Page 7 of Royal Havoc

Watching him pull from the drive is a feeling I never expected to have.Solitude? Complete loneliness?Coming to the realization that you’re absolutely alone in the world is a staggering emotion.

three

The Sperm Donor

Onyx: 2024

The structure waiting in front of me is anything but a house. I recall Mom referring to it as anestate.Who calls their home an estate?The word alone invokes coldness.

No wonder she was never happy here.

From the few fragmented memories I have left, nothing about this place has changed. The cold gray bricks represent a fortress of ice, frozen, refusing to let time alter it. I can still see the empty rows where the tulips will grow during the right season.

I know if I walk down the stone path to my right, past the rounded brick tower where I spent countless hours pretending to be a queen, waiting on her king -Newsflash: Kings are fake ass hats!- I’ll find the small gray ranch-style cottageperched on the edge of the land, overlooking the river. Even though the grounds are huge, there isn’t much distance between the structures on this side of the property — just the massive weeping willow, wherewespent most of our days.

Once upon a time, this was my pretend castle. Now, it’s just a shitty memory I wish I could forget.

Exhaling, pushing old moments I swore to forget into the void as I heave the overnight bag off the ground. I’m pissed at myself. Angry with the world. Sick over the bullshit I’m being forced to do and confused as fuck at what I worry my life is about to become.

With every fiber of my soul, I never wanted to come back here.Nothingin this shithole town is worth the brainpower it would take to endure the memories. The man who was supposed to love me unconditionally left me on my fifth birthday.

The boy who promised to keep all my secrets locked away with his heart because someday it would be mine. Constantly reciting lame stories about our history being written, and no one could ever change it.

Lying sack of shit! My goal is to avoid him at all costs.

Anyway, this place is why I decided to remove the wordtrustfrom my vocabulary years ago. My short existence has been fractured and glued together too many times to dwell on some asshole's lies. My heart’s been shattered enough. If ripped from my chest, it’d probably look like a Rubik’s cube with scattered pieces fused to the new spots they’ve been spun to.

Each step I take, bringing me closer to the door, helps me shut down the storm brewing inside me. I refuse to waste one ounce of my precious energy on the worthless sperm donor ever again. Especially on the worst days, when I can feel my energy dwindling by the second.

The purple door is the only obstacle separating me and the life I never wanted to revisit. The only thing this place ever brought me was pain, and now I’m being forced to endure it again.

His voice grates against my ear drums when he greets me, bile bubbling from my stomach, reaching the back of my throat as I step inside. I can’t stomach his deceiving face at the moment, so I focus on the interior instead.

It’s as though I’ve stepped into a time warp, spiraling me back to my childhood.

Nothing’s changed.

Dim lighting cast over the entryway sets an uninviting tone. The cappuccino walls remind me of lonely shadows casted by small hands. While the same off-white carpet lines the stairs, making me wonder if the stains where it absorbed my forgotten tears can still be seen.

Wait… the pictures… are they different?

I notice the douchebag motion awkwardly for me to follow him down the hall to his office. The clanking of my heels over the marble floor reminds me of Mom, causing tears to sting the backs of my eyes as we enter his office. We split in different directions as though our lives depended on it, anxiety wrapping its long fingers around my chest, squeezing until it’s hard for me to breathe. The large window overlooking the grounds calls to me, giving me a portal from the suffocating proximity he’s lured me into.

Taking a moment, I lose myself in the scene outside, working to level out my breaths as I watch the weeping willow dancing in the breeze. From this view, I’m unable to see if the swing is still hanging from the branch. The same onewespent most ofourafternoons hiding in its shade.

Fuck the boy that stole my trust!

A memory I’ve held captive, locked away in a box, hidden in the darkest recesses of my brain, slithers through the worn cracks, making itself seen.

A little girl sits crying on the swing alone. From the corner of her leaking eyes, she sees the boy appear. She pretends not to watch as he trips over his own feet. When he finally reaches her, he offers her two roses. Angrily, she snatches them from his shaky hand, throwing them at the bushes. The boy seems so confused when she yells at him…

A wave of static crackles down my spine, pulling me from the memory, setting off warning bells as it gathers at the base. Cold sweat forms on my brow as I notice the figure standing by a black truck beyond the grounds and across the cul-de-sac. Slowly, realization sets in, helping me rationalize the situation.

They can’t see me.

The distance and the fact that I can hardly see them help the panic release its grip. My heart rate levels out, finally returning to normal.

“Onyx,” he calls from behind me, drawing attention to his forgotten presence.