Royal Ever After

chapter seventeen

I'm starstruck. Absolutely flabbergasted beyond belief. Stunned. Why is he here? Out of the seven billion people existing in this world, why him? This is unreal, the worst of coincidences. Lyle. A name I wish could be erased from my memory forever. A face that makes my belly churn in repugnance. I hate him.

"What's with the long face? Have you missed me that much, Pickle Nick?" he smirks, knowing all too well how much I despise that nickname. One day out of the blue, he decided to stop using my real name to piss me off, and man has it worked.

"Why the hell are you here?" I hiss. I just can't with him. He knows my ticks.

"Sheesh, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. In case you haven't noticed, this is a public train and I'm going to Paris to visit my family." Ugh. When I think I can't be any unluckier, I get hit with this.

"Get out of my face before I make you," I threaten, pointing my index finger right up to his nose for emphasis.

"Or what? You're gonna punch me again like you did last time? We both know how that ended for you, so I wouldn't recommend going with that approach." I turn around, my back facing him. I've had enough. Enough of all his cruel shenanigans and cruller remarks. If I can't see him, he won't exist. Sadly, it doesn't work like that. I opened that can of worms, and now I must pay the consequences of remembering. The flashbacks unwillingly pour themselves against my soul, trampling on any trace of contentment I had left. That night. The night I crave to forget.

That was the night that changed everything. It happened too fast for my brain to register that I was punching him. Hurting him. None of it was my intention, but I couldn't stop. My arms wouldn't let me. My feet were cemented on the ground, along with my hatred. Do I regret it? Not the slightest bit. It was worth every second of scolding I got from my mother afterwards. He deserved it. I stand by my actions. The only thing I regret is letting him go unpunished. He was as much in the wrong as I was, if not more.

See the thing is, I hadn't always felt this aversion towards him. Once upon a time, we were friends. Best friends. We were the kind that shared clothes, food, prized possessions, you name it. We'd spend more time at each other's houses than our own. That day we met at camp; we both knew we'd spend the rest of our summer together. Our interests were the exact same. We never ran out of things to talk about. There were times where we'd secretly sneak out and chug down energy drinks before roaring with laughter. I understood him. He got me. We were inseparable.

That was an eon ago. Then everything changed. As fast as we had bonded, we fell apart even quicker. It began with a very average, typical day. I've smushed that day into crumbs and shoved it deep under my dresser where I was sure it would never be seen again. But somehow the crumbs came back to life and I'm thinking about it again.

He almost killed me. We were climbing up to the tippy-top of a dome mountain, and he kept on ranting about how much he hated his life. How he hated his friends, his family, and his dog because they never cared about him. I was used to being the ears in our friendship, but this was to another level. I felt bad for him. His parents had died a long time ago so he was raised by his grandparents. They were so strict and never let him do anything.

He was depressed and lonely and unstable. He had so many mood swings that he could be comparable to the weather in our neighborhood. Sunny one morning, only to lead into an angry thunderstorm the next, destroying everything in its path. I tried my best to console him. I told him that everything was going to be okay, and that he had me. He didn't buy it. He said he was going to kill himself. I became worried, then mortified. I tried my best to calm him down, but nothing worked.

When we reached the top of the mountain, he ran to the ledge and looked down. I chased after him and used every muscle existing in my body to get him to stop. I grabbed him and begged him not to do it. He didn't listen. I was too late. He cursed at the world and after that he cursed me out too. I was still gripping on to his jeans, but that didn't stop him. He jumped.