Deserving of More

Chapter Five: A Bottle of Demons

Author's Note: Trigger warning for suicidality.

If you ever fancy having your guts ripped out without actually having them removed from your body, go to a Celebration of Life for the person you love most in the world. I was happy to be there, even if it was the most painful night I'd experienced to that point. A single spotlight on a wreath-draped microphone. There is no erasing an image like that from the mind.

But the love could be felt. It was a whiplash between love and sadness. Hearing a crack in The General's voice when he gave a speech nearly broke me. As it was, it further broke my heart, if that was possible.

Queen Veronica also spoke. Not so much about her husband. About her faith education initiative. Thanking corporate sponsors. Thanking the Generals, their wives and families. It felt odd to me, making it the second time I had gotten a strange vibe from her. It was understandable, I guessed, as everyone grieves differently. But I had that same niggling in the back of my mind that I couldn't get a firm grip on. Just my emotions on haywire, I figured, and brushed it off.

I hadn't forgotten about Grace's request. As I was walking towards the coffee shop from the morning, I felt my phone go off.

"How dare those Generals disrespect me and the Prince Royal so deeply! We were not even invited to this so-called Celebration of Life. Disgraceful. Especially after the way his private funeral was handled. They're all terrible people who have no respect or regard for the king's oldest son."

I sighed as I strolled down the sidewalk. Adria. The King's first wife. An evil shrew of a woman. Her very being made me sick. She had treated him terribly. She was only spared banishment because she was the Prince Royal's mother. If not for that, she wouldn't be allowed set even a hair in this kingdom. And that would be perfectly fine with me. She went on these rants occasionally before the king's death but now she was out of control. There was nothing to be done until the Prince Royal came of age so we were all stuck with her.

I heard the door chime as I entered the vaguely familiar establishment, and made eye contact with Grace, who was sitting at a table, apparently waiting for me. I sat across from her and she smiled.

"You remembered."

"Hard to forget a request from a friend of the king," I told her.

"Still, thank you for coming. Chester would've appreciated you being there tonight."

"I couldn't not be there," my voice struggling to find itself, "I don't think I could've lived with myself if I had missed it."

"That's exactly the kind of thing I mean when I say your love for him is evident."

"I don't know any other way to be. He's all I've ever known as an adult."

"Even so," she began, "I have met many soldiers, and most of them are loyal. To a point. But when push comes to shove, they think of themselves. Since Chester passed, that has only gotten worse. You can't imagine the rude questions and comments I have had directed at me because of my closeness to him and Mike."

I startled at her last word. I'd never heard anyone call The General by his name before. She saw my reaction and giggled.

"I'm sorry," I sighed, "It makes me ashamed of my fellow soldiers to hear these things. We're not all like that."

"I know," she said, "You certainly aren't. You're not like any soldier I've met."

"Given what you just said, I'm going to take that as a compliment."

We both chuckled as she rose from her chair.

"I should go," she said, "I'm keeping you from sleep. You probably have a long trip ahead of you."

"I do," I nodded, and got up myself.

"Please send me messages along the way," she requested, "So I know you're all right."

I blushed a little, touched by her caring.

We exited together, but headed in opposite directions once outside. I wasn't entirely sure what to make of Grace, exactly. She was lovely. And sweet. But what did she want with me? I wasn't anyone.

I didn't know if I would get to find out. Waiting for me back at my hotel was the darkest secret I've ever kept.

* * * * *

The walk to my hotel wore me out. Physically, yes. But the way my demons were, physical or mental exhaustion leads to the other. Physical leads to mental, mental leads to physical. Having both leads to a cascade of symptoms which usually leads to some sort of self-destructive behavior. And this was no different.

By the time I opened the door and threw myself onto the bed, I was in tears and an immeasurable amount of pain. Everything hurt, from my skin to my soul.

On the bedside table were two things. A photo of The King and the General that I adored. And a bottle. In this bottle were almost two hundred pills. When the King died, I stopped taking my medication. Accumulating the refills. Saving it. For this moment, or one like it.

No one knew. I hadn't told anyone. Not Dean. Not Cara. Nobody. This darkness was mine and mine alone.

I sobbed, and reached for the bottle, feeling the demons take over in a wave of searing, thorough pain. I held it in my hands, wailing in agony. Shaking with the weight of a choice. Follow my king, or stay and protect his legacy? In some way, I wanted both. The pain of his absence was unbearable. But what of those around me? Cara? Dean? The soldiers on whose backs this trip was? How could I betray everyone this way? I buried my face into the pillows and screamed my soul into the fabric.

As I continued to sob and shake, I felt a weight beside me.

"Minerva."

All the air left me in a strangled sob. No. This was impossible. Seeing him in a dream was one thing. But this? This couldn't be real. The demons were making this up to push me further into their grasp. I was losing my mind.

Wasn't I?

"Minerva."

His voice was the softest I'd ever heard it. If this was actually happening, I couldn't just leave him hanging.

"Chester?" my voice was barely a whisper, afraid of both not getting a response and getting one.

"Put those down. Please?"

"I can't," I whispered.

"Why not?" he asked, softly.

My voice found its hold, and I sobbed.

"Because I can't go on without you!"

I felt a light touch on my shoulder.

"Who said that you have to?"

"What?" I was too stunned to cry. Or breathe.

"I'm right here," he replied, "You're not without me." I disintegrated into tears. "Please," he asked again, "Put down the bottle?"

I sobbed, my agony deepened by his request. I longed to end the pain and follow him. But how could I defy him after all these years of loyalty?

The sensation of his fingers gently in my hair took what little breath I had and I fought to regain it.

"We'll meet someday," he told me in a whisper, "But not now. Not like this."

I rolled over, and found nothing I could see. I still felt him beside me. But there was nothing visual. I was confused at first, but I felt him touch my hair again.

"Not like this," he said once more.

I sobbed, loosening my grip on the bottle. The sound of it hitting the floor was small, but deafening.

I felt warmth all around me. And touch. I realized he had wrapped his arms around me. He was holding me. As if I were a child. Still gently running his fingers in my hair.

"It's ok," he soothed, "I've got you."

The demons held at bay, even the bright lights of the city faded into darkness under my heavy eyelids as I slipped into sleep.