Death of a King

Chapter 19

Waking up Saturday morning was strange in ways I will never be able to fully comprehend. As if we all knew this ceremony wouldn't end well, but none of us were willing to admit it. The problems started on the day of celebration, and carried on through the night of the battles.

When the sun rose the morning of the celebration, time seemed to freeze. Dustin is usually up and moving long before I ever crack my eyes open, but today was different. He's been laying on his bed for nearly an hour, arms and legs stretched out to the sides, simply staring at the ceiling. He hasn't spoken or moved, he lay in silence.

I wondered what he was thinking about, what thoughts were running through his mind on this most anticipated day.

The actual ceremony begins in only a few hours, starting with a morning feast followed by drinking and day long merriment. Tonight then marks the erotic festivities in which, as Lumiere puts it, is when the fun truly begins. I can't speak intelligently of how much fun it will be but almost every Tribe member is looking forward to it. Even Corinth and Eli.

There was only one who seemed indifferent towards today's activities and that one was currently laying on his bed, gaze locked on the ceiling fan, tracing its path as it twirled over and over again.

Eventually, I could no longer stand the silence. I sat up, stretching to signal that I was awake. While I didn't expect a huge reaction from Dustin, I did expect a reaction in general. But none was given. Almost as if I didn't exist, Dustin continued to stare upwards with tired eyes, unmoving.

Now that I was sitting, I saw that his blankets had been kicked off and his shirt was missing, disregarded on the floor beside his bed, and his hair was matted with sweat. As if he grew ungodly hot throughout the night but had no way of extinguishing the flames.

Did he have nightmares too?

"Good morning." I called out softly, my voice sounding obnoxiously loud in the otherwise silent room.

For the first time, Dustin's eyes shifted away from their targeted location and dipped down towards me. They were red and heavy, the eyes of a man I didn't recognize. When he saw me sitting there he too pushed himself up, scrubbing two hands down his face, and mumbled, "Morning, yes. Good, no."

I was hesitant to stand, then took my time in nearing the foot of his bed, "Rough night?"

He pressed his palms to his eyes, "You have no idea."

My elbows came to rest on the top of his comforter, "You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, and I left it at that. I, of all people, know what it's like to be haunted by nightmares. Mine just so happen to predict the future and cause me physical harm. But Dustin's probably run much deeper than mine ever will, because his aren't just fiction. His were once reality, memories from years past. If he's been the Vice for as long as everyone says, then he's participated in this ceremony several times over and I can only imagine the demons chasing after him.

A booming knock thundered from the door and an even louder voice shouted, "Get a move on, kid. You should have been out here an hour ago. People are waiting."

"I'll be right there." Dustin replied, then grumbled something about his uncle's never ending bullshit.

After a long moment of silence Dustin hopped out of bed, rushing to get ready in a pair of clothes he placed on the dresser the night before. He spent a few minutes lingering in the bathroom, running water over his face and through his hair, but he eventually stopped in front of the mirror and watched his reflection for what felt like an eternity.