Royal Havoc

49. Sharing’s Caring

forty-nine

Sharing’s Caring

Onyx: 2024

T wenty-three steps to the white padded floor.

Fake leather crunches under the weight of my body when he drops me like a sack of potatoes in the middle of the room.

She grabs my chin, forcing my head up. “You should rest, Dark Queen. The monsters come out at night,” she warns, following Mr. B out.

The bright lights dim within seconds, no longer burning my twitchy eye. More chaos adds itself to the mix.

I have an older sister… Why didn’t she tell me? I think some of the squares have blood stains on them… Zoey wants Vex? The pictures at Dad’s were different… Is this the place Mom brought me to? Why did they give her away? She hates the city… Did Mom know Nolan was a liar? I should tell Vex I love him… Zoey was peeking in his windows? She smells like butterscotch and tulips… Is she the monster? Those look like scratch marks…

My brain tries to sort the never-ending chaos spinning inside my head. If reality is measured by normal, but you’ve lived your life submerged in crazy. Can you shatter the surface or live being forced to dangle between the layers, praying for answers?

Without thought, I slide over the crackling surface until I reach a wall. Now that my ankles are free, I’m able to shimmy my way to my feet. Balance eludes me, pushing me to rest a shoulder on the padded wall to steady myself on my feet. Gradually, I shuffle along the perimeter of the room, begging my sanity to piece itself back together.

Chills vibrate down my spine as I feel hidden eyes watching me. A layer of cold sweat drenches me beneath the straight jacket they’ve shoved me into.

Dad called me his Dark Queen… I remember…

When I cried at night from the scary dreams, he would tell me I was the dark queen, and the monsters had to listen to me.

Onyxberries.

We planted blackberry bushes one summer along the edge of the cliffside, and he called them Onyxberries.

So many memories fade to questions, conjuring a blanket of anxiety. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe while my head turns fuzzy, and I wobble on my toes. Vexen’s voice whispers in the air, reminding me I’m home and no one can hurt me here.

I notice the door start to open, and I migrate towards the furthest corner, putting distance between me and the intruder. “I forgot how shitty this place was,” Nolan says, glancing around the padded cell.

“Go away.”

He leans further into the room. “What was that? Your throat’s a little dry,” he mocks.

Anger calmly seeps into my blood, awakening my lethargic muscles. For the moment, the never-ending clutter in my head rests, allowing me to focus on his calculating face.

“All of it was fake,” I say as a statement, already knowing his answer. “How did you meet her?” I ask, tilting my head, really studying his face for the first time.

“It took me a while to find Brock. We were separated growing up. And, when I finally found him, he was already head over heels for your whack job sister.” He shrugs.

Stepping from the corner, my nails gripping the inside of the material, confining me. “You stayed.”

He nods. “Because she asked me too.”

“She’s obviously mental. But, why was he here?” I ask, hesitantly stepping toward the middle of the room again.

Nolan smiles awkwardly, rubbing a hand over his face. For a second, I question if he’s going to answer. His head falls forward as he chuckles. It’s as if he’s embarrassed for me to see him laughing.

Clearing his throat, staring at me through his lashes. “She’s the silence he’s never had. I’ve never seen him satisfied until he found her.”

“Not an answer.”

“Voices, Onyx. Hateful, rotten, voices. He’s an evil son of a bitch.”

“Lovely,” I mock. “Although, he doesn’t seem disturbed,” I tell Nolan thoughtfully.

“Are you bleeding?” he asks out of nowhere.

I glance down to where he’s staring, eyes bulging. “Amethyst reminded me about an old scar.”

Now that I’m becoming somewhat lucid. I should probably give myself a moment to assess myself. With the numbness wearing off, I know my ankles are raw and sliced from the zip ties and straps. The bloody footprints, which I didn’t realize I was leaving, is another indicator.

“Turn around. We should check your arm,” Nolan instructs, walking towards me.

Instinct kicks in, and I back away. “I’m fine.”

“Onyx, that’s a lot of blood.”

“Stop!” I screech, scurrying backward until I hit the wall.

“Ollie!” Amethyst cheers excitedly like a kid on Christmas morning. “You did it! You brought her back. Now we can play,” she squeals, bouncing on her toes.

“She needs a doctor,” he argues.

“Shhh… Go away, Ollie. It’s my turn to play.”

“You’ve played enough,” he scolds, ignoring her pouty face.

Mr. Brickman appears in the doorway, and instantly, I notice something’s off. Amethyst bites her lip, wiggling her finger at him. He’s at her side in three short steps. All I can do is silently watch what I fear’s about to happen.

“Someone’s not sharing,” Amethyst pouts, forcing out her bottom lip.

“Look at her, Brock. She needs a doctor before she bleeds out,” Nolan tries to reason with his brother.

Mr. Brickman seems confused as his head whips between them. I know the moment he decides. “Leave,” he orders.

“Brock, listen to —”

His eyes narrow a fraction before his fist lands on Nolan’s temple. He staggers back, but Mr. B follows, something shiny reflecting off the light. Nolan’s hand flies to the side of his throat, blood already seeping through the cracks of his fingers.

“I told you not to talk to her!” Mr. B shouts, leaning over Nolan, who’s fallen to his knees.

Her arm snakes around Mr. B, grabbing his chin and twisting his head around. “My turn,” she cackles, stepping in front of him.

“I never liked you, Ollie. I used you because Onyx trusted you,” she tsks loudly. “Now, I don’t need you anymore.” She laughs.