Page 60 of The Depraved Prince
“What is that?” she asks as she takes them. I give her a cup of water.
“Tylenol. For your fever.”
I watch her swallow the pills and climb back into bed with her. Kicking off my shoes, I take the glass of water away from her and place it on my nightstand.
I grab her body, forcing her to turn on her side so that she faces the red stained glass and her back is to my chest. She’s shivering, clawing at the blankets to warm her up more. She’s already at a 102 body temperature. I force the blankets off her, and she whines. She tries to grab them again, but I snatch her arm and scold her.
“Your temperature will get higher if you do that. We need to get your temperature down, not up.”
“But I’m cold,” she stammers with chattering teeth.
“That’s your fever talking, Millie. Let me help.” I take off my shirt, knowing full well my body is cold, and embrace her. Shehisses and fights my hands off her at first, but I keep my embrace tight and like steel.
“Why are you doing this? Why are you being nice to me? Don’t you want to kill me?” she asks me as she continues to shudder against my body.
I pause, contemplating her question as I grip her hips to keep her still. I don’t know how to answer that.
She’s warm. But it’s not the fever. Millie is warm all the time.
“When I was still a human…before I turned, I got sick sometimes. My mother and father were always too busy running the kingdom and with other matters that didn’t concern a child. It was my uncle that took care of me.”
Just then, there’s a knock on the door, and the Chef comes in with Millie’s food and drink. I stand, take the tray from him, thank him, and he closes the door as he walks out. I turn to Millie, and she sits up with rosy cheeks and pale skin. She’s still shivering, but not so much as before.
“He would always make me chicken soup. This is his recipe.” I place it on a wooden bed tray so she can eat while sitting comfortably still tucked into the bedsheets. She hovers over the plate, smells the warm fumes, and I can feel her mouth watering.
An overwhelming urge to touch her…gentlyconsumes me. The urge is frightening and unfamiliar. I grit my teeth and resent that temptation. I like her. I like her a lot.
I grab my shoes and shirt before I’m at the door. I watch her take a few bites while she sits on the bed, and for some reason, I can feel my uncle’s ghost haunting me in this room. The cathedral holds history. I grip the door, and my mouth opens before I can stop it.
“Imagine being hurt so much that you lose faith in humanity. Imagine being betrayed so many fucking times that you can’t feel anything anymore but numbness? Imagine being hurt so manygoddamn times you lose trust in everything and everyone? To the point where you can’t even trust yourself?”
She stops eating, and she freezes. She holds the spoon in her hands and doesn’t move, but we stand there watching each other. We lock eyes. Compassion floods through her slow movements. I’m opening up to her. Giving her a small window into the life I’ve lived. I’ve never been able to open up about my life before with anyone, but with Millie…I guess I can’t stop talking about shit I’m ashamed of.
Three Hundred Years Ago
I throw rocks at the lake behind the Cathedral. I know I’m not alone, and I don’t want anyone to know that I’m hurting. I’ve been taught not to cry. It’s weak to cry, father and mother say.
“My parents treat me like I’m different.” I stare at my eighteen-year-old reflection.
“You are different, though in all the best ways, Hayden.” My uncle comforts me once again since my parents are lost in their daily lives that don’t involve my brother and me. They’re always absent when I need them but always present when it’s time for me to execute duties I dread.
“I’m different because I’m a monster.”
“What’d you do?”
I throw a rock at where my face is, and the water breaks into waves. “I beat someone up.”
“Why?”
“Because they were bullying me. He started a fight with me…so I ended it.”
My uncle Amos sits next to me. He brings his knees upwards and places his crossed forearms against them as he watches me.
“And what did this boy tell you? What did he say that triggered you to unremorseful madness that you beat him almost to death?”
I shut my eyes tight as I recollect the boy’s bloodied, bruised face. I liked seeing him bleed red. It gave the demons inside me joy.
“Everyone notices how my parents have never been there since I was a child. It’s a small town. Everyone notices how quiet I am and self reserved. Everyone in school thinks I don’t belong in this world. If only they knew the truth about how I came into this world.”
