A Royal Pain in the Ball ✓

Chapter 18 - A Suitcase

The kiss. She woked her eyes upon the cream ceiling. Was more of what it was.

It was not a kiss. He ate her. She ended up being backed against a wall and she enjoyed it. As she scrumpled a fist of pillow sheets against her palm.

She felt embarrassed, ashamed. And she didn't even get answers on how, or even why she got here. Or why he is keeping her here.

She felt like a slave. Yes, a slave whose work is to close his hand and say her name to each and everyone of the person that came, or even eat treats. She sighed, turning to the side.

It was not like she hated the place. But if she had time, she would've come back and packed a suitcase. And travelled here for her holiday time and travel. And maybe come back home when she wanted. She sighed.

She felt weak, her energy bar drained as all she ate was a tiny slice of potato, potato mash and a t-bone steak. Tiny sized.

She didn't even complain to the man. It was the next day, and she didn't even get the chance to pour water on his hand. Slam him against the food table, or even throw her pumps at him.

"It's been a while." He greeted, propping his shoulder against the open door.

And she was shocked.
She didn't like how his hair looked. It looked ruffled, messy and and auburn. Weirdly.

"That was just yesterday." She blurted. The room she slept in. The pink room she was in. How she moved, brought a pillow on her slippers to this room. How embarrassing she met him in the dark hallway. And that she had to pass through him. Before bumping into him. Of course, to his arm. Which she wished wasn't his rib or anything of the sort.

She was mad.

He observed. And he didn't know what to say.

Her eyelids got droopy. It was heavy. She loved this man, but at the same time, he just had an every ticking moment on how to get on her nerves.

She sat up. In a way of greeting him.

She had no sense on how to keep the conversation going. As she stayed frozen, her two butts against the bed, staring across a man who stayed unmoved, a type where if she would run, he would chase her across the hallway, to across the ends of the world.

She tried to keep it professional. A state where she didn't want anything to do with him- or even closer than she was at the moment.

And she was right.

His glaze, she didn't like. She swore that those memories kept haunting her from noon. To the night where she woke up - or even now. She wished - and cursed to the bott of the sea that it wouldn't come and haunt her poor, uncivilized, cells of a brain. One that wouldn't destroy her out of pure imagination. And hot unwanted monstrosity.

He was being in a happy, serene mode. She observed. One that she knew all too well that it was fake. As she bounced on the bed slightly -and got a reaction from him.

As he stared frozen, straight-faced at the woman before her. In her pink, yellow dress that he borrowed and that she had no mind -or a right mind that he could practically see her from across the room. Or that he was a vampire.

"So, when was it, or why did you bring me here?" She asked, an eyebrow raised as she saw him clearly not wanting to answer, or merely not welcome to discuss about the situation at all -for her sake at least.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I did not keep a time of date, alright. It was just a few weeks- a months ago, and I didn't quite catch on to the timeline." He looked at her. Kind of scorned, and all he wanted to do was cover her with pillows. Or bury her under the blankets.