Crimson Lace

Chapter 3

Warning: This chapter contains some sensitive subjects that maybe be triggering for some viewers! Including substance abuse, PTSD, and a character's memories of war.

WESLEY
CHAPTER THREE

There are multiple shiny black limousines parked next to the fountain in the long, winding driveway.

Of course the Alexandrette royal family needs multiple transports, because one wouldn't be expensive enough?

My legs feel heavy as I stalk through the halls on angry feet and clunky dress shoes. I tug at the collar of my suit, it doesn't fit right, but no one bothers buying a Serf something new. I certainly can't afford it myself. My head spins and vision threatens to spot over with each exhausting step.

Golden pocket watch. In a drawer beside Cane's desk. Golden pocket watch.

Sometimes it helps to find something to focus on other than my discomfort, so I repeat things in my head. Lately discomfort has become the new norm, but none of my peculiar ailments compare to the weight of trying to hide my problems from my best friend. There is no need for Elle to fear for me, not yet at least. I almost screwed up today. She witnessed one of my withdrawal episodes, and it was a bad one too. That can't happen again. This whole dehydration lie won't work much longer. Elle is a smart girl and she knows me too well. As my condition worsens, I'll need a better excuse. What I need is to quit, but I can't.

A young servant girl drops a tray of dishes, the utensils and plates clatter to the marble ground noisily. The sudden sound evokes a trigger in me that I forgot existed.

All I see are the plane propellers, they swirl in my head. Bombs dropping, whistling through the air. I can almost still taste the smoke and falling ash. I choke on the memory. The screams of teenagers crying for their parents, bleeding dry onto the muddy fields of the frontlines. My bare hands were pumping, compressing, working to try and keep a heart beating, I couldn't save them. My best was not good enough to save those lives, to stop the death. I took lives too. Faces I never saw, but screams I heard. I can still smell the tangy metallic smell of fresh blood and gunpowder. Each letter I wrote to Elle in those trenches, barely legible as I would write with my quivering hands. Some notes wound up stained with blood. I didn't send those ones. She didn't need to see that.

My body itches for some relief. I don't want to feel those memories. I shake out the small yellow bottle from my pocket, before popping another pill into my mouth. The Mute foams yellow on my tongue before dissolving. The flashback disappears along with it. The waxy taste reaches my nostrils, my veins, my brain. I sigh a chemical breath of relief, but brace for the inevitable impact.

The ringing noise splinters through my skull, causing waves of heat to run through me and sweat to rise from my pores. I press my hands to either side of my head, pushing my temples in hopes of dulling the ear splitting, mouth watering, stabbing pains. Pretty maids and servants in the hall stop to stare. I half expect them to be doubling over too, but have to remind myself that the noise is only in my head.

"Nothing to see here, ladies." I manage to bite out through a clenched jaw. I want to cry out. Maybe yell mommy or beg for mercy. But no one would come to my aid. I did this to myself. Mute is meant to suppress the abilities of Nobles. It isn't compatible with Serf bodies, but it has this effect that numbs my emotional pain. I like the way it eases the harsh memories of my past, wiping everything away like a clean slate.

Golden pocket watch.

Inhale.

In a drawer beside Cane's desk.