Page 70 of Royal Deception
But a part of me doesn’t want to believe it. The weight of that thought settles over me like a cloud, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping into my bones.
I lie back in bed, the room feeling too big, too empty. I close my eyes, trying to shut out the thoughts swirling around my head. I focus on my breath, on the quiet sound of the night. But even as I try to sleep, I know the truth. I don’t want to let her go.
And now I might have to.
I try to push the thought away, but it lingers. It lingers, and it hurts.
And no matter how much I try to force myself to sleep, my mind won’t let me forget.
I wake up with the worst fucking headache of my life. It’s not from too much alcohol—hell, I barely drank last night. But there’s something in the air today, something thick and heavy, like the world’s pressing down on me. My head pounds in time with my pulse, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve done something I can’t undo.
I rub my eyes, pushing the sheets away and sitting up in the darkened room. The remnants of sleep cling to me like cobwebs, and I feel disoriented. I’ve never been good at managing my emotions, and last night, I made it worse. I don’t know how to fix any of it.
So, I do what I do best.
I throw myself into work.
I spend the morning buried in paperwork, pretending like it matters. I check in on the Russians, our latest headache. I try to dig into their movements, try to find some clue, something to distract me from the chaos I’ve made of my own life. I pore over intelligence reports, send out emails to contacts, but nothing holds my attention. Nothing works.
By the time I finally finish at the office, it feels like the weight of the entire day has crushed me. I step into the apartment, half-expecting to see Clary’s things, her soft clothes, her books, her perfume lingering in the air like a memory I can’t escape. But when I walk through the door, there’s nothing.
Nothing but silence.
Her things are gone.
The realization hits me like a slap to the face. It’s the final nail in the coffin. She’s really gone. I should’ve seen it coming.I should’ve known when she left that note that she was serious, that she wasn’t coming back. I should’ve stopped her, should’ve begged her to stay.
But now it’s too late.
I stand there for a long time, the silence of the apartment wrapping itself around me like a suffocating blanket. I don’t know what to do with myself.
I can’t just sit here. I need to do something.
I move to my bar, my hand shaking as I pour myself a drink. A small one at first, just enough to feel the burn. But the burn doesn’t do what I need it to. So, I pour another. And another.
Soon, I’m drunk, the haze of alcohol a temporary escape from the mess I’ve made of my life. I grab my phone, and before I can stop myself, I’m dialing Kellan’s number. He’s probably the only person who’s ever seen me at my worst, and right now, I feel like the worst version of myself.
“Hello?” Kellan’s voice is groggy on the other end, like I woke him up.
“I fucked up, Kellan,” I mumble, the words slurring together. “I fucked up so bad, man. Clary… she’s gone. She’s fucking gone, and I don’t know what to do.”
There’s silence on the other end, and then Kellan’s voice, low and serious. “What do you mean, you fucked up? What happened?”
“I tried to start something with her. It wasn’t a relationship, but it was something that I thought we could both enjoy. But it wasn’t enough. She needed more, but I can’t give that to her. So she… she left.”
I hear Kellan exhale slowly, a sound of deep frustration mixed with something else, something like understanding. “Rory, you’ve got to figure this shit out. You’re right, man. You screwed up, but you’re not going to fix it by sitting around and drowning in your mistakes. You need to make it right or you’regonna lose her for good. Trust me, I know what it’s like to fuck up with someone you love.”
The word hangs in the air between us—love. It’s something I never let myself say aloud, not even in my own head, but hearing it from Kellan makes something twist in my gut. Do I love her?
Maybe I’ve loved her all along and I just never let myself admit it.
“I don’t know if I can fix it,” I say, my voice a whisper, the weight of my regret pressing down harder than the alcohol in my bloodstream. “I don’t know how to fix me. How do I fix this?”
Kellan doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just letting the silence hang there between us. Then, finally, he sighs, low and heavy. “I’m coming over.”
I don’t argue. I don’t think I’m even capable of arguing right now. Kellan’s the one person who’s always known me, known when to call me out and when to just let me sit in my own shit.
When he walks through the door, I’m sitting on the couch, nursing my drink like it’s my last. The weight of the day, the regrets, the loneliness… Everything feels suffocating. He takes one look at me and says nothing, just plops down next to me and waits.
