Excuse the silly format idk why I write it like this
I wondered if I could ever love again without feeling terrified of the consequences. The irony wasn't lost on me, and I even laughed at first. I was broken by a girl, and another dragged me out of the rubble just to break me again. My issue, aside from the crippling pain in my heart, was why? Why would somebody pretend to be somebody else for so long and to what gain?
Camille said I could stay at her place but that obviously wasn't going to happen so I found the cheapest motel in the area that had wi-fi. I looked at our conversation logs for a hint or clue. If I could find the tiniest slip up maybe I could -- well I really didn't know what I was trying to do, but I had to find some way to make myself feel less violated.
It was painful to go through but I found that she was incredibly consistent. I looked through the pictures and tried to convince myself she was a dude and this was just an incredibly elaborate prank, but her features were too feminine and I decided that I was trying to avoid the real truth. It was scary to think about but if Camille didn't exist -- at least as I knew her -- she could have been anybody.
She could have been a perverted Catholic priest, or a lonely twilight fan. I thought of all the secrets I had shared and the pictures I had sent and I threw up in my mouth a bit. I was sick to my stomach and I had a long day so I must have nodded off at some point.
I woke up to the sound of steel clashing and men screaming.
"We are under attack Prince Rodrick! We are doomed!" screamed a small man sitting next to me in the wagon.
"I've told you a thousand times," I said. "My name is Rodrigu-"
Before I could finish I heard one of the wheels of the wagon break, and I fell backwards as the contraption turned over. Around me the caravan guards shed their packs and drew their swords in my defense.
I rose to my feet, and drew my trusted servant weapon. It hissed as it left its scabbard causing the less experienced guards to cringe. I slapped an arrow out of the air with it and screamed. "You would harm your prince? Feel the sting of Ira!"
The bandits ignored the threat and rushed forward all at once. This should have been a simple, two hour trip to the capital. If you gave me two hours I could take a decent nap, or I could tell you a hundred ways to kill a man with a longsword. You could stab with the blade horizontally and slip right through the chest cavity. Stabbing a throat is harder as the hit point is smaller but its much more fun to do. You could actually swing the sword, sure, but thats incredibly personal and not something I do to people I don't know. You have to be really close. If you gave me two minutes I could kill a small army of ill-armored bandits without getting cut a single time. But maybe I like to get cut, so I played around a bit.
As I tore through the bandits their hatred flowed out of their corpses and into the flask at my side. My sword screamed in fury, and what few scoundrels were left fled in terror.
"Man, they fucked up my car," I said as I examined the broken down wagon. "I guess we walk?"
The small man from before hopped out of the wagon looking terrified. "Prince Rodrick, they took the royal documents?"
"Bokya, what in the world are you talking about?"
Bokya hopped up and down, furiously. "You were instructed to deliver those documents to the capital! That was the entire reason we set out on this trip!"
"Why don't I remember any of this?" I asked.
"I suppose royal privelage allows a few forgotten errands here and there," said a voice. I felt one of the caravan guards slip a knife into my back. "A real shame the same couldn't be said of the common folk." The stab felt good in a weird way but passing out never does.