Bittersweet Endings

Chapter Seven : Conall

TWO YEARS LATER

Alone. Broken. Unfixable. Incomplete.

But most of all… lost.

I stared outside. The sun was high in the sky, beaming down golden rays onto the rich earth and forest nearby teeming with wildlife. The chatter of nobles and servants going about their day-to-day lives reached me from here, and I suddenly felt a spike of jealousy for the average person. That average person could do basically whatever they wanted. Run through the forest in wolf form. Run to a town far away. Run away.

Not me. I was stuck here. Forever.

Slowly zoning back in, what the Council were discussing reached my ears and then managed to unscramble itself enough for my hazy mind to understand.

“He’s 18 now!”

“Still barely a child…”

“…his problem? I didn’t realize him and his father were that close.”

“His mother? She’s not doing so well…”

They don’t even know why I have this hollowness within me. They don’t even know about Isa.

“…it really matter? Roger is…”

“…all we need to do now is keep an eye on the vampires.”

A warm hand on my shoulder jerked my attention to the face above me. Roger Kalfir. He’d basically taken the role of King in all but title. The Council conferred to him for everything without even asking me, while I sat up in the big chair, practically asleep. He organized the soldiers and checked in with all the Packs. Everyone loved him. And although I pretended not to notice, the cursory glances and hushed talk directed at me let me know exactly what the public thought of me.

Sometimes the thought that Isadora was still alive was all that kept me from going insane.

Lady Greenwood. My Mate.

“Have you been following the Council’s discussion?” asked Roger.

I looked away, unable to meet his kind gaze. “Not really.”

He sighed, and his hand left my shoulder. “Alright then. I guess I’ll sort out Moonights’ visit and make the necessary arrangements myself.”

It seemed like my cue to leave. “Whatever.” I stood from the chair and walked out of that hated, cold, stone room. Roger’s eyes were on my back as I walked away, I could tell. Pitying and frustrated in equal measures – I wanted none of it.

Maybe I’d visit my mother. I hadn’t checked in with her for a few days.

I took the shortest route possible, my boots thudding on the floor as I strode purposefully towards her chambers, ignoring any looks and talk aimed my way. Raising my hand to knock on the homely wooden door, I caught a glimpse of my own reflection in the mirror placed outside my mother’s rooms.

To put it simply, I looked like shit. My black hair was limp, greasy and lifeless, falling over my eyes. Bath? Haircut? Nah. My cheekbones were hollow and my eyes sunken into my skull, giving my whole face a dark, sullen look. Dark bags seemed to have taken up permanent residence under my eyes, and my jaw was now constantly clenched so tight it made my teeth grind against each other. Looking into my eyes was like looking into a different person’s eyes. A much older person who had lived through too much. Someone’s eyes weren’t supposed to be so dark and stormy, were they? I could practically see the guilt and hurt swirling in my eye’s depths myself.

With a sigh, I turned away and knocked gently on the door. I waited a few seconds, and then, receiving no reply, opened the door and went in anyway.

My mother was lying at the end of the room on a large bed. All the curtains were closed although it was the middle of the day and the only light came from a single candle sitting on a small table beside the bed.

“Mother?” I said gently, taking a few cautious steps forward.

She stirred, and I saw her eyes flicker open. “Conall?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Mother,” I replied quietly.

She slowly moved her legs to the side of the bed and stood. I rushed forward to help her, fearing she would collapse or something of the sort. Mauve Hawthorne, once one of the most powerful women in the land, was now too weak to be seen in public most days. She took her meals in her rooms and barely spoke a word to anyone outside of me and Lewis. Sleep was her best friend and when not doing that, she wept.

I would call it pathetic. I would have little sympathy or understanding. But if what she felt was anything like what I felt for losing Isa, I knew how it felt. If I had the choice, I would do the same as she, but I would not be allowed to.

She shook off my attempts to support her. “I don’t need help to stand, darling!” The laugh that followed was weak and scratchy.

I took a proper look at her. In the dim candlelight, she almost looked like a vampire. Not that I had ever seen a vampire in real life, but she looked like what I would imagine a vampire to look like. Pale skin, dark hair, and eyes that were once green but now looked black. In a word, lifeless.

She used to be so vibrant and energetic. Her laugh was the loudest and her smile the most joyful. What the hell happened?

Oh, yeah, her husband died and her oldest son became a huge fucking disappointment, not just to her, but to the whole fucking country.

“Anyway, Conall, what did you want? I’m not feeling the strongest right now and really just planned on taking a little nap,” said Mother and smiled at me wearily. She was trying to make it look natural though. I could tell from the strain in her cheeks and the way her eyebrows tilted upwards. She was trying so hard to not let it show that she was falling apart.

“Oh…I just came to see how you were. I thought it had been a little while since I last saw you and thought I should maybe check in on you,” I replied, with a smile just as fake as hers.

We know, we both know, that we’re both falling apart at the seams. Let’s hope our insides don’t make a mess on the carpet when the strain of pretending finally makes us explode.

“Well, it was lovely to see you, dear. Maybe come back tomorrow?” she said, and then began making her way back to the bed. I stared as she lay down again, looking like a corpse on the dark blankets.

“Yeah…” I trailed off and walked slowly, uncertainly out of the room. Shutting the door as gently as I could behind me, I stopped for a second and leaned back on the mirror.

It was all so fucking messed up. She didn’t deserve this. But now she was a wreck, a ruin, held together by her only two family members left and the little willpower she had left. How long would she last? How much did she think about just taking her dinner knife, making a quick slice across a main artery, and ending it all for good?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

My head turned to the side, and all of a sudden I could see myself in the mirror again. Dark eyes and unshaven stubble. Regret and guilt and hurt. I was weak. Not a King. Not a man. Not even a boy. I was a child. A baby.

I watched as a single crystal tear welled up in my eye and rolled down my cheek.

Die, baby.