Page 149 of Prince of Masks
That numbness that held me tonight was a blessing, and if I could beg for its return, I would get on my hands and knees now, under the moonlight.
Anything is better than this.
The shuddering, wet breaths that come out of me too choppy, too sore in my chest; the scrape of them down my throat as I stagger onto the winding paths of the upper gardens.
Beyond the one, single thread of thought I hold onto, to return to my private chamber, to hide there, I am utterly aimless.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what my next move should be in this chess game of my life.
I don’t know how to hide from the gazes that are sliding to me from all over as I stagger to the palace.
And—as I catch sight of Eric over by the La Loire sculpture, his soft grin much too close to Asta’s lovely mouth—I don’t know how to stop the sob from bubbling up me.
It chokes me.
Spurs me, and I’m suddenly running up the path for the rear doors into the palace.
The whirl of my panicked run draws in more looks; and the more that look at me, the more tears fall.
I barrel into the old embellished door and shove through it, hard enough to bruise my shoulder.
But I don’t stop.
Not as my breaths turn ragged, and my head dizzies from the lack of oxygen, I just keep running—up the stairs and down corridors—until I’m blasting through the door to the private chamber, and slamming it shut behind me.
It doesn’t shut.
It doesn’t slam.
The door doesn’t close.
Heaving, I stare at it through the murky gloss of my tears. I stare at the tanned hand gripping its edge.
Then, in a strangled heartbeat, it’s pushed open, and Oliver slips inside.
His wide gaze is on me, standing in the middle of the room, my chest heaving with grated breaths.
He shuts the door behind him.
Oliver moves for me, panic glittering in his eyes.
Everything is a blur. The white walls, the black framed mirrors, the emerald velvet seats—it smears into a painted canvas that’s been left out in the rain, and I can’t make sense of it.
“What?” he heaves the words and tugs me around to face him. “What do you know?”
I can’t breathe…
I can’t breathe…
“Breathe, Liv,breathe.”
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
I can’t even move my lips. I can’t move my tongue. I am petrified, stiff, and I can’t summon enough energy to move a muscle just to ask the fucking word screaming in my bones.
Dray…
