart.”
Truth.
A sob escaped. “Then fix this.”
Silence.
Nothing except for his arms tightening around me.
I shook my head furiously. “Goddamn you!” I thrust him away hard enough he hit the door. “Goddamn you for letting someone mind rape me! Goddamn you for not trying to fix it! Someone who loves you tries to help. They don’t just f*cking sit there. So don’t give me bullshit lies you’ve convinced yourself on because that’s not f*cking love, Antonio. Because giving up…is the same thing as not caring enough to give a shit.”
I shoved out of the car, slamming the door behind me, and went to the opposite end of the cargo hold from where my elite guard and Bindi were staring at me. Away from their eyes and other senses.
Just away.
I found a nook in a corner and curled up, choking as my throat burned, letting my confusion and anger overtake me, and sobbed my pain because I was alone in this.
Alone.
Holding an official missive in my hands, I stared not at it, but at my surroundings.
They were what I called ‘home’ now, located just north of Sydney, Australia. I had for the past two weeks, anyway. As a little girl, I would have loved it, I finally decided. I was in a tent of sorts. Like a circus tent, but bedroom-size. The tent itself was white, but there was golden Mage magic on the material, giving it an ethereal glow and making it shimmery and delicate like a fairy tale, but in reality it was only a soundproofing spell Antonio had added when we first arrived so no one could hear our conversations.
AKA: When I ranted at him when he still did nothing to help, or when I screamed in fury when I couldn’t access my memories for the millionth time, or when I cried myself to sleep in frigid loneliness.
Gaze continuing to roam, I glanced to the right of the opening of the tent, which was a tall flap that was currently closed, where there were two tall, plush burgundy chairs and a black couch, a small coffee table in the middle. The chairs appeared inviting and warm, but in reality they were never sat on, and the only use they received was the mileage they collected as I hurled them through the air in my moments of complete insanity. On the other side of the entrance were two large cherry wood dressers with a Mage mirror directly in the middle of them, as if I truly cared what I wore instead of wearing only black leather in which I could move easily and fight…unless it was at night, then I pulled out the old t-shirt I had been wearing when I had first awoken after my memory wipe, and prayed it would help me remember, but always, my prayers were never answered.
The king-size bed I now rested on was next to the dressers, its sheets burgundy with plush pillows, and covered with a leopard print fur bedspread. It was big enough to fit three people comfortably, but only one ever lay on it, the bed always icy and empty, too large for only me. Two cherry wood end tables sat on either side of the bed and held black wrought-iron lamps. The end tables were large enough for portraits of family and friends, but none sat there, for I had no friends. My mom was dead, and the man I considered my dad didn’t care enough to even try to help me, even if he endlessly told me he loved me, and somehow in his twisted, cruel mind it was always the truth. Over the brown grass that lined the foot of the tent’s walls was an oversized black and burgundy plush rug where my only faithful companion lay, my Vizoac, which was sad in itself as I had been reduced to an elderly person’s distraction. But it was how I liked it, if I really liked anything anymore. Well, that, and the silence my solitude afforded me.
I was Queen Ruckler and everyone wanted a piece of me. At all times. Always for their own diplomatic needs, never once asking honestly or earnestly if there was anything they could do for me, only the kiss asses asking that for their own gain, and those individuals I completely tuned out. But oddly, I didn’t mind those I did speak with keeping things strictly professional. I knew they did it because of the wall I had erected between myself and those in power, the individuals I may have similarities with. Because, point blank, I just wanted everyone to stay the f*ck back. I had a hard enough time dealing with my own issues, so the last thing I wanted to do was deal with anyone else’s.
I debated going through the small flap at the back of the tent and taking a bath before opening the spelled, sealed letter I held in my hand, so I stared at the flap mutely in my silent tent, seeing if I gave a shit enough to get up and do it. That was how I did most things in my free time. If I actually got up to do it, then I did it, otherwise, I would zone out and try to remember what had been taken from me. My head cocked at the small flap. When we had first arrived in this camp, it had actually surprised me that there were magically enchanted bathrooms inside the tents, but now I just wondered where all of the waste disappeared to, the ‘enchantment’ gone for me.
When I didn’t get up, I blinked and glanced down at the envelope I held. Maybe I should open it now. It looked vaguely important. When it came to work, I tried to pay attention — anything to keep my mind off what I inevitably came back to after I entered my ‘home’ in the wee hours of the morning. I didn’t sleep much, getting up before dawn and heading back out to do my duty as Queen Ruckler…because, really, what else was there for me to do?