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In a perfect world, King would save me, not want to kill me.
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be lying here, drugged and vulnerable, all for what? For the mistakes of my parents?
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t be a broken girl trying to find her own way.
But this isn’t a perfect world. King isn’t here to save me, but I go with it. My blinking slows as I lean up on my elbows and watch as King’s figure moves fluently in triples. All I see are King and Jack, and then an explosion of blood. My tongue sneaks out, just as Killian and Delila drop down on either side of me. Metal slips over the tip of my tongue. “Revenge?” I whisper to myself, only to myself, because this is a dream. This is not real.
“Yeah, Little Bird,” Killian whispers, only it echoes into my head. “Fucking revenge.” But then Killian is being torn away and so is Delila.
I inhale, recognizing the smell of fresh burnt ash, leather, and honey. King picks me up in his arms and cradles me into his chest. My head tilts back as I finally lose myself in a deep slumber.
I wasn’t saved by Prince Charming. I was saved by a villain, and fuck being on his warpath.
My mouth feels like cotton, my limbs cemented into the mattress. I groan, raising my body off the bed. The smell hits me first, and then I scrub my eyes and open them. The large glass window to the left. The black leather bed, leather dresser, and large TV. The black walls and large white triangle of Kiznitch painted into the wall above the bed.
“Shit.”
The door opens, and King walks through, pausing when he sees I’m awake.
“What happened?” I ask, running my hand through my hair. It feels like straw and I smell. Badly.
“You don’t remember?” he says, attentively stepping inside the room.
“Not really.” I reach for the glass of OJ and take a sip slowly, rejoicing in the cool pulp juice. “God, I smell.”
King shakes his head, and when our eyes connect, we do that thing we always do. When our eyes say the words that our mouths cannot, I see the strain on his face. His pupils dilate, and his jaw sets to stone.
“You can go for a shower, P,” he whispers, stepping forward. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
I squeeze the sheets. “That bad, huh?”
King chuckles. “Yeah, baby. That bad. Come on.” He reaches for me, my hand connecting to his. It’s a small gesture with so much meaning. That’s the thing with King and me. We write our story in invisible ink, so no one else can read it. He tries to carry me to the small steps near his bathroom, but I push him away.
“Stubborn,” he murmurs, and for a brief second, I see the old Kingston I knew all those years ago. Once we’re in the bathroom, he turns the faucet on and waits for it to heat up, closing the glass door. “I wiped your face down when you were asleep. I mean,” he kicks down the toilet cover and takes a seat, “Delila wanted to give you a full-on bath, but I almost killed her, so she didn’t try again.”
“King,” I whisper-scold, my heart clenching in my chest. He looks so…tormented.
He shakes his head and gestures to the shower.
I smile, taking a small step inside and undressing while I’m in here. It’s stupid because King has seen me naked before, but I’m not feeling very anything right now, and I need to sit in here alone. I close the glass door, knowing he hasn’t moved from his spot.
“Music,” I murmur, knowing he would hear me.
The door opens, and then closes, before opening and closing again. The sound of the sound dock picking up his phone dings through the air as I reach for the soap. Seconds pass before “Evil Angel” by Breaking Benjamin starts playing. My eyes close and I inhale, exhale through the waves of music surrounding me. Music has always and will always be the main part of me and how I express myself and vent my energy. I think that’s the same with everyone in Midnight Mayhem. I work on the shampoo and conditioner, rubbing it through my hair. Squeezing soap onto my palm, I scrub my face and then wince when I feel how bruised my cheek is. After I rinse off, I slowly slip to the ground, pulling my knees up to my chest. The door cracks open and King looks down at me. I draw my knees in closer. His eyes don’t drop. He doesn’t eat me alive with lust. He’s tortured and guarded and…broken.
Breaking Benjamin continues to fill the silence between us as he kneels down and reaches for my chin. The water cascades over my face, hiding the tears that are free-falling. “I guess that wasn’t going to be the last time you kneeled for me.” I try to joke about the words he used when I first formally met him on the boat, but hiccup and choke on my words when tears tremble out of me. “I remember everything.” I swipe across my cheeks even though I don’t need to.
