The Tattooed Prince

The Tattooed Prince(3)

 It didn’t take long before the entire country knew Prince Sebastian was engaged. To who, that was a complete mystery, but everyone was eager to find out who the new Princess was going to be.

This is the point where my life began rising to the cliff point in a roller coaster ride. For most people this is the anxious, palm sweating, and heart racing moment, but it wasn’t for me. I was staring the flat screen television as the reporters announced the engagement. My jaw dropped nearly to the ground while the news kept talking about the great news.

What the hell was The Queen thinking? She had promised me she would tell me when she would announce the engagement to the country. That’s the only part of her blabbering I remember perfectly in my head.

My mom stepped in the media room with her usual coffee cup in her hand. She looked over at the television then at me. “What’s wrong with you?” She questioned me.

I closed my mouth looking over at her. “Did you know she was going to announce the engagement to the public?” I stared at her suspiciously.

My mom shrugged before taking a small sip of her coffee. “Sophia called, saying something about The Royal Court wanted the wedding sooner than they expected.”

I stood up throwing the control on the couch. “Mom, seriously!” I cried out. “Do you literally not care what happens with me?”

She rolled her eyes at me. “Of course I care, but what do you want me to tell you Adalyn?” She asked me. “Even if you don’t want to get married this soon you have no choice.”

Although she was right, that’s not what I wanted to hear from her. It had been almost two weeks since I agreed to the engagement, and she hadn’t said a word to me about it. She hardly spoke to me when I wasn’t engage and now when I am, she doesn’t even look my way.

Was she that blind to notice that I wanted her to be a mother figure? I wanted some parent support at a time like this, but instead she spoke to me as if I was clueless. Normal moms would be dead excited their daughters were going to be princess, but she seemed like she was just relief to get me off her hands.

I bit down on my bottom lip holding back the tears. “It would be nice if maybe every now and then you could pretend like you wanted to be my mom, and show some sympathy.” I spoke out.

“You’re just over reacting.” She firmly said.

I nodded. “I probably am, but either way you should care a little Ashley.”

I walked past her grabbing my purse and keys from the hanger by the door. It was usual for me calling her Ashley, it felt better then calling her: mom. She wasn’t much of a mother to me anyways, but whenever I would get upset with her mom was usually what I called her.

It’s sad how someone can conceive you with love, and show no love when your born. I like to imagine that when I was younger she cared, that they both did. But I can’t remember my childhood life, I don’t know why. Nana says that once you grow up your mind begins to remember old memories, some which that aren’t the most pleasant. She thinks maybe before she got a chance to raise me a traumatic moment occurred and I blocked every existence of it.