by Elena Monroe
It was a kind of sleep I hadn't had in years. I had been functioning on four hours a night since I could remember.
I was probably an insomniac at this point. Not even coffee elicited the slightest buzz. Nothing but an entire bottle of NyQuil really put me on my ass.
The severity of four hours a night only hit my bones once in a while.
Bolton’s voice tumbled against my ear drums, and fear seeped into my soul. “Run.”
Wherever I was, it was too dark to even see my own hand in front of my face. I looked down, trying to listen to the ground against my Doc Martens carefully for clues, but I came up empty. Everything was put on mute, except Bolton’s voice, echoing for me to run.
I felt a sharp pain in my lower back, and it made my breath hitch and freeze. I tensed around a foreign object lodged into my back that my hands couldn't reach, and my vision was robbed by the heavy black of night.
His hot breath caressed my ear without feeling him touch me anywhere else, expertly touching everyone he came into contact with while keeping a distance I envied. Nothing touched him, not me sitting on his throne, not me wearing an invisible crown, not our moments my mind constantly replayed.
Bolton was untouchable.
“I told you to run. Still not listening.”
I still couldn't find my breath, as a painful groan escaped my lips, hoping if something came out that the pain would ease.
“Do you want me to hurt you, Arianna? Hurting you isn't some trophy. It will end us both.”
The sarcasm that ran through my veins wanted to smirk through the pain and taunt him with how strong I could be, but the pain brought me to my knees. I heard the dead leaves crunch under my bones. I was left speechless by the pain, something so rare it shocked even me.
“I will burn the world down, the end of us, if you make me hurt you.”
Slowly I felt myself bleed in and out of consciousness. It was hard to tell when my eyes were closed or not, both dark, but one held Bolton’s voice.
I woke up choking on my breath and the dream being the last thing on my mind. A cold sweat covered the back of my neck, chest, and back, like a fingerprint of my dream, all the affected areas.
I sat up in our empty and dark room, trying to regain composure. I touched everything around me, trying to convince myself that this was reality, tangible, while that dream was a version of Bolton’s betrayal that didn't exist.
Turning over, I saw that my phone read 5:30 p.m., and it was hard to be mad. I wanted to casually sleep through Kate’s plans.
She hijacked my adventure and now my revenge too.
I leaned over, tugging the drawer open that kept Henry Jon’s pages safely hidden in the pages between the old binding.
I opened where I had left off last night. After the half serpent/half bull appeared for Rosalia, and Henry Jon was made a believer in something beyond good and evil.
Something, or someone, like Bolton, playing both sides and making it look easy.
When Bolton was good, he almost glowed, and the hard edges seemed personable.
When Bolton was bad, he made me question what real torture was when he had your body aching, but begging for more.
He was an enigma wrapped up in beauty and pain.
By the time I dragged my still heavy body out of bed, it was almost time for her “plan” to kick off amateur hour. Everything about Kate was meant to irritate your patience.
She was a typical mean girl, without the two-faced jabs. If she had a jab, she didn't pretend to be anything but herself—one face, one girl (typically in pink), and no filter for her attitude.
My phone kept buzzing against the wood of the bedside table, while I threw on whatever my greedy hands pulled out of my drawer. It didn’t really matter what I chose, as long as it wasn't this stiff uniform, which got me nothing, except for detention for the unique spin I constantly put on it. I wore thigh highs instead of tights, Doc Martens instead of loafers, and none of my uniform was ever as pristine as the other girls.
Tonight, some leggings, a crop top, and flannel tied around my waist would have to do. Nothing designer or ironed, just all me.
The field was starting to become flooded with people ready to cheer on the players, for both sides.
Exeter was a rival of Arcadia in every sport, and picking a side was half the fun. Their rival had everyone in the stands involved, invested, and intrigued.
After seeing the game myself last time they played, I was in shock at the push and pull. All my other schools were firmly either the loser or winner. There was no push or pull.
Arcadia wasn’t anything like my other schools. The prestige practically assaulted you with just a glance, never mind attending here.
I got to the girls’ locker room to change, since I went against my better judgment and tried out for the team. That wasn't even the shocking part. That part was that my name sat comfortably on the short list of girls who made the team.
My earbuds blared PVRIS’s angsty ballads, which really sounded like poetry to my ears, when I walked in and went straight to my locker. So far, I was unscathed by Kate’s watchful eye.
I spoke too soon. I opened my locker to yank my cheer uniform off the hanger, closed my locker, and was scared shitless by her standing there.
“You're late. Get ready quick. We have boys to make drool.”
I let my head hang as I plucked my earbuds out of my ears and cursed myself for changing. I shouldn't have bothered. What a waste of being awake. I didn't bother giving her shit. I got changed and pulled my purple hair into a half up ponytail—the best I could manage with my medium length hair.
I smoothed out the crimson red and navy blue uniform in the mirror before I shifted my eyes up to see myself looking more polished than I had since my mom died.
It was an easy marker to my life: before my mom died or after. Two very different versions of myself, the same person, but a hell of a lot more tricks up my sleeves now.
She wouldn't approve of my love for vengeance, adventure, and danger. She wouldn't even approve of my words becoming arrows and piercing all the fragile skin I had.
I smiled big in the mirror, pretending to be someone I didn't know for a second—someone who didn't have so many defense mechanisms and so many people that she had fallen in love with just to vanish into a new town.
The smile faded quickly into my content straight lip. I gripped the porcelain sink so hard my hands flared up with red in every crease. I wasn't going to let myself be another person who judged me.
Stop being a little bitch. You don't need fake smiles and a mom. You wear a goddamn crown, and you need to act like it.
I guess I had a thing for affirmations. My straight lip curled into a smirk, and my eyes got muddy with deception, as I pushed out a huff to fog up the mirror before I drew a crown above my head. I stared at it until it bled. See? Even the royal bleed the same kind of fleeting defeat.
I walked away from my doodle on the mirror with my head held higher, letting the smirk act as armor.
Kate told the girls to start sideline cheers and waited for them to leave before unfolding her arms like her guard was down.
“You. Don't you have someone to meet? I'll be right outside the door. Make sure to get him outside. I have the cuffs.”
“Do I wanna know why you own handcuffs?”
She smiled to herself, looking down then back up to look me in the eye. “Cops and robbers, duh.”
I felt the game had different rules or was code for something. It explained a lot.
I wasn’t interested in being a cop or robber. I didn't want to break the rules or follow them, I wanted to create them.
“The kid’s game?”
She popped an eyebrow at me. “Not how Austin plays it. Everyone likes being the bad girl.”
I grabbed the cuffs from her hands trying to erase the images of Kate being a type of bad he could punish.
Ew.
I pivoted on the ball of my foot just how Kate taught me during pract
ices. Throwing it in her face felt good, and I walked away with more sass in my step than normal.
I inched closer and closer to the guest locker room, while I messaged Caellum to meet me by the emergency exit sign glowing above me. I prayed he wouldn't respond, but when my phone buzzed in my hand, I knew it was him.
Caellum: I don't celebrate before I win.
Me: I'm worth it.
Caellum: Oh, I know that. Bolton shoots higher than the normal standards. I wouldn't expect anything less.
I tried not to blush at his assumption. I wouldn't expect Bolton to choose anyone less worthy than someone royal enough to fit a crown.
Me: A little pregame fun. Come on.
Caellum: I can't take the begging. Okay, exit sign in five.
It wasn't five minutes later, when the locker room door opened, and he paraded down the short hallway to me and the exit. I gripped the cuffs behind me, not making any moves for him to hear the metal clank together and give me away.
He came closer, slowly, like I was his thunder, and his flames would cause a combustion big enough to burn even us. It made me uneasy, and his green eyes were intensifying the closer he got. I wanted to look away before my fake smile melted down my face.
Instead, I was pinned against the door with his piercing eyes.
He didn't leave much space between us, and he licked his lips as he looked down at me. Fire and thunder, dangerously close. I swallowed back kneeing him in the crotch. I didn't have any other reason, except for his smug-ass face being too close to mine.
What was the only thing keeping me from driving my knee into the only parts he was thinking with?
Bolton.
He deserved this win, my loyalty, and revenge for whatever this loser did to him that made his soul hate like he created the emotion.
His fingers manipulated strands falling out of my ponytail behind my ear as he leaned down, and I held my breath.
“Do you think I'm stupid, bitch? I wouldn't waste a victory on Bolton’s sloppy seconds… who, actually, really looks like thirds.”
The metal cuffs dug into my grip, leaving impressions I knew would be there when I let go. I let one hand go, rising in a motion to slap him and catch him off guard so I could cuff him to anything. He wasn't going to make it out the door to Kate if I didn't sell it enough here.
Before I could move any further, his strong arms closed around me, and he fished the cuffs from my grip. With one hard yank, he practically left a burn from the metal on my palms. He was stronger than he looked and acted, and way more than I could handle.
In a quick move, he had me handcuffed, but only one wrist. I laughed thinking he messed up, when I pulled my arm and realized I was cuffed to the door handle of the emergency exit.
Kate's plan was used against us.
I should have been on the outside, away from any kind of help I could shout for, but if he wasn't smart enough to think of that, then I wasn't offering to adjust myself to the outside instead.
“You really thought you could play me? Bolton knows better. No, I'm guessing you went rogue. Wanna win over his black little heart?”
I gathered all the moisture in my mouth and spit so hard I tasted the sour aftertaste. He leaned into me but not enough to let my free hand get ahold of him. “You're gonna regret that. Hope your little boyfriend is ready to get crushed without his little cheerleader providing false hope. Gimme a ‘F’...” he leaned forward even more, like he couldn't hear me chant with him. “Gimme an ‘A’. Gimme an ‘I’ and a ‘L’. What's that spell?”
He taunted me over and over by spelling “fail” and thinking I'd actually give him the answers. This plan was dumb, not me.
His face was close enough for me to contemplate more hideous evils worse than spitting. “Fail... hope the Black Heart Prince appreciates the valiant efforts.”
I twisted my wrist until it was sore and contorted myself every way I could think of to release me, while I watched him walk away.
Not only did the plan not work, but it fed the monster living in Caellum. It wasn't hard to see why they hated each other now.
Two different kinds of kings at war for the throne.
The hallway I was now stuck in was the opposite direction the teams would take to the field. I was stuck here until Kate realized I wasn't slow, but royally fucked—literally.
It wasn't until the game started and the cheers echoed into the locker rooms that Kate tanked the exit door open to find me dragged along with it. “You were supposed to handcuff him, not him handcuff you. Duh.”
“Just give me the key.” I was too annoyed to put up with her duh’s and omg’s. She fished into her cheerleading top to pull out a small key like a damn magic trick.
“Who would have thought? I'm saving your ass.”
I unchained myself from the handcuffs and rubbed my wrist where I had metal burn. I always imagined breaking out some cuffs in the bedroom, but those fantasies were ruined when I felt the aftermath.
She walked ahead of me with so much pep in her step she could have been a one woman cheer team.
As soon as we walked out of the tunnel, the first half was moments away from ending and the crowd roared with raw energy. I searched for Bolton’s number on the field. I found him quickly, when every collision on the field jarred my eyes.
He was throwing the ball when another player collided into him, taking him to the ground as the ball flew from his fingers.
I knew the other player was Caellum, as soon as he popped back up, only to lean down again. I couldn't hear what he was saying to Bolton, but I was sure it wasn’t sportsman-like.
Bolton shot up, and his gloved hand yanked the mouth guard on Caellum’s helmet, before their respective teams formed sides. It was an all-out war on the field, and the ref was slow to actually stop anything. He was willing to let them kill each other.
The ref finally called a timeout, and I caught up to Kate, who was directing the cheerleaders in their sideline cheers. I watched Bolton walk to the sideline after his coach shouted his name.
I didn't dare break formation, even though I hadn’t even really started trying, but Kate’s wrath would outlast Bolton’s. She was the lesser evil.
He walked right past the bench, the water, and towels for the team went straight to the tunnel entrance.
My eyes collided with Kate’s, who was already looking at me intensely. I let my brows collapse, and my face turned into a physical apology for what I was about to do as the girls kept cheering around me.
I broke formation and jogged lightly to the tunnel to Bolton. I knew he probably didn't want to see me, but I had this nagging need to try.
The tunnel wasn't cute, it was just a concrete tunnel leading to the locker rooms. It wasn't anywhere people wanted to be; it was a funnel for the anxious nerves, excited rage-to-be on the field, and the emotions that couldn't be trapped within these walls. Without those feelings swirling in the air, the tunnel felt barren and empty—dead, even.
I heard his helmet fly against the concrete floor creating an echoing bang that made me jump.
I should be used to this feeling. Every time I was around Bolton, my bones jumped and my functioning normally wasn't as seamless as it should be.
“Bolton?”
He roared so loudly I thought it was meant to deafen me to any other should but his vocals.
“I was just checking on you...”
It was an on-the-spot lie that had as many holes as Swiss cheese. I was there to beg for forgiveness if Caellum had told him anything.
My plan to prove my loyalty was hijacked by Kate’s plan to prove peasants shouldn't be crowned queen.
“Check on me, huh? After you pissed off Caellum enough to reward us with another loss? We actually had a chance this time.”
The guilt sunk in and paralyzed me head to toe. Everything about me stilled; even as he walked forward, coated in pads, making him seem even bigger, I still couldn’t move. The navy blue jersey bounced off his eyes, making them darker—vill
ainous. I should be scared of him, and maybe somewhere in the back of my mind, behind lust and envy, I was.
“I… I was trying to help.”
He was right in my face now, so close I could see the sweat beaded up along his hairline and even the ends were wet. He didn't push the rebellious pieces of his hair away that fell into his eyes. “By giving him ammunition? You don't know him. You might as well have danced on his fucking grave.”
I stood so still I felt like a sore muscle, tight and quivering from the excess tension.
“I was trying to prove my loyalty.”
I was too close to actually see if he got closer, but I noticed his lips more than before. I swallowed the lump of desire in my throat. I wanted to keep hating him: his attitude, his good looks, his ability to always be right, and malfunctions I experienced every time he was close.
Wanted to, was easier said than done when need took priority.
His tone was soaked with disapproval: “Next time don't prove anything, Arianna.”
My mouth collapsed as I ran through my on-cue sarcastic responses that I could have given him.
He moved around me, like he could slither instead of walk now. His still gloved hand reached around my waist and pulled me back into his pads. He was touching me just how I ached for him and now there was football equipment wedged between us.
I melted into his touch when my head fell to one side, begging for his skin to touch mine. I felt his lips move against my neck, as he spoke in a less disappointed tone.
“Queens don't have to prove anything.”
The air I was holding in was hot and bitter. I was desperate for the guy I hated to do more than whisper against my neck.
I regretted my next moves with so much angst I could have stomped my foot. “If I'm such a queen, why do you refuse to be my king?”
It wasn't until my question hung in the air, unanswered, that I understood the error of shooting off the arrows of my words without permission. I never regretted my unfiltered thoughts… until this one.
