Redemption of Royals (Royal #1: Book 3) | ✔

7

"You've a reflection of you dwelling outside happily in the world, acting as you. It pisses me off."

"Looks like someone fucked you last night. Good. You needed that lesson."

I inhale a shaky breath and raise my head, helping the water wash off the tears rolling down my cheeks. I hold it in. I'm good at it. Fuck that, I've mastered the art of it. But the more those haunting memories pour in, the more tears I spill. And then I give up. In the safety of my shower stall, I brace my arms on the wall and bury my face in them, my body heaves from every inch. I sob. I sob because it's been so long since I've sobbed this hard. I cry with everything in me. My shoulders shake, my breath stutters, but I don't make a noise. Even to the silence, even to the absence in my room, I don't show myself falling apart. So I keep those sobs muffled, my soundless cries unheard over the sound of shower.

Eventually, I fall quiet. My body goes limp and I sit down on the floor, butt naked, my arms draped across my pulled up knees. The steady jet of water keeps streaming down on me.

I stare mindlessly at the wall in front of me. And it costs me great strength to pull myself back together. I come out of the shower, stand in front of the wall length mirror in my room and see the scars stand out under the bright, beaming lights. My hand brushes aloft, touching the cuts, gashes, burn marks, and countless wheals creating a timeline of my past on the flesh of my body. They don't hurt anymore. And yet I never forget about them. I know about each one of them. Even with closed eyes, I can put a finger on the smallest of my scars and tell a story behind it.

Disheartening to have a memory so sharp that remembers all the good and bad, and focuses on the bad because it was a lot. I'd rather forget everything and be clueless every time I look at my naked body. I'd rather be confused than know everything and torment myself with that realisation day and night.

But at least I've something good to remember.

I wonder what Tara is doing right now.

The last I talked to Tarun, he told me she has enrolled herself for dance classes. She's also taking self-defense lessons from her brother. She has a keen mind. If she concentrates, she'll do it. But I'm afraid this change isn't a choice.

The ocean of her existence is ever so changing, like tides, sometimes high, sometimes low, sometimes absolutely quiet. I like it when she moves a lot, unable to stand still, wheels for feet, her eyes wide and bright, giggles bursting forth her lips, gliding down the optimism that glows around her like a halo. But I know she has calmed down, to a new low where light hesitates to reach. I don't want the darkness to consume her. It's safe, but you don't live there, you survive. And she isn't meant to survive.

Absolutely, not.

She defines life in the most elegant way.

By living it to the fullest.

God, I miss her.

I miss her so fucking so much it feels like I'd die of suffocation if I don't speak to her.

Entering the closet, I put on a fresh pair of comfortable clothes. With my phone in hand, I leave the room for some open air. My feet lead me outside the palace. The guards bow deeply when they see me coming. One of them follows me when I step inside the gardens, standing at an adequate distance that his presence isn't intruding.