Page 44 of Royal Havoc

Brows shooting to my hair, eyes close to watering from the burn. “Excuse me?” I hiss, completely baffled.

He’s seriously more deranged than I thought.

Peering at me over the lid, sippingmycoffee. “I didn’t stutter. Two seconds,” he warns seriously.

Apparently, he woke up embracing his inner Satan today. But here’s the issue, my dumbass picked the tiniest thong I own for my little revenge session. If he lays a hand on me, my ass is going to be plastered all over socials in seconds.

Peering into the bag…

The demented fuck busted a load on his sweats and expects me to frolic around in them like they’re cat nip.

Slicing his jugular with my eyes as I kick off my Mary Janes, snatching the sperm-saturated cotton from the bag before gracefully shoving my feet in them. Then proceed to strategically shimmy them up without giving a show for the nosy assholes pointing their cameras at me.

“Happy?” I groan, arms wide. He nods at the bag, and I notice the hoodie. I growl, bending over to get it, and quickly pull it over my head.

Anxiety fills me like an IV drip, slow and steady, crackling over my skin as I notice the few phones pointed at me.

He leans close to my ear. “Now everyone will see who you belong to. Dress like a whore, and I’ll treat you like one.” He hands me back the cup and grabs the empty bag from the floor. “See you at lunch.” He winks, walking backward, grinning like a demon. “Check.”

My knees grow weak, nerves fizzling in my gut. The crowd disperses, ignoring my inability to move. With concentration, I’m able to get myself to the row of lockers. Leaning my shoulder on the hard metal, using it to hold me up as I creep down the empty hall to the bathroom.

twenty-three

Silent Insanity

Tulip: 2011 Age: 14 ½

The silence filling my room helps settle the crawling beneath my skin. Panic hovers in the corner, waiting for a crack in the calm so it can seep in and set me on edge.

Ihatetoday. Every year, it comes, and every year, my hate grows.

My anniversary, the day I was given away.

Unanswered questions, along with what ifs and whys, cluster in my brain, popping uncontrollably like popcorn.

Dimples is the only thing I want and need today. His fluffy silence soothes my soul.

The slot in the middle of the door slides open, cracking the calm. “Tulip, the doctor wants to see you,” Dan informs me, watching through the small glass window above the slot.

Panic seizes its moment, seeping through my unguarded pores, clawing at my lungs. “Not today,” I answer slowly, air bleeding from my punctured lungs.

“He gave strict orders,” Dan responds, letting me see the apology in his eyes.

My feet feel too heavy as I hold my arms out, spinning around. Muscle memory has me pulling out my pockets.

“All clear,” he announces, opening the door.

I shuffle past him, ignoring my shoes. I’m too stricken by the crawling under my skin to care.

Bolton's sitting in the chair when we enter his office. “Thank you, Dan,” he says before dismissing him. “Please sit,” he offers, gesturing to the sofa.

I perch myself on the edge of the cushion, fidgeting with my nails. All my efforts spent battling with the rage brewing in my gut.

“This couldn’t be re-scheduled. Breathe. Control the greed. Remember your patience,” he instructs, fueling my chaotic insides.

Pulling my sleeves over my palms, protecting them from my nails. “I want to be alone,” I hiss hatefully.

A knock on the door startles me, swirling the chaos I’m struggling to contain. His head tilts, eyes pleading with me to gain control.

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