Page 95 of The Depraved Prince
I pinch the ruby engagement ring on my finger and throw it on the bed. Hayden watches the ring land on it and falls to his knees. He’s shaking uncontrollably like he’s lost, his jaw clenching with catastrophic failure. This time, he doesn’t get what he wants. His eyes have turned crimson, and his fangs protrude over his bottom lip. His shoulders sink, but I refuse to spend another second with him. I grab my diary from his desk and tightly hold it to my side.
I open the door and walk out, slamming the door behind me. To my surprise, he lets me go and doesn’t follow me.
With every step, I cry. I cry for my father. I’m crying because now I realize what happens to Valkyrie’s. I’m crying because I’ve fallen in love with an evil, murderous vampire and hate myself for it.
33
MILLIE
It’s almostmidnight when I make it back home. I stare at my father’s house like I can’t recognize it. I grip the front porch railing tight until the white paint chips underneath my nails. I can’t walk in knowing my father won’t be there to greet me. Usually, he’s there on that one side of the couch he always sits on. He’s either watching a sports game or the National news. Or to have awkward conversations about how my day went at school or work because he was still trying to be the best version of a dad he could be since he missed out on years of my life. I can’t walk in knowing that I won’t see him gearing up his fishing gear because it’s the weekend, and he loves to fish for bass on his days off alone. He would always invite me, and I would always say no because work and school had consumed my days. Now I regret it.
We were trying to repair our troubled relationship, and I could tell he regretted leaving my siblings and me. But he’s gone now, and I haven’t been able to accept it. I need closure, and I don’t know how to get it. No one knows I’m here yet. I just wanted to see it without being bombarded with people intruding into my space. There’s so much I have to do, but I wanted to start here.
Fifteen Years Ago
“Daddy…when are you coming home? Nash and I haven’t seen you in a few days,” I asked my father after my mom handed me the house phone. She walked away but never strayed too far so she could hear everything we spoke about.
They had another fight behind closed doors about a week ago. Even though they closed the door, I heard muffled, distressed shouts coming from their room. I sat beside Nash as he played Pac-Man on the Atari 2600 while my parents’ behavior attracted my attention. I got up, pressed my ear against the door, and could hear how broken they were beyond repair.
I knew what was coming. Daddy is leaving again.
“Umm…soon. I promise. I’m going to stay at your grandmother’s for a bit and visit when I can, okay?”
“No…” I shake my head, refusing to take that answer. “I want you home! I want you and Mommy together. Just like my friends at school.”
My father sighs, and his tone breaks into a strangulated sob. He’s doing everything he can to hide his sorrow. He doesn’t want me to hear that he’s hurting too. He shuffles around the phone for a few seconds as I wait patiently.
“Millie, how about this?” he offers. He’s changing the subject like he always does, so he doesn’t have to tell me the truth. I’m holding my breath as I sit on my mother’s bed, staring at a family photo of us at my grandparent’s house—a day with all my cousins on Easter, celebrating with a barbecue. I’m in my dad’s arms as a one year old while my older brother holds onto my mother’s dress, standing in a Lakers Jersey.
“I’m going to take you and your brother to Disneyland. Just us three, and we’re going to get ice cream, watch fireworks, and see all your favorite princesses.” He’s forcing enthusiasmas he speaks like he wants me to picture our future vacation. I cut him off before he could make his broken promise.
“I don’t want to go to Disney, I don’t want ice cream, I don’t want to see my favorite princess. I want my daddy. I want mom and dad together. Come back home, please!” I sob into the phone.
Silence. Pure silence. He disagrees with me. He’s not coming back home this time, is he?
“Millie…” my father murmurs.
I shake my head and cry silently. I run off the bed, clutching the phone tight as my father distantly bellows my name repeatedly for me to answer. I place the phone back into my mother’s hands, leaving it without hanging up as my father waits for me to respond. I rush past my worried mother, retreat into my brother’s room, and close the door.
Present
I showed up in nothing but the same clothes as the ones I had left Drago’s Cathedral in. Kallum made sure to have me on a plane that flew directly to my hometown. He gave me a debit card, which I only used to pay the Uber driver because I didn’t want to give Hayden the satisfaction of needing him ever again.
He killed my father.
I glance at the window in the center of the front door and stare at my reflection. I don’t recognize myself. I can see the bite marks that have scarred my neck, as Hayden promised. I palm it and shudder. I feel gross, like I need to scrub my skin until I’m raw and bleeding, but I know that it won’t get rid of the imprint he left inside my soul, no matter how many showers or therapies I seek. He’ll always be inside me. I feel disgusted with myselfthat I fell in love with my father’s murderer and gave myself to him fully and willingly. I loved it.
No. He forced me to fall in love with him.
My eerie thoughts dissolve when the front door swings open. I gasp, and my muscles tremble. Is that a vampire behind my door?
Everything is starting to hit me all at once…everything that I went through these past few months is not normal, and I want to run away from this world and jet into another, far from these monsters that hide in the night. I turn, my feet craving to bolt into a nearby tree or bush.
I pivot my foot on the porch when I see Nash standing there with Cole and Leah. They’re all side by side, somber expressions on their tired faces. All three of them were mid-conversation when their vision pins to mine, and I hold myself again for comfort with my hands. I don’t know when I started to do this when I’m anxious, but it’s become my routine.
They all stop in their tracks; Nash’s sports shoes squeak with friction. They’re all stunned, like they’re watching something paranormal happen before them, and their faces pale as snow.
I can’t talk. I can’t move. Or breathe.
