(WARNING: This chapter includes many triggers, be aware while reading and at anytime do not continue if it triggers you)
Rhea
About two weeks.
That's the last time I saw Liam. I don't know what his definition is of soon, but I'm pretty close to going insane.
Somehow I've stayed alive by living off of small amounts of food.
Last week a guard gave me a burnt slice of bread and a half filled cup of water.
I ran out of both yesterday.
The light outside my door doesn't work so well anymore. It flickers and leaves me completely in the dark by myself, only struggling back on after what feels like an hour.
My mind is what keeps me entertained now.
I float in the words I think, sitting here aimlessly wandering.
I can't feel my legs anymore, they've gone numb. Anytime I move, I feel my nerves jolt into what feels like ants biting me.
It's painful, to either sit here, or to move. I try laying down but the floor is so cold, it starts burning my skin.
I've caught my mind slipping back to Elijah and what I'd do if I saw him again. What he'd say to me. The look he'd give. How he would feel to look at me.
And each and every time, I've gotten to the same answer.
He'd hate me.
He would be hurt.
Angry.
And probably even disgusted.
Which feels odd to me. To think someone like him could be disgusted with me. Someone who kills.
But then I think of myself, and who I am to him.
Someone who seems to have everything and anything she wants.
Someone who hasn't lived a day in struggle.
Someone who doesn't care what others think.
Someone who doesn't know how to love anyone properly besides herself.
And... to think about it. He would be right.
And that is what hurts.
Because I finally met someone who gave me the utmost truth when nobody else would. Someone who didn't act like I was a fragile princess who needed to sit and look pretty and do absolutely nothing else.
Instead, he knew who I was, what I represent, and called me out on it.
Not even my parents did that.
Nobody told me I was being a bitch. Or that I was spoiled, or had everything when others had nothing.
But he did.
He did and didn't judge me for it.
Because if he truly judged me for it, he would've never let me in his house. He would've never lended me his clothes, and given me food. He would've never saved me.
That's who Elijah is.
If he doesn't care, he won't do it. If he judges you, despises you, and who you are, he won't help.
But he did.
He did a lot for me, and I hurt him.
If I'm being honest with myself, I ran away from him, because I was scared of what I felt. I'm scared of what I do feel.
I'm scared of how safe it is, and how carefree it feels.
It doesn't restrict me.
It doesn't cage me up and throw the key away.
It doesn't have any expectations.
But it isn't familiar.
The only thing I have to do is feel and allow myself to be cared for. Maybe even loved.
Not in a fake way. Or because I'm someone with an important title, but because I'm a person.
And he knew that.
But I didn't.
"Rhea?" I hear, whispered through the door.
I jump in surprise, having no clue someone had come down.
The door cracks open after a rumble.
A lantern enters first, along with Liam. I shield my eyes from the light, blinking.
I see a black duffel bag in his left hand. He sets it down, shutting the door behind him.
"Keep your voice down, nobody knows I'm here," he says softly.
I nod, struggling to be formal.
His attention focuses solely on the bag now. His hands pull out different items.
I see a blanket, a pillow, a water bottle, and a plastic wrapped sandwich.
"You were right," he mumbles, avoiding my eyes as he pushes the items toward me. I look at him, waiting for him to look me in the eyes before I respond.
Slowly, his tired eyes lift to meet mine. He looks used. Like an old toy a child has forgotten about and no longer cares for.
"I know," I breathe.
"I have a question," he requests. I stare at him expectantly. "How did you know... that you could talk to me?"
"You want the truth?"
He nods.
"Your eyes. Your face. What you think or feel, it's clear on your face. Your hesitation in the way you carry yourself and how you speak," I croak, my voice hoarse.
"Oh," he sighs, sitting himself on the floor. He shivers, looking back at me.
I smile, "Not so warm and cozy, huh?"
He lightly snorts, "I guess I should've brought hot chocolate."
I shrug the best I can, "The water is alright."
He sharply sighs, crossing his legs while he grabs a file from the duffel bag. "The evidence."
I take the document, immediately opening it.
The first thing I see is a picture of remains from my parents ship, broken and cracked steel, soaked papers, drenched clothes.
I flip through the photos, stopping immediately on one photograph in particular.
My mom and dad lay down, side by side, and completely dead. A perfect and symmetrical hole sits in the middle of both of their foreheads. Blood of dark crimson trickles down the side to their temples.
Their eyes are open, paralyzingly open, and drained.
Everything in their faces tells me how terrified they were. Forgetting the brave front, the titles, their fortunate life. They were just terrified to lose their life.
Everything in me wants to scream. To run away and crawl in a hole. I want to cry, to let myself express how miserable I feel right now. I want to torture Alexander and Emery. I want them to have the same look in their eyes like my parents.
I want to be the one person they look at when they die. To know that I was the one who did it. To be the one to make them regret doing what they've done.
But I hold myself. I hold my face. I make myself expressionless, and I flip to the next picture.
A photo of my parents getting onto the ship.
My mom holds my dads hand as they carry their bags onto the ship. She's looking at him, smiling, while he looks proud to be in her presence.
A gasp escapes my lips, making it almost impossible to hold my tears back. My throat hurts, straining while I hold my breath.
My hand slightly trembles as I move the photos to the side, looking at the paperwork.
Most of the papers have the same information from the file back home. Except for the last three.
It has 2 different reports of a elderly couple's death. Darius and Valera Dixon. One document says they died from natural causes, but the other says they died from excessively bleeding out from their throat. Their skin was punctured from a dagger.
Obviously the first report was a cover up, but from whom?
My eyes flicker down to the bottom of the fraud report.
A line holds two signatures. Christopher Windsor and Grace Windsor.
Why the hell are my parents signatures on a elderly couple's fake death report?
I glance back to the real report, scanning the bottom of the paper.
A signed document by Emery Campbell.
I sit there holding both reports in my hands.
What does this have to do with my parents death?
Did... my parents murder an old couple? For what? What could an old couple have done that would be so detrimental to kill them?
"Do you have anything else on Darius and Valera Dixon?" I ask, forcing my throat to make a sound.
He studies me, looking for any reaction to question me. "No," he stares.
I look in his eyes, "Stop looking at me for answers. If you want to know something, then ask."
He blinks, raising his eyebrows. "Did you know about that? What you read?"
I shake my head, sighing as I look back down to the reports, "No, I don't even know what they mean."
"It means your parents aren't innocent either."
"Then I guess that makes us best friends," I raise my head to him, slightly shrugging as I set the papers down.
He scoffs.
"Now I've got a question for you, Your Highness."
"What?"
"Why did you show me this? Why give me all these things," I gesture towards the blanket and food, "Especially after what I did to you?"
He leans back on his palms, "I don't know. I looked at you and thought... I thought you could help me understand everything. I knew something was wrong with my parents and I didn't know what. I still don't. Then you came and made a mess, and I wondered why you went through the trouble to make it. Don't get me wrong, you look... psychotic, but just not in a way they made you to be."
I hum in satisfaction.
Looking back at the blanket and pillow, I laugh, "Planning to keep me here longer?"
"You're still my prisoner."
"Ah. Correction, I'm your parents' prisoner, you're too innocent to be a captor."
His eyebrows furrow, "You're kind of rude."
"And you're kind of insane if you took offense to that."
He begins to speak but realizes I'm right and stays quiet.
I gasp, "Oh, what's today?" He thinks for a moment, "Sunday, June eighteenth."
I stare at him confused, "The eighteenth? How have I been here for almost a month?"
"You were out of it when you first came here for four days."
I think about it for a quick second, deciding not to dwell, "So what does this mean going forward? Now that you know Alexander and Emery killed my parents."
"It means that I need more information, I need to know why they killed them... your parents, and why the Dixons are involved."
"We need to know, and what does that mean for me? I'm not staying here, deal or not."
Liam stares at me, contemplating his words.
"Look, I'm listening to you, I'm here, and giving you information I shouldn't be giving, but I can't let you go."
I scoff, "Then I won't be much help to you. I'm not doing anything or helping anyone until you promise me that I get out."
"If you got out, what would be your first instinct? To kill my parents? I can't let that happen. No matter what they've done to yours, I can't let it happen to mine."
"What would you do to me if I killed your parents? How would you feel?"
"I don't know, I-" "Exactly, you don't know what that feels like, so you're not getting shit from me, until I have a signed contract that I get out safely."
"I don't have to help you," he mutters.
"Then don't. But when you do end up needing a missing piece of your puzzle, don't be surprised to see my cell empty."
Liam sighs, getting up from the floor. He grabs the lantern, placing it by the wall to the right. Proceeding to walk towards the door, while closing the door, with a loud rumble.
I look around the now dimly lit cell. Fully being able to focus on each nook and crack.
Fumbling with the papers, putting them neatly together, and back into the file.
My hands run over the blanket, realizing it's a quilt. My skin feels like a rough wood chip compared to the softness of the quilt and pillow.
I unravel the blanket, feeling the stiffness in my bones and the painful jolts of my legs moving, waking from their numbing slumber.
Throwing the pillow down, I lay down, groaning in pain as my back cracks in many areas.
Reaching down just enough to grab the sandwich, unraveling the plastic. It contains turkey, cheese, lettuce, and mayo.
I slowly bite into it, careful not to eat what I can't stomach.
I wrap the food back up, and place it beside me, while I grab the remaining length of the quilt to wrap around me.
The exhaustion kicks in and I fall soundlessly asleep.
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Hellooo! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Thank you for all your support, I genuinely appreciate it!
See you next chapter! :)
-hc <3