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I’m so sorry, O. I shouldn’t have written those… I regret so many things. I’m not sure I should have done some of the things I did. I know that I definitely shouldn’t have done some other things I did. I hurt you, and that was the last thing I wanted.
As for the posts, I meant well when I created them, but that doesn’t mean anything in the end, does it? Not when you’re dead. Please don’t be dead. God, I couldn’t live with that. I can’t live without you, O. I never could.
Everyone here is freaking out. You wouldn’t believe the circus that this place has become. The palace, the whole world really. Everyone is losing their freaking minds. The soldiers all over the world are pressing their fingers to the trigger, waiting for the order to pull it the minute you’re discovered dead. To start their war.
And no one knows where you are, or if you still are anywhere.
You would hate this so much. You always hated being the center of attention, but this… This is something else. Half of us are crying uncontrollably, the rest of us are preparing to go into hiding in case the war breaks out. But all of us are broken inside. I am broken.
I’m so sorry. I worked so hard to prevent this very thing, this war, but I never meant for you to be in so much danger. In so much pain. That was the exact thing I wanted to avoid. Believe it or not, I created The Rotten Royals to help. To protect you. To keep you safe.
To stop this whole freaking war.
But things were moving so much faster than I had ever anticipated. Things had already been decided when I started posting, and it was already too late. All I managed to do was hurt you before you died, and even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, I did it, and now I have to live with it. I just don’t know how to live in a world where you don’t exist.
Please exist.
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eight
Before he starts, he stops.
He begins saying how he ended up joining the army, how poor he was, how his dad left before he was born, glossing over everything super quickly and not dwelling on the painful stuff, and then suddenly he stops talking.
“What?” I ask, thinking he changed his mind.
“You…” he swallows, looks towards the door. He heard something, didn’t he? My ears are immediately alert and I sit up.
“Is there someone out there?” I ask, dropping my voice.
“Might be.” Marco’s lips tighten. There are no windows in here, which is just as well, but that means that we have to stay silent for a bit, utterly motionless, ears cocked. It’s hard to discern which sounds are the rain and what aren’t. I wait him out, trusting that he’s trained to know when the enemy is approaching.
The enemy. My spine shakes with fear, and I try to control the chattering of my teeth so that Marco won’t notice.
“Listen,” he says, and his voice is changed. It’s his hard voice, all baritone and rumble. “Listen, you need to call your dad.”
And that is the moment.
I don’t think that actual death might be more of a shock. As far as I’m concerned, this is the moment that I actually die. That I feel that it’s the end.
He did hear something, didn’t he? It’s time. It’s time to say my goodbyes.
Marco’s eyes are on my face, never leaving my gaze as he pats his pocket for his phone. He dials a number, and holds it out to me. He looks scared, as if I’m a bomb that is going to explode any minute now.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m here. It’s dialing.”
They might as well trace the call now, I think. Actually, they should. But Marco has been calling for backup for the past few hours, and the backup is here, and dead. So what’s the point in anything?
He hands the phone over to me and I drop it twice, my hands are shaking this bad. He still doesn’t want to move closer, but after the second time I drop his phone, he raises himself on his knees and crawls to me, holds the phone up to my ear.
“I’m here,” he says again, and the rumble of his deep voice is the only thing keeping me breathing.
My father’s secretary says: “Hello?”
Wow. Marco has her number. Not a generic palace number. The king’s secretary’s number. Very few people apart from me have that kind of access. He really is neck-deep in it, isn’t he? I don’t know how much realer things can get, but with every moment that passes, every single thing that proves Marco’s words breaks me further. Even when I don’t think I can break anymore.
I break more.
