Unkissed. (Rated R)

59.👑

Tiana's Healing.

My throat had gone numb, sleep is eluding me completely, I'm too afraid to grant anymore access to the nightmares that awaits me.

I sit in my bathroom corner, streams of the shower head splattering into the tub like a thousand rain drops. The room hot and ample, and the mirror fogged. I am bare - trembling, staring into a void and listening in on my screaming memories. My body in desperate need to submerge itself in the steaming waters hug and rid the stench of acidic vomit.

It is dark. My eyes are open. But it is dark - I can't see a new day.

As if by an instinct I trained myself, more tears line my eyes at the thought, by this point I have probably wept a literal ocean. For quite some time now, I chose isolation. To separate myself from everything from the outside.

Patrick would have been here to question my whereabouts; he would have done anything immeasurable to ensure I was safe and sound. And join the occasion of whatever the importance that required the queen.

It was only he that ever acknowledged me as that title, it was he that acknowledged me as an abandoned child, and mostly it was he that took notice of my loneliness. Filling in a void that my biological father did not bother to take, it never dawned on me to question why. Why did he take a lead role on a child that isn't his. To feed, provide in times of need, and watch me grow before his eyes. I didn't have a mother, and I didn't have a father, and he played both parts.

Behind my eyes burned with his image. And of the last I saw of him. His lifeless body lying on the mattress, a hole in his chest, white sheets painted red, and the old picture I gifted him on Father's Day. Even before, during, and after his death, he held me close to his heart.

I pull my knees to my chest. Rocking myself forwards when the memory of his body stuffed in a duffle bag and placed in the back of a car surfaces. And those of the innocents along aside of him. Thirty-six days since then, I have stayed in my bedroom. Neglecting my title as queen for those who counted on me.

'A laughingstock.'

'Unfit'

'And the Foolish Queen.'

My rejoice in rekindling with an old friend consumed every part of my focus. I was so adamant on exploring a forbidden line. Perhaps in a way to make the destined marriage more bearable, between the mafia's son and me. But what I failed to see was the plastic used to cover his face. The real monster all this time is the one that was aside me.

And now because of my foolishness, everything is ripped from my grasp. Another acidic ball swells painfully slow, down in my gut, forcing its way tightly through the narrow pathway of my throat. The acid feel was like claws scraping its way up. My vison tunnels as I focus on the toilet bowl that already contained remnants of this morning's forced breakfast.

But didn't make it in time. My hands plant flatly onto the ground of the smooth tiles, on all fours, strands of my hair trickle down the side my cheeks as I expel the contents of an awful yellow color. Stars swirl along my vision, and my chest heaves with exhaustion.

If I didn't feel like a shell before, I was one for sure now.

My feeble arms give out just in time for me to arrange my body back into the corner where I sat before. Darkness sung to me like a lullaby as it dragged my eyelids to a close when the sound of a thumping heartbeat Askews the streaming flow.

"My Queen?" A muffled voice of a woman. It had been so long since I have even paid attention to another's voice. Since that day, my ear canal is haunted by the thundering bullet, launched from a barrel. "It is me, Tiana. Charlotte."