Royally Flushed

Relative Demise

~Malia~

"Favorite food?"

"Easy, pizza. You?"

"Eh, its a tossup between dark chocolate or milk chocolate. Favorite color?"

"Blue. Yours?"

"Maroon. Why is your favorite color blue?" he asked me. I didn't necessarily know if I wanted him to know why that was my favorite color, but in the spirit of honesty, I answered him.

"It was the color of my mom's eyes. Anytime I see the color blue I'm reminded of her. Why is maroon your favorite color?" I asked him after spilling one of the secrets that I'd never even told anyone.

"It's the color of the family crest," he said, inching closer to me. I scooted farther down the kitchen island to escape his lust filled eyes, wanting to keep our attention locked on the game instead of why he was so freakishly obsessed with me, or so he made it seem.

"Favorite movie?"

"Dirty Dancing. Favorite song?"

"I will always love you, the Whitney Houston version," he replied and I almost died laughing.

"What?"

"Nothing," I lamented. "It just doesn't seem like the type of song that would be your favorite is all. No judgements here whatsoever, promise!"

He got a very sneaky and inquisitive look in his eye.

"Alright, then what is your favorite song?"

"Ooh, that is really hard. Probably Hurt by Christina Aguilera."

"Wow, that's a pretty emotional song, my little cousin used to sing it at the top of her lungs when she was going through her sad angry teenage phase. Mind me asking why that's your favorite?"

"Yes I do mind. Favorite animal?"

"Oh, now you're just dodging the question," he added, moving closer and closer to me as I kept sliding down the island.

"Keep sliding and you'll have no where to run to except for my arms."

"Ugh, are you always this insufferable? Can we just get back to the game, please?"

"Yes, and yes. Now I get to ask two questions. Question one: why are you avoiding answering questions about your past and question two: favorite flower?"

"I'll only dignify one of those with an answer, and wisteria is my favorite type of flower. Why does it always seem like you're pretending to be someone you're not?"

"How am I pretending to be someone I'm not?" he asked me, coming closer and closer and he was right: I had run out of room to escape him.

"One minute you're telling me that you know what my game is, that you know what I'm up to and that I should stay away from you basically threatening me, but then the very next day you're following me around like a lovesick puppy. I think you're just bored with this royal life so you're trying out different personas everyday to see which one works the best for you: the dark, brooding, mean bad boy prince who intimidates the new girl, or the sweet, charming prince who follows the damaged new girl around and tries to become her friend because no one else wants to. So which one is it, pick one. Because you can't be both."

He didn't show that he was surprised by my outburst. He didn't show any kind of emotion after what I said to him, really.

"Why can't I be both?"

"Well, I guess you can if you want to be labeled the Bipolar Prince, but I'm pretty sure the King and Queen wouldn't appreciate that, now would they?"