Page 59 of The Depraved Prince
“Answer the question. You know what I’m talking about. Why did you try and take your own life?” I scowl at her. I care about her. Reading her journal has me invested and captivated.
She touches her arm—the one where there’s a scar—just hidden behind the sleeve of her black nightgown.
I read the unfinished entry in her journal before entering her room. The scar on her arm…it all adds up. I always assume the worst. I hope she’ll tell me I’m wrong, but she doesn’t deny it.
“Don’t make me talk about it. I hate going back there.” Millie’s shaking, her eyes fade to hopelessness, but I need to know what happened.
Who do I need to torture?
“Back where?”
“That dark headspace where I hate myself.” she claws at her hair.
My brows knit together, and I ball my fists. “Why on Earth would you hate yourself?”
“Because!” she snaps, cutting me off.
The collected tears on her dark lashes fall down her reddened cheeks.
“If the two people who are supposed to love you unconditionally didn’t want you, why would I want myself? If they didn’t want to live for me, why would I want to live for myself?” She’s shaking and grips the scar on her arm tighter until her knuckles turn white. “If they hated me, I would hate me too.” She rubs it up and down.
She’s having a panic attack. A lump forms in my throat as I jolt forward and scoop her into my arms as she bellows in my chest. She punches and fights me, but I just hold onto her tighter.
“Let me go!” she sniffles, trying to push me off, but I just encase her more. I need her to feel how much she’s wanted.
“No.” I kiss the top of her head.
“Hayden!” Another push.
“No.” Another kiss.
Finally, she stops fighting me and grips my suit tighter. I let her cry and whimper while I soothe her back.
“They don’t hate you, Millie.” I kiss the top of her head. “They made mistakes they will never be able to take back. But don’t let the trauma they inflicted on you drown you. You’re still here, and you should be proud of yourself for that.”
She holds onto me tighter and whimpers softly.
I want you, Millie. If they don’t want you. I want you.
I’m tempted to say it, but the fact that she’s almost asleep in my arms makes me hesitate.
I don’t want to disturb her peace or say something that I’m still trying to figure out myself. I have an attachment toward her, and I don’t know how far it goes, but I feel like I must take care of her.
I want to take care of her.
I don’t want to become the next most powerful king there’s been since King Killian, from centuries ago. He was the last vampire to have powers before he died at the Inferno.
I don’t know when she contracted the fever, but maybe she got it from the concert. I gently lay her back on the pillow, and she lets me. She nestles into it, and I stand.
“Wait. Don’t go,” she pleads.
“I’m coming right back,” I assure her with a gentle tone.
What the hell is going on with me?
I flash out the door to grab Tylenol from our storage for human necessities. After grabbing the pill bottle, I ask one of our chefs to cook chicken soup for her. Then, I head back into Millie’s room. It all took me about three minutes.
I hand the pills to her. She pushes herself up against the bed with her hands, eyeing the pills suspiciously.
