After talking with Levy for a few hours, he falls asleep. And I am left alone with my thoughts. I hate being left alone with my thoughts.
The thinks I think about are imaginable for anyone else, but oh how I imagine it. I try not to think of my brother, swinging— stop. I need to stop.
I was so happy a few minutes ago and now it's gone. I'm overwhelmed by emotions. Emotions of sadness, fear, anger, jealousy. All emotions j should t have. Jealousy? I'm jealousy my brother is dead and not me. Thinking the words is making them too real, speaking them is imaginable.
I fidget with my fingers, rummage in my bags. I need something to do, so I search for it. I find a book, the only book I packed. I don't even remember putting it in my bag. I left my copy of, I fell in love with hope, back in the dorms. What I'm holding is a classic.
I flip through the pages. I'm too tired to read any of the words. They jump around in the page giving me a headache. I close the book, without even trying to read a single page of it, and throw it in my bag.
"Why are you so loud?" A calm voice says. He says it as if he's making notes, as if it's not a question at all.
Hayden.
For a moment I wonder if he's been awake this whole time, watching me fidget. Maybe even before that, listening to Levy and I talk. There's no way he's been up that long, is there?
"I am not," I protest. "You're just trying to sleep, there's a difference."
He throws his bag off his lap, I would expect the cold to hit him, make him shiver, but he does not move. Interesting.
"No. You are loud. It doesn't matter if someone is trying to sleep or not. You are very loud," he says.
"You keeping tabs on me, H?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
"It's unnecessary to keep tabs about something so trivial. A simple outing with you and one would never forget your loudness," he says.
"You're so annoying. Why do you have to talk like a teacher," I say, running a hand down my face, pulling down my eyelids.
"I do not speak like a teacher," he protest.
"'Speak,'" I mimic.
He takes a slight double take before composing himself.
"Why do you care so much how I talk? Is it not normal for you to talk to people who are civilized? I thought you were the princess, don't you talk to everyone in the noble class," he's not asking a question. He's mocking me.
"I talk with many social classes, from nobles to peasants," I say, immediately, regret fills my face and I can feel the weight of it make my lips fall, my cheeks droop.
"When have you ever talked to a peasant? I've never seen that," he laughs. For a moment I'm glad he didn't take what I said as 'you think there are social classes.' Then when what he says hits me, I take a double take.
"You've never seen me talk to a peasant?" I ask slowly, not a question.
"On the news?" He says slowly. "I have a TV." Hayden rolls his eyes.
My pulse slows again. I don't know why but I just got the feeling he was talking about stalking me. Creepy. But also melodramatic.
"Oh," I say, heat is coating my cheeks like a seal of fresh paint. I lower my gaze and let my hair fall in front of my face, as a cover, a curtain. I don't want him to know I'm blushing because he made me feel stupid or dramatic. But not because he might feel bad for embarrassing me, because he wouldn't care. He'd probably laugh at my flushing, not having a second thought of what role he had to play in my embarrassment.
"What did you think I meant?" He laughs. "You think I'm going to waste my time watching you? I'm willing to bet every penny I have on the fact you stay inside 24/7 and only leave that 'castle' of yours once a week, 'to talk to the peasants'" he's cracking himself up.
And he's one hundred percent right.
Almost.
"I leave the castle once a week, to talk to everyone," is what I retaliate with. Incredible.
"Big difference," he says sarcastically.
"Very big, actually."
"Whoah there, I thought we were talking about social glasses," he laughs with a smirk on his face raising his hands in mock-surrender.
Confusion flows through my veins.
he's already laughing at me enough, could he laugh any more? So: "what?" I ask, and almost instantly regret it.
"We'll out of nowhere you started describing my—"
"Stop," I interrupt already knowing what he's going to say. "I hate people like you, arrogant, self centered."
"You, my dear, just described yourself."
"No I did not, I described you." Why does he make me so mad? Anger is hot, and it's burning in my fists.
"Okay, sweetheart. Whatever you say," he says pulling his bag back in the bench and resting it to the side of him. Then he rests his head on the bag and it sinks deep into it. He shifts around, getting comfortable, and then closes his eyes.
I try to talk but stop when I realize he's no longer listening.
I want to punch something. He wasn't even that bad, I don't know why I'm so angry after talking to him.
After quietly punching and kicking my bag as hard as I could without waking the others or breaking my things, I decide it's time for sleep.
I pull my bag onto the bench and rest my head on it, much like Hayden did just a few minutes ago.
I close my eyes and exhale. My face softens, I feel it.
And as soon as I'm almost asleep,
"WAKE UP!!! The train will be here in five!"
Word count: 1009
5-24-23
Guys I feel like I'm dragging out this beginning, I promise it will get interesting soon!!
(Ps: I didn't proofread this chapter either because it's too late at night for that and I've already been here for like an hour so just deal with it!)
HAVE AN AMAZING DAY! ❤️
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Royal love
RomanceAdeline Palmer, the crown Princess of France, was sent to a boarding school after someone attempted her life. Suddenly, a few months into her stay at the school, people start going missing and turning up dead a few days later, tortured to death. Wh...
