Black Knight (Royal Elite #4) by Rina Kent

My chin trembles and it takes everything in me not to take refuge in him. I can’t bother Dad. He’s a busy man and doesn’t need this whole mess in his life.

“Please, Angel. Please let me help you…” His voice breaks and the first tears flow down my cheeks simultaneously.

“D-Daddy, I don’t want to see Mum, please? I don’t want to see how much she hates me and is disappointed in me.”

His jaw tics and he says in an eloquent voice, “You won’t. I promise.”

“What if… What if Mum hates me, what if she –”

“Fuck her,” he snaps, then forces a smile. “If she hates you, it’s only because she thinks you’re a reflection of her ugliness. It’s not you, Kim. It’s her and her self-image and her damn artistic philosophy. I’m so sorry I didn’t take the time to tell you this earlier. I’m so sorry, Angel.”

Those words are my undoing.

I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and burying my head in his shoulder.

The sobs that rise from my chest are ugly and unhinged, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

It’s as if I’ve been waiting my entire life for a moment like this. It’s even better than the purge I felt whenever I cut or popped those pills.

Those were imaginary and temporary releases; this one is real.

All too real.

Dad smells of sandalwood and cosy nights. His embrace brings back my childhood days when he used to carry me on his shoulders and just take me out.

When he used to let me sleep in his embrace whenever I was spooked by a nightmare.

When he used to play with me and read me stories after Nana couldn’t.

That Daddy was a part of my armour against Mum.

I lost him to his job and was never able to get him back.

“K-Kir,” I manage between sobs. “I-is he here? Don’t let him see me this way, Dad.”

“Don’t worry, he’s with Henry.”

Oh, thank God. I can’t scar him again.

What is wrong with me?

How could I do this without thinking of the other people my life? How could I not think of Kirian and how alone he’d be in the world? How could I not think of Dad, who, even though he’s holding me and whispering soothing words to me, his chest rises and falls with harsh breaths as if he’s about to combust?

I was going to leave Dad and Kir behind. I was going to stab them in the chest and go without thinking about the depth of the wound I caused.

“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I hiccough, my voice muffled with his shirt.

“I’m sorry, too, Angel. I’m sorry I didn’t see this sooner or protect you sooner.”

“D-don’t say that, Daddy. You always protected me.”

“Not enough.”

“Dad…”

He reaches between us and wipes my tears away. “From today on, promise you’ll talk to me.”

I nod, sniffling. For a long time, I’ve dreamt about a moment like this. I practised it every night, too.

Yes. I practised the time I’d open up to someone about the fog that’s been residing in my brain.

I couldn’t be any happier that it’s Dad, not some therapist.

“Promise you won’t hate me?” I ask anyway.

He strokes my hair back. “Never, Angel. You’re my only daughter.”

I inhale a deep intake of air, my heart slamming against its cavities so hard, I can almost hear it.

No idea how or where to start, so I let my gut lead me as I pour it all out.

“You know when you sometimes wake up and you’re disoriented and don’t know where or who you are? I’m that way every day. It’s not a phase and it doesn’t go away. Every day, I remember I’ll meet Mum, talk to Mum, and see the disappointment in her eyes. Every day, I remember I’ll go to school and see the boy who used to be my best friend, then realise I don’t exist for him anymore. Every day, I wonder if I’m invisible and if maybe I stopped existing altogether at a moment in time. Every day, I struggle with the need to stay afloat, to eat, to keep fighting because Kirian needs me. But other times, I think maybe he’s better off without me. Other times, I get too weak and can’t fight anymore. Sometimes, Mum snaps at me and I just have to relieve that pain someplace else, so I cut and watch the pain disappear with the blood. I know it’s wrong and I feel so bad afterwards, to the point I can’t look at myself in the mirror, but I can’t stop, because the physical pain is better than the emotional pain. The blood is better than being suffocated by the fog.”

I’m sobbing by now. A tear slides down Dad’s cheek, but he continues holding me close as if he’s afraid to let go.

I grip him by the shirt, digging my nails in. “Help me stop, Daddy. I need help.”





22





Xander





People can become ghosts.

They can exist, even if at the same time they don’t. They can go unnoticed so that even though everyone looks at them, they don’t really see them.

That’s how I spent the last two days at the hospital, sleeping on benches, using the bathroom’s soap to freshen up, surviving on coffee – actual coffee, not the one cocktailed with vodka.

Being sober for two days straight sucks. It’s like seeing the world from non-grainy eyes, and the view isn’t pretty.