What It Means To Be King

Chapter 45: Infinite Colors Make A White

Yeah I miss you too. But like I didn't proofread at all and this is going to contain tens of grammar errors and weird wording choice, but suck it up, it's better than nothing y'all. Love you so much. 

༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

Shao Long woke up to pain. 

Not like being stabbed in the gut kind of pain. More like, falling off a thirty floor building kind. The kind where your ears feel a little extra waxy, your nose almost falling off, your eyes unable to open further than a millimeter and that one massive headache that felt like someone cracked open his skull with a weapon, and sewed it shut after leaving the weapon in question inside. Not to mention how his spine felt like concrete, flat on the bed that not even the softest of mattress could be of comfort. The only thing telling him that he wasn't paralyzed is that he was able to twitch his toes. But that's the extent of it. His toes. Not his whole leg, not his arms, not even his hip. Every joint felt high with booze and the briefest touch of the blanket to his skin felt like violence. The blanket felt no colder than it was without for a reason he couldn't figure out, but a glance to the thermostat made him grimace. The temperature was normal, if not warmer and yet he was freezing. His nose wasn't running as badly as he dreaded for, but his throat felt like there was a boulder stuck there somewhere. 

A shudder left his shoulders at the thought of being sick. The sudden wave of realization that it all rooted from him suddenly wanting to play hero by playing villain made his choke on his own saliva. He... Did he save the princes? No, he didn't. It was Anubis on the lead while he stayed back after fighting off gangsters like his life depended on it, the same gangsters that Anubis would have no more than 3 minutes to deal with.

Useless.

Useless.



Useless.

Even when you're trying to help, you changed nothing. (Get out of my head)

'Not when his parents desperately needed as much money they could get.'

He swallowed. (Shut up)

'Not when his idea was rejected by the Student Council.'

His fingers shook. (Out!)

'Not when his attempt of revenge was shaken off like child's play.' 

A fist to his mouth to stop his harsh breaths. (No.)

'Or when his Granny couldn't hold on long enough for the inhaler to arrive home.'

Lips quivered. (It's not true...)

'Or when his foster parents didn't have a choice but to send him back to China.'

A pathetic, pathetic, pathetic sob. 

(It's not true...)

Shao Long grasped for a firm breath to ground himself back from hyperventilating. He can't do this, he was just sick. Everything else was normal, only he was just suffering from the brunt of yesterday.