The Emperor

19

ADELINE

I woke up dazed and confused.

Once again in a bed that isn't mine, but a bed I've come to recognize. The sheets and the walls, the chess game with only two pieces sitting on it, the cold, it's Kaiser's bedroom. I don't understand how I got here, again, tangled in his covers, panting and sweating. I woke up from a nightmare again, it feels weird to have one when I spent a few peaceful nights in a row.

      But I knew they'd come back eventually, I can't escape them. I haven't in three years, I won't until my brain shuts off.

      I don't immediately sit up on the bed, I stay laying down on the bed that is bringing me too much trouble for what it's worth—it is quite comfortable though. I need to go back to my own bed and work and get on with my life because this, wasting my time with Kaiser Hale, isn't my life. This isn't what I left home for.

       Home. Was it ever really home?

       I don't know.

       Mom hasn't called me in days, I'm almost getting worried. Maybe Mom is home. Or is she? I don't know. What if Mare was home? Or maybe she was like a hotel I could visit when home became unbearable. What is home anyway? Did I ever have a home? Was that house my home or just that, a house?

       Either way, I can never go back there. I can move cities and countries, change my name and hair, I can do anything and go anywhere but I can never go back home.

       What time is it? I can't possibly get my head in a mess two minutes after I woke up. I look around for my phone or a clock but nothing comes to view. Kaiser doesn't even have an alarm on his nightstand.

His room holds no memories, no personality, no distinction that makes it his. Dawn's bedroom has plenty of pictures and decorations that make it truly hers. But Kaiser's, it's just empty. Emotionless.

        Just like him.

        He showed me a lot the few weeks I've come to get to know him and try to understand him, it all concludes to the same thing; Kaiser Hale does not feel. Not in the same way most people do anyway. A normal person would feel guilty for throwing and dragging someone down several sets of stairs. A normal person would have some compassion for the someone they just hurt. A normal person would not have this sick obsession over me.

       I lay in his bed and wonder how I let it get this far? How did I end up in his bed for the third time, why do I let him play with me like a toy, what is the meaning of all of this and why the heck does a small part of me like it?

A teeny tiny bit of me warms up every time he makes a scene of his affection, as twisted as it is.

I don't understand what he sees in me that is worth obsessing over. There is nothing right with me. I am broken beyond repair, just a canva full of holes that no one can fix. Not even me. Not even Him.

        My soul can't be saved anymore, I've sinned more than it can handle.

        He will realize that soon enough, he will get tired of me, he will have to let me go. It's just a matter of time.

Everything is just a matter of time.

        I push myself on my elbows when I hear the door open. Some hair falls into my face, but it doesn't keep me from seeing the owner of this bed. He stands in the doorway, a smirk playing on his face. His bruises from the fight are less noticeable by the hour, yet still present enough to make one ask what happened.