make it easy | young royals ✓

two

Wilhelm

I sometimes wonder if there's a valid excuse for punching August in the face. Maybe I can say that the gravitational pull of the universe made my hand act in a certain way, and gravity somehow made my fist come in contact with his jaw. On second thought, I refrain from the sweet satisfaction of hurting him, and decide on the more worthwhile, long-term approach: getting August kicked out of Hillerska before he graduates, and making him pay dearly for every wrong he has caused me. 

I'm a good person, don't get me wrong, but he deserves every last bit of what's coming. 

Resting my hand on the covers of the newly washed bedsheets, and close my eyes in defeat. Everything reminds me of Simon.

The morning sun slanting through the window, the walk past the grand hall where he stood and sang at the dais, the hallways where our hands brushed past each other, brief, but lingered in my head all day during classes. In my supposed exile from the world, we texted occasionally, but he never ends up picking up my calls.

"It's not the same over the screen," he would say. "I'm sorry, Wille."

Seeing my cousin and his irreverent smile as he greeted me at the bottom of the stairs, his face showing no sign of recognition of the burden he has placed upon me, is enough to make my heart thump irregularly with distaste. His efforts are a facade, and I know he's scared of me now that I've returned, but I'm glad I'm not the only one who wants to see him fall. 

The news of my arrival has undoubtedly travelled during breakfast, because who can trust August with his stupid big mouth yelling about my return to the table? He's throwing a party in the abandoned warehouse at the edge of the campus, supposedly for me, but I know he's only pleasing our peers and the senior class in his favour. Nothing was ever been about anyone but him.

I pull a pillow underneath my head as I scroll on my phone, which has seen an absence from social media and any news outlet for the past three months. After the decline of texts exchanged between Simon and me, I made a conscious decision to wipe my life of its negative presence. My finger hovers over Instagram on the app store, wondering if it's finally time for me to step back into a sense of my old life.

But everything has changed too much, and I'm still stumbling.

Isolation was inevitable. I finished the school year with a private tutor in the royal estate, lounging around in the empty bedroom, playing games until the sky turns light from the night. A few old friends from my previous school visits me, but they don't stay for long, and I find myself seldom have anything interesting to say. I fall into a slumber of gloom during spring, and find myself wandering around the vacant hallways, music playing in my airpods, my breath smelling of alcohol from the cabinet. 

If my reason for not going to class today is because of travel fatigue, I'd be lying. In real honesty, I'm terrified to face the world, no less than a year ago when August leaked the video of me making out with Simon in my own dorm room. I'm aware it's ancient news, and in actuality, I have nothing to be afraid of. Words can fly around the room, but it'll never hurt as much as betrayal or walking away from Simon.  

My heart race at the thought of him. For a year now, he's nothing but a distant, sweet, euphoric memory. The kind which makes you light-headed, shaking, and too excited to sit still or eat. My fingers itch to touch him, the familiar crooks of his neck, the tawny curls between my fingers. His witty remarks in class, a shared glance, a stifled laugh. 

I wonder if I have the courage to hold his hand when everyone's watching.

Don't get ahead of yourself now, coward. The voice is accusive in my head, and I'm eager to shut it out. You deny everything because you can't face the consequences, even when they're your everything, even when they would've risked everything in order to have you.