Nothing is wrong with me; I know that. But it’s damn hard to hold on to my self-worth when the sad reminders of my childhood and teenage years creep up on me at the most inconvenient of times.
I take a swig from the wine bottle; the liquid sloshes in my mouth before gliding down my throat, keeping the numbing buzz afloat in my brain.
On nights like these, the only thing capable of simmering the roaring self-loathing and of stopping the never-ending spiral into pity and despair is a huge amount of alcohol.
I requested a few good bottles of faerie wine when the servants came to clean the mess on the floor, just like Killian had said they would.
I was down to the last bottle now. Sweet apathy was invading my body, one inch of skin at a time.
I was already swaying on my feet, my movements clumsy and uncoordinated. It would take only a few more gulps before I blacked out.
Was it wise to chase my collapse in a castle full of enemy creatures? Of course it wasn’t, but I couldn’t care less at the moment.
I needed to shut down my raving mind more than I needed to stay alert to my surroundings.
Besides, I didn’t feel as threatened here as I did before; a small, traitorous thought kept murmuring in my ear. I know it’s only been a few days, but for some Godsforsaken reason I didn’t feelunsafehere.
Killian could have overpowered me with ease if he had wanted to. He could have profited from my panic attack and done despicable deeds to me. I would have been too weak and too frightened to do shit all about it.
That he didn’t, that he jerked back from my “deer caught in a hunter’s stare” lack of response, took me by surprise.
And that sorrowful look that he threw my way before vanishing, like he was equal parts shamed and appalled by causing me such anguish, it fissured my defensive walls, even if just a fraction.
The most villainous creature in all our history, since the beginning of time, had looked me dead in the eyes. He had seen the searing pain and stepped back instead of pouncing on me.Killian could have shattered the last unbroken parts of my soul. He chose not to.
What the fuck do I do with that?
The next day when I wake up, a splitting headache is pounding in my skull, and I retch, sluggishly moving to the bathroom to hurl away all the alcohol I ingested during the night.
It takes me half an hour of spewing my guts in the toilet before I can rise on shaky feet and wash all the nausea away.
When I emerge from the bathroom, it’s almost sunset.
I sigh in resignation, knowing the King will summon me to another supper. I don’t have any fight left in me to refuse him again, and I dread another confrontation like last night.
I choose a simple black velvet dress with delicate flowers sewn in the long, swirling skirt, and braid my hair in a crown.
When Nella finally makes an appearance, I’m prepared to follow her to wherever the vampire ruler wants me to be, and I’m more than a little taken aback when she’s followed in by servants bringing me trays of nourishing foods and teapots steaming with calming tea.
I frown at the carefully selected foods, chosen specifically to nurse a hangover, and gaze questioningly at the lady-in-waiting.
“The King wishes you a speedy recovery, my lady. Aimee!” She corrects herself immediately. “He conveys you should rest and eat well to fortify your body and mind after the strenuous night you previously had.” She smiles kindly before ushering the servants away.
“Do you require my presence for anything else?”
I shake my head no, and she parts, leaving me alone with my confusing thoughts.
A big part of me is relieved that I don’t have to muster up the energy to face him tonight, but another infinitesimal part of me is maybe disappointed?
I have no intention of opening up to him, or anyone else for that matter, about my dreary past.
I do feel inclined to at least explain that my reaction had nothing to do with him, per se.
Why the hell would I care, though, if he believed to be the sole cause of my agony? He might not have caused me any harm last night, but he had me fucking kidnapped and is keeping me prisoner on his estate.
I gingerly take a spoon and dip it in the chicken soup bowl, taking small sips of the soothing meal.
This feels like a peace offering of sorts on his part, and I’m just too drained and undernourished to throw it away.
