Page 16 of The Depraved Prince
Well, damn, that was…honest. I take her bluntness with a grain of salt.
“I’m just not feeling well.” It isn't a total lie. It’s true. I’m always tired. I’m getting headaches often, and sadness creeps over me like a shadow most days. After what I went through, I’m pretty sure this is all normal behavior.
“Well, how about we look into a therapist?” Leah asks as she takes my hand in hers and gently squeezes it.
Her touch feels warm on my hand, and I appreciate Leah so much for trying to help. I’ve been avoiding most of our hangouts because I’m too afraid I’ll get comfortable enough to tell her what I’ve gone through. I’m isolating myself from everybody, and it’s affecting me. Depression starts to claw its way into my soul. The same type of depression that makes you feel lonely and numb. The kind that makes you do things you may regret. Living in fear isn’t how I want to live, but I have to deal with the cards I’ve been dealt.
“Look... I appreciate that you’re concerned, but I’m fine,really.” I lie. It hurts to lie. I always pride myself on honesty. I feel other sets of eyes burning into my left cheek.
People are staring.
I look over their shoulders to find Cole and Hayes talking to each other behind the register. They keep their voices low while their stressed gazes are pinned on me. Great, all my coworkers are judging me. They probably think I’m out of it.
Maybe I should quit. I’ve been thinking about it for the past few months. It’s the end of summer, anyway, and school will start up again. I’m so close to earning my bachelor’s degree in literature.
My fingers tighten around the glass as I fidget in my seat and stare at the coffee. The noise I’ve been blocking out is summoned like incoherent ghosts of whispers. I can feel the frustration building up and my heart reciprocates the harsh dwelling stress. It’s all warm and hot in my chest.
I can’t take this anymore.
I break.
I get up from the booth, remove my work barista uniform, and throw it on the table. I’m taking off early today. I don’t care anymore.
I’m tired of all the glances this past summer. The worried looks from my coworkers wondering when I’m going to finally have a mental breakdown and fall apart in front of them. I refuse to give them, or anyone, that satisfaction.
“Millie, wait. Stop!” Leah pleads as she watches me walk away from her seat helplessly. She turns to our coworkers for assistance, but no one moves. Nothing and no one will stop me now. I’ve made up my mind. I storm towards the front door of the coffee shop, hearing Leah’s footsteps behind me. It grows louder the closer I get to the exit.
Then I feel a hand pull me back.
“Let me go,” I snap. I whip around to findCole. Leah remains seated at the booth while I stare at handsome, sweet, sunny Cole. His tall frame towers over me as he holds my bicep tight but not harshly. The guilt from my sharp retort already settles in. He always wants to help, and he always wants to see me smile, yet I’m cold toward him. I can’t help it these days, I’m wrecked.
“Millie, where are you going? Just talk. If not to Leah, then to me, maybe?” Cole begs softly. His dark eyes search through my brown ones. He’s trying to get through to me. He knows that whenever we speak, our conversations flow so easily. He makes opening up about anything complex or controversialeffortless.
My expression softens, and my facial muscles relax, but then the concerned whispers grow louder around us. I look around to see that we’re attracting attention from customers. My eyes begin to blur, and there’s that familiar sore rock at the base of my throat.
“I quit,” I breathe only enough for Cole to hear.
Cole’s eyes widen. “No…Millie. Don’t say that, please,” He begs as his grip loosens. I pull my arm back until I’m successfully out of his grasp.
I push open the door with force, and it swings open. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I need to be far away from everyone. Luckily, I’ve been cleared to drive just a few days ago.
I want to go home and never come out of my bedroom.
I stareup at the ceiling with my hands on my stomach. I’m thinking about Hayden’s eyes again as the wings of my fan sway in circles. I’m obsessing over what happened to me. A small part of me wants to tell the world. Vampires, or whatever they are,are real. Monsters are real.
The way their clear, bright irises switched from blue to red. Then, the Blonde man who took me joins in on the infinite loop of dread in my mind. The way he broke my wrist so easily and fast. Grievous flashbacks of how they were all fighting, the sounds they were making, and blood everywhere.The walls, the floor…
Damn it. Why can’t I stop thinking about all of this shit?
I cringe and shut my tired eyes tight.
How are these images still haunting me?
I concentrate and replay the events on a timeline of how it all began in my car; then it shifts to when the man woke me up with their discussion of “Valkyries.” I almost forgot about it. One of the blonde men called me one.
What in the world did he mean by that? What is aValkyrie?
I shift onto my side, and the self-isolation catches up with me. I won’t cry. I need to learn how to move on from that night. I tuck my hands under my cheek as I try to keep my eyes closed. Maybe I’ll fall asleep and dream of normal things tonight.
