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three
Someone is trying to break in through the window.
No, correction: someoneisbreaking the window.
And I am still wearing just my underwear and a towel—of course, that’s the least of my problems right now. But I don’t want to die naked. Stupid, right?
Well, it’s not stupid to me. In my mind, I can already see all the pictures splattered across the media once I’m murdered, even though I know that my dad and his team will probably—absolutely—stop the images of my dead body from showing up all over the newspapers, the TV and the internet. ‘Suppressing’ they call it. They will suppress them from leaking to the press.
But what good will it do to me?
So many people will have already seen them, palace staff, the photographers and the legal team, to say the least, and I don’t—
The glass gives way, about to shatter. My thoughts are immediately wrenched away from all the ways my naked body will look when it’s dead in the photos, and I spring into action.
I quickly pull up my jeans, my skin still wet and clammy, promptly stubbing my toe in the corner. There is no time for pain. Next, bra and sweater, and pulling on my shoes as I stumble towards the door. The window sounds as if it’s already hacked to pieces—I can’t waste a second to look at it. I run out the door and down into the stairs as I hear the window give way, showering the floor in broken glass, but I don’t wait to find out if the hole is big enough to fit a person through—or what the person looks like, for that matter. I stumble outside into the storm, almost falling flat on my face, because I still can’t feel my toes, and rain immediately slashes at my cheeks, whips my hair onto my face, blinds me. I stumble over the roots of trees, running madly into the trees, away from the darkness that’s chasing me, pressing close to me. Except that I run into more darkness.
It’s raining so much that I can’t see, this violent, horrible rain that’s nothing but freezing water pouring down on me, hitting my face, my hair, my clothes viciously.
I fall countless times, the water stinging at the cuts and slices I get all over my skin, but I still keep running blindly. At some point, it begins to hail, and it feels like my face is getting stung by a million tiny knives. I can no longer see. For all I know, I’m running in circles. For all I’m know, I’m running straight to my killer. For all I know—
Suddenly, a pair of arms wraps itself around me, hard as steel, and a scream bubbles up inside my chest, but I don’t have enough strength to voice it.
“Shhh it’s me, it’s me, I’m here. It’s ok, you’re safe.” Marco’s voice.
His arms tighten around me and for a second or two, the hail stops slicing at my skin. He covers me with his body and takes off his jacket to place around me, but I don’t feel anything except its weight on my shoulders. I don’t feel warmth, I don’t feel protected. And as for ‘safe’? Yeah, right. Safe is the last thing I am.
He drops his arms from around me for a split second, and the rain and hail assault me with a vengeance. Then, he’s there again, covering me with his broad shoulders, and the pain on my skin recedes. But the pain in my heart is still there, suffocating me.
Marco rubs his hands up and down my icy, wet sleeves, but I can’t feel them. I can’t breathe.
“I’m here,” he keeps saying. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m here, come on.”He came back,I think somewhere in the daze of pain and fear.He was coming back for me.Or was he? I don’t know what to think anymore. He takes a step, his arms still around me, and tries to guide me into the night, but I don’t follow him. I can’t. Also, I don’t want to. “We can’t stay here, ok? It’s raining and we’re targets.” His voice is gentle, but he has to speak loudly so that I can hear him over the clamor of the storm.
I stumble and he catches me.
“Will we die?” I ask him, or at least, I think that’s what comes out of my mouth. It’s filled with water, drops running down my cheeks, my chin, my neck, and my lips aren’t working properly.
“Youwon’t,” he says fiercely.
“Marco…” My teeth are chattering. I’m so tired of being cold. This is—wait. What? “What did you just say? Did you sayIwon’t? Did you mean to say that only I… No, you…” My lips can’t form words. Everywhere I turn, there is thick darkness and wind trying to sweep me away from the world, and his body is the only solid thing that exists.
“Come on, Olivia,” he says, his voice gruff. So, we’re back to ‘Olivia’ again. “Come on, we need to go.”
“Remember when you asked me ‘why me?’” I try to look up into his face, but there is water in my eyes and hail slicing at my cheeks.
“Of course I remember,” he replies immediately. “I’ve been asking it in my head for the last few hours constantly. For the past few days, if I’m being honest.”
“It’s because I trust you. Trusted you.” He inhales sharply. “Even if you don’t like me.”
“Don’t like you?” he chuckles, chokes a little. I can’t see the expression on his face; I can barely make out his shape. He spits out raindrops as he shouts: “Are you kidding? I’ve been dying or about to die for you for weeks, I’ve been—”
“What?” I whip around so quickly I get a mouthful of wet hair. “Why?”
“Nothing,” his arm comes around my waist again, trying to lead me further into a forest. The trees sway above our heads, branches cracking in the wind. “Never mind that now, we need to go. We need to goright now, ok?”
“Tell me, Marco,” I insist, not moving. It’s not like I have many choices right now, but as long as I can still breathe (well, sort of), I’ll try to get some answers, dammit.
“Do you trust me?” He lowers his head to my line of vision, and I can suddenly see his eyes huge, terrified, staring into mine. His face is streaming with water, and his lips are dark red with it as he screams to be heard over the noise of the storm. “Truly trust me, like you said you did?”
