•••
My eyes crack open to the ruins of the bathroom. Streaks of red interrupted the flawless tiles that were the white walls, smothered on by my own hand. The floor looks no different.
Upon every hour of my troubled sleep, I would awake to Asmodeus' claws gripping into my perseverance, taunting me with his suffocating presence. He would just about do anything to weaken me mentally and dip his greedy hands into the sweet honey that is the control centre of my mind.
This internal war is not unfamiliar to us for they are the cause of every sin I have found myself committing under his rein.
Burning wood corroded the room all night, wafting from the gap between the door and the floor. King Akraton's thick aroma did not help in lessening the struggle to pacify the creature within.
My clothes are drenched in blood, splotches of red covering every inch of my body. A dull pain encapsulates my hands and face and everything in between. The glass shards were removed but the continuous struggle only replaced the mini wounds with bruises and claw-like marks across my skin. Asmodeus obliged in healing the fresh wounds but refused to cure the pain alongside it.
Among the mess, I fetch a towel and scrounge for shower products. Scorching water hits my body and soothes the ache festering in my neck and shoulders from sleeping in weird positions. I let it drown out the memories and the thoughts attempting to override my temporary peace.
My future is unclear. It is an ever-changing mass of grey clay, transforming and adapting to its own will, never allowing me to understand and decipher the shape it is becoming.
After smothering my body with the essentials, water beads roll down my stature, scarred hands roaming every sullied crevice.
Wrapping the towel around my body, I exit the shower and realise that I don't have any clothes to change into. I etch towards the door, pinching my nose, and lower myself to the floor to listen to a set of slow, heavy breaths against the door.
Figuring he is asleep, I open the door cautiously, only to find two golden rings staring at me. I pause at the sight, the King's face a hairs breadth away. His eyes shine like melted butter beneath the soft-white fluorescence, brimming with a warmth rivalling the sun. Those endless pools of gold rake down my dripping, towel-covered body, roaming the scars and tattoos on display for his eyes alone.
I, too, cannot stop myself gliding from his divinity-given eyes, to his broad shoulders and his biceps, exposed to the elements in a skimpy, black tank top. A true Golden Blooded. No common man ever, not even a pathological liar, would call the Royal species grotesque since such men can at least recognise the authentic beauty that is their biology and fate.
First, he is an honoured deity with a mop of messy, black hair and cherry-red horns and sun beams for eyes. Second, he is a Royal that adorns a jet-black tank top and navy, dress pants, a symbol of his undying loyalty to his Kingdom and its signature colours.
Blinking out of his stupor, he rolls his shoulders back and stands up with me following right after. Disgust coils in my gut at my raging thoughts, uncontrollable and sultry. The thoughts that consumed me at the sight of his half-lidded eyes possessed me so quickly and forcefully that I wonder its origin. He is attractive, in the sense of how all Golden Blooded specimens are, but even this Gods' creation induces a vomit-provoking smell that sends Asmodeus attempting to kill him at every waking moment of my foreseeable existence. I do not find him attractive in that sense, so what is this unwanted desire and where does it come from?
The idea of releasing my nose to let in the foul smell passes me but I force myself to ignore it for the sake of my life.
"Clothes," I say nasally, putting my free hand out, to which he stares at for a minute before collecting the fabric and placing it in my open palm. "Thanks."
I change in front of him, not bothering to hide the deformed art littering my body. He looks up quickly, tutting at the sudden exposure. A smile tugs my lips but Asmodeus is humming beneath my skin, dancing maniacally, a threat I am unsure the King is aware of every time he does it.
A faint blush paints the King's cheeks when I've finished changing. He clears his throat and finally takes in the state of my face, for my body distracted him earlier. "What happened to your eye?"
His eyebrows furrow when mine do in puzzlement. "What?"
Quickly, I find a small mirror poised on the nightstand of the double bed and find that my eye has not returned to its original state. Still the black void has consumed the entirety of my right eye.
No. This cannot happen again.
The reason for my exile stands behind King Akraton, her hanging, broken jaw, missing teeth, and one ear shine in all its macabre glory. Her head moves in a grotesque manner, slow yet jolty, as if she herself did not know what to do with that maimed body of hers.
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe out a curse. I need the cuffs. I need to dampen this... nightmare that lives inside me. I need it gone.
"Please." I hold my wrists out in front of me. Cautiously, he steps forward, the broken girl disappearing, to unveil the metal chains from his back pocket. The dark mist roaming in my skin wiggles erratically at the sight, refusing. I ignore the strain boiling in my skin and allow the King to lock me in the safety of the energy-suppressing cuffs.
"We will be leaving now for my Kingdom," he speaks sharply with a hint of caution wavering in his tone, attempting to be the commanding King I have come to see but that slither of hesitancy looms over his tired state. He picks up his matching navy-blue blazer and rests it on his lower arm. "Follow me."
I follow the man as instructed and watch the armoured guards stand tall with various weapons at the ready.
We walk to the staircase and a set of hands collide with my back, sending me down the marble steps. The sharp edges stab into every crevice, a multitude of groans escaping my throat as I swivel around to my stomach to prevent myself going any further. My head pounds from the initial impact and pain coils from my arms in attempting to save my skull from injury.
I look up the curved staircase and find twenty people surrounding the King. They disperse and the King holds the perpetrator by their neck. Their all-black outfit, their full-face mask, their burning eyes. They kick and thrash inside the King's grip but it is futile when you are caught in the grasp of a Golden Blood. I laugh internally at the sight, knowing that could've easily been me a few years ago.
Voices overlap each other regarding the calamity, giving me no way to eavesdrop. A few guards soon realise my position and surround me too, one brave man deciding to help me up. The King's eyes snap towards us and notice my condition. He closes his eyes and growls something into the perpetrator's ear, their body sinking into deep fear at his words.
The King orders the perpetrator to be cuffed and interrogated as soon as possible. He walks past us silently and then looks back, offended, when he realises we weren't following. I jumpstart in descending the stairs but find with extreme difficulty to do so without stopping after every step. The slowness of my pace annoys the King who stares up at me from the bottom of the staircase already, a cocktail of raging emotions waging war in his deity eyes.
"Help her," he says harshly. The guards jolt into action and grab my arms to rest on their shoulders. I struggle, finding their touch revolting.
"Don't," I heave, forcing myself to not panic as their hands tighten around me.
In a second the King is in front of us, dismissing the guards. His face scrunches in pain when my nails scratch his cheek as he carries me bridal style down the remainder of the staircase. The entire lobby watches us descend, from the fiasco five minutes ago to the heroic gesture of the famous King. Another scratch sends him almost tumbling.
"If you don't want to jeopardise your position even more, I recommend you don't move for five seconds." His hard eyes look forward, determined to reach the ground floor. I kiss my teeth, restraining myself on attacking any further but continue to make the journey painful in other ways.
Finally, he releases me with a harsh push. I stumble forwards but catch myself, turning around to give him a hard glare. He avoids the heated stare and orders the guards to guide me to the second car, adjusting his suit with rough hands.
I'm forced inside an unfamiliar car, one that screams prestigious and up-tight. Its long, sleek body allows for the inside to be spacious and comfortable, spoiling the interior with a privacy screen separating the driver from its back-seat passengers.
The hostess that welcomed us bows deeply and waves to my figure in the car. I smile painfully back. The guards that remain by the King's side disperse, one into my car and the others into the vehicle behind us. I expect the King to be riding with me, as he did yesterday. He aims for the vehicle but halts, a mistake hugely obvious against the carefully-defined mannerism of his walk. Instead, he beelines for the car in front of us.
Once the King enters the car, the driver lights up the engine and rolls out of the massive circular driveway of the private hotel. My eyes burn through the inches of glass and metal separating the King from I. Wrath boils under my skin. Or shame. The feel of his warm fingers that curved underneath my legs haunts my skin like a forgotten wound that burns for his presence whenever he is out of sight.
It is a blessing and a curse. My limbs relax into the leather cushions of the seat, Asmodeus' passive state calming my body from the assassination attempt. However, irate thoughts eat away at my conscience. From the disgust that possessed the patrons' faces as they witnessed the heroism of Akraton's King to the indecipherable features of the King himself and his strange behaviours. Ugly emotions swirl around me, devouring each thought that holds the capacity of contentment. I shake it off, refusing to feed the dark sensations to Asmodeus whom breathes on the feeling.
We pass the border control centres with ease. One look at the symbol plastered on the hood spoke enough volumes past questioning our presence. A few brave patrols, by law, had to ask questions, and as soon as the words 'escorting' and 'Angel' entered their ears, we were left alone.
"Hey, could you insert Wham's 'Fantastic' album into the console?" I ask, remembering the music filling the prison van on our way to the esteemed hotel.
The car was quiet at my request.
"Hello?" I knock on the screen dividing us. The guard and driver swap glances but remain silent. "You are six inches away from my face, I can see you."
The driver pressed a button on the console and the window turned black.
"Fuck you, then." I lean back into the plush seat, giving up. A deep sigh falls outs of me, my head turning to witness the nature idly passing by. Its pure beauty is nothing when compared to the divine innovation of the Golden eyes that swallow my vision. I look up to the sky through the tinted glass and find the sun hidden by a plethora of grey clouds. I tut.
"How far are we?" I rap on the screen again. "I need a drink. An alcoholic one is preferred."
Silence. I bash again and the front-seat people appear, the guard looking at me with distinct anger. "No."
"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease." I emphasise by clasping my hands together, due to the King not putting them behind my back this time, and furrow my brows in sadness. "Just one wittle dwink."
His face contorts with disgust, turning back around to search for something in the glove compartment. Bad Boys by Wham! soon blares out of the speakers.
"This isn't alcohol!" I shout over the synths but the screen turns black once more.
I lay back and rest my eyes, despite the desperation of a gin and tonic to drown out everything but the voices of Andrew Ridgeley and George Michael.
Illusions of my Father and my siblings drown my imagination. They're laughing with massive grins splitting their cheeks and food staining their mouths. My Father looks at me, fat, round glasses resting on the tip of his nose, and leans forward to kiss my forehead. A slobber of white icing is left behind and a disgusted noise growls in my throat. Despite that, I cannot stop myself from smiling.
My lips tug upwards in reality, the vivid memory a reminder of what used to be. The epitome of pure serenity.