Black Knight (Royal Elite #4) by Rina Kent

“Have you been drinking?” She shakes her head and points at the food containers, the half-empty crisp bags “And what is that junk food? What did I say about losing that weight, Kimberly?”

“I’m sorry.” My chin trembles. “I’m sorry I’m a disappointment, Mum. I’m sorry you have to be stuck with someone like me.”

With every word out of my mouth, tears stream down my cheeks. They’re not only tears, though. They’re everything I’ve felt since I was a child.

Every time Mum is in sight, I feel so small; I dress wrong, breathe wrong, act wrong.

I exist wrong.

“If you’re sorry, fix it.” She stares down her nose at me. “Be worthy of being my daughter for once in your useless life.”

I nod frantically. “I’ll fix it.”

She does another glance over and her lips thin in a line, in disgust, in disappointment, in distaste.

Mum isn’t seeing me or the scar that’s visible since my pyjamas are short-sleeved. She doesn’t see the tears pooling in my eyes or the screams behind those tears.

She’s seeing a mess that she’s stuck with. She’s seeing someone who can ruin her image.

That’s all that I’ve been to her since I was born, a liability, a damn mistake.

I heard her tell Dad that last year, around the time my mental health took a sharp dive and the fog became my constant companion.

We shouldn’t have let her come into the world. Look at her. She’s a mess, Calvin.

Dad fought with her and stood up for me, but I don’t remember his words. It’s strange how the human mind only focuses on certain things, but not others, how I can only remember her saying I’m a mess, but not Dad calling me an angel.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve always craved attention she’s never given, love she’ll never grant, and care she’s not capable of.

Still, I find myself begging her with my eyes.

Look at me, Mum.

Help me.

Be my mum.

She turns around and leaves without as much as a glance. On her way out, she mutters to herself, “What have I done to deserve this?”

A strong wave of nausea hits me and I open the lid, clutching the sides with both hands, and heave until nothing comes out. I’m dizzy, and I feel as if I’ve been vomiting my soul aside from my gut.

The fog invades the bathroom like a being. It has a large body, all filled with black smoke while its invisible hands wrap around my throat.

Fix it, Kimberly.

Be worthy of being my daughter for once in your useless life

Look at her. She’s a mess.

Mum’s words tighten the imaginary noose around my neck, or is it imaginary? Maybe those are the words I’ve always needed to hear. Those are everything I am.

A loser, rubbish. No one wants you.

You’re nothing. How about you become nothing?

Those voices heighten and tighten around my chest like thorns, prickling away at my heart.

Disappear from my fucking life.

Xander’s words are like that last stab. It’s not even the strongest one, but it’s the most fatal.

Since we were children, he’s been my sanctuary against Mum. Not only did he take that away, but he also took his position as my support, my safe haven.

Then he pretended I didn't exist.

He’s even worse than her. At least she never pretended to care about me.

He showed me the world, then pushed me off the edge.

He painted the stars into the dark sky, then pulled them down in one go.

When we were young and I told him I loved stars, he got me one, a special star. It’s from an actual star, he said. He stole it from his dad and I should keep it a secret.

I dig into my pocket and bring out the bracelet with the ugly black motif in the middle.

He said it’s ugly on the outside, but only because it travelled planets to be with me, just like he always will.

Liar.

I retrieve my phone and type the text I always wanted to send him but never had the courage to.

Could be the alcohol or the pills or both.

Kimberly: I wish you were never my friend. I wish you had never told me you’d be there for me. I wish you didn’t know so much about me and still chose not to be with me. I wish there was never me or you or us.

I let the phone fall to my side.

The fog’s hold on my neck turns into rope, tight and hard.

It’s a place where everything and anything are possible. The world is at the tip of my finger, so I take it.

Reaching under the empty bags of crisps, I bring out the blade. It’s been there the entire time with the food and the alcohol and the pills – the ones Mum didn’t see, because she never sees me.

When did it start getting so bad so fast? When did I start losing myself this hard and with no way to come out?

Is this how it feels when nothing is left and it’s all just…fog?

Fog doesn’t tell lies. The fog has been here many times before when I’ve lost myself to that impulse and I couldn’t get out.

Or is it an impulse?

Maybe it’s what I was always supposed to do.

This time, my hand doesn’t tremble; it’s steady and precise. This time, I don’t cry and look at the door expecting, hoping Mum will come here and tell me she’s here for me.

This time, it’s all over.

I slice through the veins vertically in two long, swift moves. At first, it’s just a sting. I feel it, but I don’t at the same time.