the royals ✅

chap 16: eric carmichael is broken

credits catchingoceans

Eric Carmichael slams on the cage that encloses him, his fury rising as he screams for them to let him out. His voice is hoarse. He should not be shut in this goddamn cage like an animal, locked behind bars. Time and time again, his screams are met with nothing more then silence. Lena taps his shoulder, pressing her tiny frame into his. He takes warmth in her embrace, sighing. He may not love Lena, but he appreciates this moment. He needs this. He needs to not feel so utterly alone, even if it is only for a minute. Eric's mouth is dry. His body does not feel like his own anymore. He does not know who he is anymore.

He had succumbed to sweet words, saccharine smiles, dirty-blonde hair, striking green eyes, and an hourglass figure. Alexandria had promised him many things, and she had delivered on none. She had left him at her convenience. Her world revolved around her, and her only. He was used to painting on a fake smile, fucking, dumping, and repeating. It was his norm. His actions were repetitive, numbing. Even if he wanted a relationship- nobody believed in him. Believed he could give up his ways. He had broken his cycle for her, given her a chance. He had fooled himself into believing she was worth it. She'd seen the same Eric everyone did. The one that couldn't possibly be in a relationship.

  Eric truly believes she deserves exactly what they did to her. She will finally get a taste of her own medicine. Understand what it means to have your heart ripped out of your chest, stomped over, and left. And he knows she feels it. He barely knew Adonis, but he could see it in her eyes. She loves Adonis. And judging by the way he had left her, he doesn't feel the same. Not anymore. Not after seeing who Alexis really is, all the bitter layers, peeled back. The darkness inside her. He'd been willing to love the darkness. But she'd stepped away.

 Eric is a master at painted layers. Every single painted layer will reveal another law, another problem, another struggle Eric has. Eric has a struggle forcing himself out bed every single day, in fact, Eric struggles to find a reason to get out of bed. Eric does not seem to be able to find a reason to live. He's contemplated suicide, running the options through his head, raising the razor to his wrist, stopping at bridges, peering over the edge, wondering how it would feel for his blood to fucking splatter on the rocks beneath.

 Everything feels useless. Life doesn't mean enough to him. The way he sees it, he goes through high school, goes through college, and then works for the rest of his life to survive. That isn't a life worth living. To him, it isn't. It's just a repeated cycle of working, reaping the benefits, and then working again. If Eric is the master of painted layers, his mother is the queen. She has been painting layers for many years- at this point, it is her second nature. She hosts Sunday Brunches, invites all her friends over, boasts about her husband and her children, talks about her utterly perfect her life is. Her life is nothing near perfect.

 Eric sees past her facade. His mother is nothing but plastic doll. She drinks her nights away and in the morning, she paints on another layer. He rarely ever sees her sober. He has to pick her up, help her into bed, tuck her in, play the part. She pretends everything is okay. Pretends her family is not the fucked mess that they always have been. She even seems to be able to ignore that Eric's father has cheated on her, not once, but multiple times. Because as long as he keeps the money flowing in her hands, she has no reason to complain. She doesn't cheat. She just constantly pictures the perfect family in her head and pretends that image will play out if she believes it.

 She pretends that her elder daughter, Beatrice does not suffer from depression. No. Eric has to deal with that burden, as always. Eric is the one who forced her to go a rehabilitation center because he was tired of his sister struggling to cope- struggling to get through the day. He loves his sister, from the bottom of his heart, but he's exhausted. He's 17. He shouldn't have to take care of her. His mother should be responsible for that. He realizes exactly how ironic it is. The very sister that should be taking care of him, should be comforting him, is his burden. Eric has too many burdens, filling him up, slicing him apart. Weight after weight, drowning him. He's going to collapse under all the weights one day. Maybe he will jump off the bridge. Maybe he will press the trigger of that gun one day. Maybe he fucking will. But right now, drugs keep him too high to even think about it. And he loves it.

 Lena, even though she may not realize it, is another burden. He hates himself as soon as those words pass through his mind, but he knows the truth to them. She has been by his side through everything, yet, he doesn't care for her. He had adopted in her effort to get everyone else off her back, but Lena did not belong. Lena would never belong. Lena did not carry herself as they did. They all looked down upon her, even if none of them would ever admit it. And while Lena never failed to be by his side, Eric does not want her as another burden. Lena's presence has never been much of a comfort for him and Eric is tired of collecting. She is always by his side, here for his every beck and call, yet, he doesn't care. He doesn't care about her. At all.

 His father, is yet another burden. Forcing him to play football against his will, forcing him to always do his best. His father, while never physically abusive, had done enough damage with words. Words hurt more then actions. His words slice into Eric, cutting him apart. Hurting him. He's heard enough to write a fucking book. A book about the reasons Eric is a massive fuckup.  All his life, Eric had taken the blunt of his father's anger. The rest of his family refuses to affiliate with them because of his father and his well-known activities.

 Eric is tired of burden after burden. The burden of heartbreak, the burden of a fucked-up family, the burden that Lena weighs on him, the burden his father places on him. Lena taps him on his shoulder, and for some reason, something in him snaps.

"Not today, Lena" He snaps, a bitter smile crossing his face.

 Eric is tired of listening to people. It is time that he played his own game, his own way. Things have gone too far. He has reached his limit. Eric will not give up. And now, it is time that Eric stopped giving in. Lena stares up at him with her wide-doe eyes, a nervous giggle bubbling out of her lips.

 She slowly bites her lip, her eyes running over his figure, "Eric, they are asking if you would like to call anyone-" She starts, and he cuts her infuriating voice off. Everyone seems to think that he genuinely enjoys Lena's presence, but he only puts up with it. They couldn't be further from the truth. Everyone thinks Eric is perfect. He wonders what they would think if he actually slit his wrists. He's glad he has drugs. He's glad he isn't sober. 

"No" Eric says with a glacial smile. He knows how cold his expression looks. A fog of tension surrounds them, filling the air. Eric only has one way to actually fucking cope. And that is why he plays the game. It keeps him sane. It keeps him sane when he knows that other people are suffering just as much as he is. And the thought that they might be suffering more then him is a drug to him. A drug that keeps reaching out for, again and again.

He knows it is wrong, but Eric cannot find himself to care.

No.

Eric Carmichael knows that he is broken beyond repair, and this is the only semblance of a way to piece himself back together. To repair the person that he once was. The game keeps him alive. Eric will keep fighting. Keep his head up. Lie. Pass off painted layer after layer. That is what Eric does best. And he will continue to do it until he takes his very last breathe.

Eric isn't ready to give in. Not yet.

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