“CHARLES PEMBROKE LYNDSWORTH, COME DOWNSTAIRS IMMEDIATELY!”

I abruptly stop drawing and shut my eyes knowing that my short lasting bliss is about to be rained on once again. I stumble down the stairs sighing as the ground stares at me in pity, with the creases of its fine oak. I slow down when I reach the door as I can already hear my mother swearing under her breath and I know I’m about to hear a tirade come my way. Taking a deep, exhausted breath, I ruffle my already messy hair, feeling my eyes droop under the weight and pressure its carrying with it, I walk inside. The first thing I see: my mother. Tears pooling around her eyes, she looks disgusted just by my presence, the usual.

“Yes mother.” I reply with a stolid face making sure my posture is perfect and my tone with no hint of emotion.

“Good lord Charlie, are you stupid?” my mother shouts shaking uncontrollably.

I look into her beautiful glassy eyes, the emerald spheres once dazzling with glee have now shattered with nothing but ire and the shards stab me harder and harder each time I look at her. Before I was so sure she loved me, considered me her little boy, her “prince”, but ever since my brother James passed I’m not so sure.. she would refuse to eat, see me and she sent my father away to isolation, I never saw him again. I was twelve. Now I’m 18, nothing has changed and everyday my mother looks at me with those sad, shameful green eyes. One time she was so heavily drunk, she took a swipe at me, then another. And another. I took those hits out of pity, grieving, I thought my mother was just so depressed and she would snap out of it because I was still her Charlie. Her son. That day, the scars on my back were red, burning, prickling with anger, as tears streaked down my face. My whole life has been nothing but surrounded by cameras who are nothing but hungry for stories, tales, anything that kept the public interested, entertained.

My family was the epitome of flawless, clean but everyday felt like we were puppets, pretty dolls on their best for show,

people to be toyed with, easily judged or disgraced. My parents lived for the power, the respect and we needed the same attitude, same formality, same etiquette ,as their children, the heirs to the throne. One single mistake would ruin our entire life, and the reputation we are forced to uphold. I did not choose this life and yet I still have to live it, I just wanted to be normal, an outcast to royalty. I don’t feel loved anymore and I certainly don’t feel welcome here. Everything is just cold and bare, the hospitality seeping through the ancient doors and out into the rest of the world, far away from us.

“No mother.” I reply still staying still, but my mind was agitated and my heart was screaming at ribcage to escape, to be liberated.

“Then why would you go against my will and go see that.. woman.” my mother says slowly turns her head away in frustration.

My eyes widen, fright flickering in and out, when suddenly the words just burst out of me “BECAUSE I LOVE HER. I. LOVE. HER.”

I couldn’t believe myself. I slam the door behind me as I stomp towards the front door. I touch my lips, barely parted and quickly walk away to avoid anything more. The weather was bleak as usual, in Britain the weather was intermittent, but today the skies seemed tempestuous, ready to release all the pain and sadness held inside of them, just like me. I can hear more shouting behind me but I didn’t care. In response to it, I ran, without looking back, without a care in the world. For once, I’m doing what I want. And getting out of this hellhole was the first on my list.