His Queen

Back Home {part. 2}

Darius' POV

It feels as though I have been trapped in a never ending state of limbo since I learned the news. My love was stolen from me before I was given a chance to apologize. Before I could get down on both knees and grovel for forgiveness—she was taken from me.

Never in my life have I regretted my own arrogance and pride up until this point. I expected her to be the one to come to me and say goodbye. I expected her to apologize to me. And when she didn't, I refused to do that for her. My heart cried out for my missing half, my beloved.

When I wasn't in my dazed state, I found myself in a period of lunacy. I was irritable and irrational, often times lashing out at my brothers. My appearance was disheveled and ragged, and I felt as though I had aged many years. When I wasn't angry, I was depressed; and when I wasn't depressed, I was back to being angry. I flipped through this repetitive and unhealthy lifestyle, and I wasn't willing to pull myself out of it.

  Caspian and Taylor had so graciously taken on the role of temporary King, while I took the time to rest. And by rest I mean drink my sorrows away.

  It was the seventh day of my wallowing when my father burst into my room and yanked the blinds apart. I immediately turned my head away in an attempt to shield my face. He ripped the duvet from my person and grabbed both of my legs and unceremoniously dragged me out of bed.

  "I think it's about time you put on your big boy panties and get up," he commanded.

  I didn't bother saying anything to him and instead looked at the wall just past his head. He let out a heavy sigh and went over to the bathroom. My father came back with a bucket and dumped cold water all over me. I shot up from the floor and glared at him, he simply shrugged and made his way to the door.

  "I want you to take a bath, change your clothes, and for heavens sake do something about that breath of yours. It could act as its own pesticide if you let it," he said.

He walked out of the room making sure to slam the door after him. The painting on the walls rattled and a vase fell over and broke.

My father was the passive aggressive type; he never yelled, that was my mother's job. Instead he did things, most of the time with a cold demeanor, that told people what he just said wasn't a suggestion. Him telling me to take a bath and change my clothes wasn't a suggestion, but rather an ill disguised threat.

I made my way to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I was a sight for sore eyes that was for certain. My eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and excessive crying. My skin which was usually a nice olive tan, was now ashened. My beard that was normally neatly kept, was now overgrown and uneven. My hair...my pride and joy...the money maker amongst women was lifeless, dull, and lacked the softness I knew Ziya loved. To put it nicely, I looked like a homeless man who had died and was going through the early stages of decay.

I begrudgingly got to work on my personal hygiene. I took a quick bath not even bothering to ask for assistance; the last thing I wanted was to be near anyone. I shaved my beard to more of a slightly overgrown stubble, cut my hair, and most importantly brushed my teeth. For personal reasons, I brushed my teeth three times and chewed on some mint for extra measures.

As for clothes, I done on a white button up shirt, a navy blue vest that matched my eyes, and some brown trousers {Flynn Rider fit}.

I made my way to the dinning hall and was met with an awkward silence. My brothers and my father were all sitting down looking at me as if I had grown a second head. To be fair, I had been locked up in my room for the past seven days. And when I did make an appearance, I was less than friendly. The only person who looked remotely normal was Peter, who was currently smiling at me with that stupid grin of his.