Royalty Gone Bad novel Chapter 22

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Writer’s POV:

Asahd made it back to the apartment the next morning, completely exhausted and even more unsure of New York City and the girls/young women that lived it it. He was homesick. He was money sick. All he wished for at that moment, more than anything else, was to return to his country.

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He unlocked the door and got in. It was six AM and the others were still asleep. He went to his room and collapsed on his bed.

′I hate this life. I hate this city. I hate its parties. I just hate everyone.′

He covered his face in his palms, wanting to cry all of a sudden from all the nostalgia.

′Don’t shed a damned tear, Asahd. Not now please.′

He was tired of smiling, tired of acting like everything was coming into place and that he was starting to have everything under control. Lies. He was tired of trying to fit into a life he believed was not meant and never was meant for him to live.

“I can’t,” he muttered, a lump in his throat. “I just can’t. I wanna disappear so bad. I want to hate my parents and Djafar for this but I can’t. I love them.”

He groaned in desperation and rolled unto his stomach, grabbing his pillow and burying his face into it.

“I can’t!” he screamed into his pillow. He was really fighting the urge to cry. “What can I do, to get out of this mess? What?”

He was silent for a while, breathing hard into his pillow. And all of a sudden, like lightening, it hit him. One of the best ideas he’d had yet.

Asahd sat up with wide eyes and gasped a little, hope written all over his face.

′I can save up a lot of my salary and extra money till it’s enough to by my ticket back to Morocco and another ticket from Casablanca to Zagreh! Yessss!′

He looked around for his phone and grabbed it. Then he went on to search the price of a plane ticket to Morroco and how much more he would need to save up for it to be converted to Moroccan currency, in order to buy the second ticket at Casablanca. It wasn’t little money but Asahd was not giving up on his plan.

“If I save right, in some weeks I can get to this amount and fly the hell back to Zagreh,” he muttered.

′I will leave all of a sudden, without Saïda or Djafar knowing my real intentions. They would only hear the news that I appeared in Zagreh. My parents would probably punish me for it by locking me up in the palace and my room but who cares?! I’d rather be grounded like a teenager, than stay here!′

It was final and decided. From that moment, Asahd started secretly planning on how to save enough money and return to his country. He had to be very careful so neither Saïda, nor Djafar would discover his intentions and try to stop him.

“I’ll be out of this living hell in a few weeks. I must leave this place. I just have to,” he muttered, feeling very sleepy all of a sudden.

He removed his clothes, put his phone away and wrapped himself up in the sheets.

***

“Check if he’s in his room,” Djafar told his daughter, later that same morning at ten when she was done making breakfast. “Maybe he returned without us hearing him.”

“True. Lemme check on him.”

Saïda went to his door and knocked, no reply. So, she turned the doorknob and stepped in. She was relieved to see Asahd fast asleep and wrapped up in his sheets. She poked her head out and told her father that he was in.

“Okay. Ask him if he would like to have breakfast now,” Djafar said.

Saïda nodded and got into the room, closing the door behind her. She approached his bed and gently patted his back through the sheets.

“Asahd??” she called a few times until he stirred and opened his eyes. He had sleep bags underneath his eyes and looked so tired.

“Mm?” he hummed, sleepily.