Rise of a Queen

Chapter 50

I can't move. I don't want to move.

I don't want to do anything, to be honest. I don't want to cry or feel, I don't want my heart to beat or my lungs to fill. I would much rather just vanish, if at all possible, into the wind where no one can find me. Or hurt me.

Unfortunately, I am not the wind. I cannot whisk myself away or disappear amongst the clouds. And everyday I am reminded how easy it is to be harmed in this entirely too tactile world.

Every hour, down to the exact minute, tears swell behind my eyes and make them hurt until they close. A short while later, they open once again. But nothing has changed. The world is still dark and cold. My body is still numb. My heart throbs a little out of rhythm and my mind trudges through desultory thoughts that makes my surroundings appear less vibrant than they probably are. Everything around me is dull, so I adopt the same sensation and I simply let myself subside.

Further and further.

There is only emptiness to keep my veins supplied with curses and discourse but there is not enough left in me, not enough to feel anger or hatred. But I almost wish there was. Because at the moment, I do not feel much of anything.

And this sensation ... of feeling nothing and caring about nothing ... scares me, or at least it would scare me if I could still feel. But even now, I do not grasp that fear with fists clenched tight or grit in my set jaw. It is a loose kind of fear, one that I sometimes entertain and sometimes exile. The kind of fear that seems to only stalk me well after the moon has risen, when the world is hushed, and there is nothing to drown out the banshee screams of my self deprecating thoughts.

Midnight has become my worst enemy. It is a time when I cannot hide from myself.

Three nights have passed since. I assume I have had visitors, though I don't recall their faces. Some features are easily remembered, some are not. I know they are my friends coming to check on me, worried about my health and mental wellbeing. But they speak nothing of hope and none of them smile when they come to see me here, in Dustin's room, where I have locked myself away from the disgraces that are too damning to face. Mostly, I only notice them peeking in through the door, then they sit with me and hold me while I cry. And eventually, when I have fallen asleep, they sneak out to let me rest.

Dustin is the only one who stays indefinitely.

"Hi, baby." He whispered tenderly from where he was laying beside me, "You're awake."

He sounds as tired as I feel but that is understandable, he has nightmares too. I do not know what he dreams of, but whatever is marred behind those harrowing eyes keeps him thrashing and suffering at all hours. Sometimes, I sit up almost all night to watch him while he sleeps, it is easier than having to endure my own subconscious terrors. He talks in his sleep, revealing more than he would ever care to admit while awake, and the things I have heard him recall are ... heartbreaking.

Sometimes I wake him, sometimes I do not; I just don't have the energy. But when I do, we spend the rest of the night holding each other and avoiding our inner demons, waiting just beyond the veil of their subdued clutches where they wait for the next moon to continue their ploy of destroying us from within.

We have been through a lot during this journey and I expected trauma, but this? This is our great reward? This is what becomes of the heroes we all worship so dearly as children? Capes collect dust in locked closets, glass slippers crack, magic roses wilt, and the unyielding determination of dashing princes crumble beneath the towers they once rescued their cherished princesses from.

Why don't fairytales ever warn us about what happens after the happy ending? How foolish we are to think defeating villains doesn't leave scars.

Dustin felt my wandering thoughts and he pulled me into his arms, a weak hold because of his immobile shoulder but one that diffused his warmth into my chilled skin since I couldn't seem to sustain proper body heat after the horrific events in the lot. It took hours to dig the bullet out of his shoulder but before, during, and even after, Dustin has been unconditionally attentive. He is always at my side to pull me away from the ledge that I am so ready to jump from.