Amelia
The past few days have played out like a movie I’m watching from outside my body.
My heart is surrounded by a thick wall that shields me from any feelings.
Or maybe it’s just the shock. It seems like just a moment ago, I was in the car with Phil, on our way to our engagement party, and now—now I’m sitting on my bed with a pounding headache and a battered body, staring into nothing. Philipp is dead. He died in my arms.
I couldn’t help him.
And I got away with only a few scratches.
After the accident, the paramedics took me to the royal hospital, where I was examined, and then my brother picked me up with instructions that I needed a lot of rest. He didn’t say a word, just took me to my room and left.
Now and then, he checked in to see if I was still breathing, only to disappear again soon after. But I don’t care.
That’s how I’ve spent the past two weeks. Alone or with Lizzy. Except for yesterday…
The funeral was cruel. So unbearably cruel.
Philipp’s mother collapsed, Lizzy was completely apathetic, and Nicolas… he couldn’t even walk straight.
Through the gray fog, the first emotion I’m ready to feel flashes: anger. Anger at that selfish jerk who can’t even pull himself together on the day of his brother’s funeral.
Another face pushes its way into my mind, and I can’t stop the train of thought. Images pop into my head without my control.
How angry Phil was when that reporter passed us, how horrified he looked when he realized he had lost control of the car.
The crashing and crunching, the shattering glass, the impact that still vibrates in my bones. The blood, all the blood. And Phil, who just didn’t move anymore. Who sat there, so pale. And whose eyes never opened again.
All because of that damn reporter.
Again, a tiny flame of unbridled rage slips through the wall, dark and heavy, and my hands clench into the bedspread.
That bastard will pay for this.
For weeks, Phil had been harassed—by the same guy, he had already figured that out. But that night, this guy went too far. Proving it won’t be easy, though.
The photos he took through the window just before the crash can’t be used, that bastard knows it. Because then he’d be connected to the accident. He can’t be that stupid.
But I’ll find him.
I gave my statement to the police. They came to my house two days after the accident. If only I could remember the damn license plate. Something concrete that the officers could use. But no, I don’t even remember the make. Only that it was blue.
My own inability has haunted me every day since. And the sympathetic look on the officer’s face. Judging by his reaction, it’ll all just fizzle out. There’s simply not enough evidence.
But I won’t give up until I’ve found this guy.
My mattress sinks, and a familiar scent of orchids and vanilla fills my nose, making my heart clench. It clenches so hard. When I turn my head and look into the desperate, tear-streaked eyes of my best friend, the fog I’ve held up over the last few days slowly starts to clear.
Phil is her brother. Or was.
The protective numbness of the past week vanishes, leaving me completely vulnerable.
“Oh, Lia… I… Nic isn’t answering… I can’t…” Her voice sounds so broken, and it stabs something deep inside me. I open my arms, and Lizzy practically throws herself into my embrace. My whole body aches, and I flinch briefly, but I don’t say anything, clenching my teeth tightly.
Together, we sink into my pillow, and finally, finally, the floodgates open. The tears I’ve held back for so long begin to flow uncontrollably down my cheeks.
Lizzy’s delicate body trembles as she, too, starts to cry silently on my shoulder, and we don’t need words. Not now. Not here.
The grief and sense of injustice threaten to suffocate me, but right now, Lizzy is more important. She lost her big brother, her anchor, and her desperate sobs only fuel my anger even more. At the reporter. At Nicolas. Who apparently can’t even bother to look after his little sister right now.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I whisper into her hair, and her body shakes even harder. Her sobs dig deep into my heart, tearing the wound open even wider, but I’ll stay strong. This wonderful woman doesn’t deserve this. And Phil would want it that way.
“He… you… are you okay? God, I’m such a terrible friend.” Horrified, she pulls back, looking at me with her big gray eyes—eyes so much like Philipp’s. They’re filled with a storm of emotions that threaten to pull me under.
My gaze softens, even though Lizzy’s sorrow is mirrored in it.
“You’re the best friend anyone could wish for, Elisabeth of Harlington. I’m fine. I’m here. I’m…” My voice falters as an uncontrollable sob escapes my lips.
It’s too much, it’s all too much, and my wall collapses. Just crumbles, and I break down with her again.
“He… God, Lizzy, he… I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t…” The truth of those words presses down on me, stealing my breath, coiling around my neck like a constricting snake.
I couldn’t help Phil.
Although I have received training as a paramedic, in that moment, I couldn’t help him.
Now Lizzy wraps her arms around my trembling body, holding me tight.
“You were trapped, Lia. How could you have helped him? It’s not your fault.
Not at all, do you hear me? Phil would tear your head off if he could hear you saying that,” she murmurs into my hair, and my body begins to shake even more.
Every muscle aches unbearably, and I just keep falling further and further, with no safety net.
Philipp was my best friend. My rock, my support. My mind and heart refuse to accept the brutal reality.
I cry until my eyelids grow heavy, until Lizzy gently eases us back into the pillow. Until I hear the steady beat of her heart next to my ear, and I drift away, falling into the black void.
“Amelia. Amelia, wake up. Come on. Open your eyes.” My brother’s deep, dark voice reaches my ear, and I groan as I turn over.
Pain shoots through my head and chest, and I open my eyes with a groan.
The ceiling and light are spinning, and my stomach finds it anything but funny, clenching tightly, making me gag.
The dizziness is intense, and I barely manage to free myself from my blanket and rush out of bed.
But the bathroom is too far away, and my brother, watching me with furrowed brows, stands in my way.
“I need to…” I don’t get any further, as what little is in my stomach decides to come back up. My brother takes a startled step back, grimacing in disgust as I throw up on the floor in front of him.
“Oh damn, Amelia, did it have to be now?” he says, looking down at me in disgust as I catch my breath and grab the bedpost, swaying.
“As if she can help it, you idiot. She had a serious car accident and a concussion, in case you forgot. So either behave or get out. She needs rest,” comes a sharp voice from the direction of the bathroom.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Lizzy is still here.
Right on cue, my best friend steps between me and my brother, who glares at her with a hateful look, as she puts an arm around my waist.
“Ah, the little rebel princess is here, too. My condolences on your loss. I couldn’t offer them in person at the funeral, since you were too deep in mourning.
And as for my sister, it’s none of your damn business how I speak to her,” he replies coldly, and once again, a sharp, painful coldness spreads through me.
What did I expect from him? Nothing.
But the detached way he expresses his condolences, as if he doesn’t care, sends a shiver down my spine.
His calculating gaze fixes on me, and I know that with Lizzy here, he’ll behave somewhat and hold himself back.
“Alright, you can rest a little longer. In two hours, we have to appear before the king. So try to look at least somewhat presentable by then. I’ll come to get you.”
Lizzy opens her mouth, ready to stand up for me again, but I gently press her arm to stop her. She’d only make it worse.
She throws me a glare from the side and presses her lips tightly together.
“As you wish.” I nod at him, making the dizziness in my head worse.
“Make sure that mess is cleaned up from your floor. It’s disgusting.” With that, Henry turns and slams the door, making me flinch as the sharp noise sends a stabbing pain through my temples.
“Your brother is a first-class asshole.” Lizzy shakes her head, and when her gaze lands on me, anger flares in her eyes. “Why do you keep letting him treat you like this? I don’t understand.”
Still shaking her head, she helps me into the bathroom, carefully sidestepping the “mess.” I avoid her gaze, feeling the thick, nauseating weight of shame seep into every pore of my body.
I can’t tell her why I stay silent. Why it’s better to endure his humiliation and taunts.
“Because it wouldn’t make things any better,” I reply weakly, and Lizzy lets out a snort of frustration at my answer.
“If he were my brother, I’d gladly make his life hell every single day. Ask Phil… ask Nicolas… Shit—” she stumbles over her own words, and I finally look at her. There’s pain in her gaze, and I briefly squeeze her hand.
“Phil loved it; he enjoyed it when you made his life difficult,” I say softly, and she swallows, barely holding back her tears.
“I know.” She gently guides me toward the shower, helps me out of my sweaty shirt, and turns on the warm water.
“Go shower; I’ll take care of the ‘mess’ and get you something to wear.” She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes as she takes my dirty clothes and leaves me alone.
With heavy limbs, I shuffle under the hot stream, washing the dirt, fear, and sweat off my body. Only the pain and grief cling to me like an oily film.
When I return to my room, Lizzy is already waiting with a pair of elegant black pants and a white blouse with ruffles along the button line.