The Liars (2 page)

“No, however–”

Memory felt like slapping him. And what in the world were the police doing? Were they suddenly not going to fine the guy who hit her just because he was the son of the king?

“If you get away with
out charges, I swear I’m going to kill you.” She declared furiously, and Viletta tugged her backwards by the collar of her cardigan, gasping dramatically.

“Memory! You did not just say that–”

“Yes, I did.” Memory crossed her arms. “I don’t care who he is. He ran into
your
car. And he was speeding. We were both as guilty, and if I go down, so does he.” Face puffed in anger, she stalked up to him, and lifted a finger to his chest.

“I demand compensation for the damage.” She said bravely, and upon seeing his shocked look
she bathed herself in satisfaction.

He cradled his injured arm and waited a few moments
before replying with a flat, “Your demands are futile.”

Exasperated, Memory threw her hands up in the air. “Am I the only sane person here? What happened to the legal system? Just because this guy,” she had to suppress the urge to hit him,
hard
, “can bribe you, does that mean you can let it go?!”

One officer chuckled, and Memory
whipped around to sneer at him.

“Think
it’s funny, do you? It’s people like you who ruin everything. Go die in a hole.”  Frustrated by the situation, Memory made a move to exit the lobby. “You–all you of you–are the most pathetic people I’ve ever met.”

Although she felt a surge of happiness as she stepped out of the awkward situation in the lobby, the mild breeze that greeted her
outside was accompanied by a crowd of frenzied journalists and reporters. They threw question after question at her, but she stumbled away, her bad arm singing with pain after someone accidentally hit her with his camera.

She felt so
angry.
Viletta had insurance on her car, thankfully, but now that the blasted idiot was the one who’d hit her, there was no way she was going to repay everything. The Prince would probably turn the tables and charge her with unintentional murder. Especially after she had just told him she would kill him.

She gulped.

What’ve I done?

In midst of all the turmoil, the realization that Memory had completely forgotten about her sister hit her like a ton of bricks. She was still stick at the hospital with torn clothes and a nothing in her pocket but a dead phone, her apartment keys, a packet of chewing gum, pepper spray, and two dollars in change.

Not to mention, it was almost three pm.

“What am I going to do, oh my goodness, what am I–” She paced back and forth, ignoring the chattering of the reporters in the background. She was on the verge of pulling her hair out.

Now that Viletta’s car was gone, and probably wouldn’t be fixed for at least a month, she was useless. And after
all, what girl helped her ‘friend’ out after getting their car totaled by the same person? Well, it wasn’t as bad as the Prince’s car, but unfortunately, she wasn’t a prince. Or any member of royalty that could easily replace a car with a snap of her fingers.

“Great. Just great.”

She supposed she could call Bryan using a payphone–he was the man who contributed half his DNA to her genes, but she absolutely refused to call him father or by any other title acknowledging him as such–but at this time of day, he was most likely hung over.  No point in calling a man who would only throw up at the sound of her voice.

She fervently hoped her sister was smart enough to call a friend or take a taxi home. She didn’t have a phone, but Memory knew her sister had probably called her using a payphone. So she decided to rush home and charge her phone, maybe she’d get another call from the girl.

Except…she had no way of getting home.

Well, I got two bucks.
Bus ride it is.

The bus made Memory nauseous, especially since in the outskirts of Helviera, public services were old and run down. The vehicle groaned the entire way, rocking back and forth, and Memory wondered if she’d get into an accident for the second time. It wouldn’t be surprising, really.

A gruesome forty-five minutes later, Memory rushed into her apartment, fumbling with the keys. She swung the door open, jumped over the one small couch, and slid into the kitchen, plugging her cheap phone into the charger.

The screen lit up, and as expected, there were fifteen missed calls.

She sat there, twiddling her thumbs, praying furiously that her sister would call. Two hours must’ve passed before the door swung open, a tired Lulu trudging into the apartment.

Memory gave her a quick hug, and after taking one look at her tired eyes, shoved her onto the couch.

Lulu was a regal beauty. She had big
grey eyes, so round it looked like was in a state of permanent amazement, and thin eyebrows. Her face was round and she had rosy cheeks, which were more often than not covered by her strawberry blond hair. After coming back from the trip, her hair seemed even lighter. A pale yellow, almost.

“How’d you get here?”

Lulu looked up at her in anger momentarily, but exhaustion took over.

“Later.”

Lulu finally woke up around midnight, and well-rested, she relayed her story to Memory.

“After I called you sixteen hundred times–the dude I borrowed the phone from got so angry he
almost threw a box of Chinese food at me–I called Viletta. And she didn’t pick up either. Bryan was too drunk, as usual.” She looked at Memory accusingly. “But my teacher had to stay until all the students left, and the poor guy, after three hours of waiting, offered me a ride.”

“I’m really really sorry.” Memory
pulled up the sleeves of her shirt, exposing the bruises on her forearms. “Car accident.”

Lulu winced, her previous anger dissipating, and patted
Memory on the head. The two sisters cuddled on the couch, eating chips as Lulu recalled all the amazing sights she’d seen on the island. Turtles, dolphins, sand so soft it felt like silk, tall palm trees, warm air…Memory wished one day she could visit that paradise one day. Just her and her sister.

Chapter 2

Memory Confiance was a
plain girl, as they always were, with a height just below average and hair that was almost brown but not quite. The reddish hue of the mass of curls atop her head, she liked to tell herself, came from her mother. Her face was round but pinched at her chin, and her nose was neither thin nor wide. Just…normal.

Growing up the way she had, she had experienced a lot of stupid things in her life, from her father’s drunk antics to her sister’s pretentious behavior.

Not to mention, she had worked as a waitress and was subjected to more idiosyncrasies than any sane person could handle. So she’d developed a bit of an allergy to inane people, forcing her to pull the lever on bitter sarcastic mode more often than not.

So when she sat in the library, flipping through a huge book needed for her research project and heard a demeaning yet strong voice echoing, she walked around the shelves to find the person. It was a
library
, not a circus. Except, she didn’t expect to see the Prince in all his glory, sitting at a table with a pile of books and chuckling as he talked to someone over the phone.

Memory turned red.

“Y-you! What are
you
doing here?”

His blue eyes flickered towards her, and he seemed slightly confused. Of course he wouldn’t remember
her; she was just a mere commoner. A very angry commoner.

“The car crash.” She crossed her arms. “Would you mind putting your cell phone away? It’s supposed to be quiet in here.”

“Ah.” He leaned back in his chair after setting down his phone, smirking in recognition. “The one from two weeks ago.”

Memory rubbed her arm, wincing when a painful pang shot through her body. The bruises still hadn’t gone away, and Viletta was becoming restless due to her refusal to help fix her car.

“What exactly are you doing here, anyway? This is the campus library.”

He shrugged. “Are you saying I’m not allowed to sit in a
library?”

Miffed by his good loo
ks, Memory scowled. “Where are your body guards? Or those annoying fan girls? Why would you be here, anyway?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” He mused. “It’s really none of your business.”

Memory glanced at the pile of books on the table. Most of the titles had to do with history of the monarchs, and there was even one titled ‘Inheritance of the Rich’.

It wasn’t a coincidence that she’d run into him twice, was it?

“Aren’t you worried that people are going to recognize you?” Memory sat down at the table, not caring that she was uninvited. Her previous pursuits of researching was completely forgotten.

The Prince
himself looked like a candle flame in the gloomy and dark library. His clothes were no doubt expensive, and his diamond encrusted watch alone probably cost more than more money Memory would ever make in her entire life.

“I’m more worried you’re going to threaten me than silly girls recognizing me.”

Memory could tell he was mocking her. “You deserved it.”

“A rebel, I see. Do you know how easy it would be to
arrest you for defamation of character?”

She paled at that, but she kept her composure in check. “Why didn’t you, then?”

He didn’t reply, taking another book off the stack and flipping through it as quickly as Memory had done mere minutes ago.

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “I won’t tell anyone. Just, don’t be loud.”

Although she knew she should’ve bowed or something as a sign of respect, Memory didn’t have the heart to do so. And she was especially happy that she didn’t when two hours later, she heard a rather loud squeal and a flurry of students, both male and female, rush to the corner of the library to take pictures.

Who knew why she was doing this, but the moment Memory escaped the library after checking out a laptop and took sanctuary in the sci
ence department, she looked up Prince Cassian Eastcote, which was his full name.

As expected, news articles about him in a car crash were the first things to pop up. Much to Memory’s horror, there were a myriad of pictures of her, making the absolute ugliest faces.

Oh god I looked horrible.

While most of the internet was full of idiotic fan pages for
the young prince, there were two articles that caught her interest. One about Prince Quincy’s death, who Memory learned was Prince Cassian’s half-brother. It was about the mystery surrounding the two year-old’s death, and even though there had been a press release about how the little boy suffered from leukemia, there was speculation of murder.

The second one was just as intriguing.
It was one about his grandmother, or the king’s mother. Queen Beryl. Apparently, she was suffering from liver cancer and wasn’t expected to live much longer.

But why would
the Prince be here, in Whecombe Pass, almost five hundred miles away from the palace? What in the world was he doing in this suburban small town?

She supposed that she should feel bad for trying to pry into his personal issues, but didn’t. He crashed into her, didn’t he? After speeding and probably breaking more than a few laws.

Speeding. There must’ve been a reason why he was speeding.
Or
. He was just being an idiot.

Either way, as the day went on (and
the rumors of the Prince visiting the campus flourished about), she forgot about it.

“Have you visited Bryan yet?”

Lulu, while rolling out dough, scrunched her button-like nose. “Of course not. What am I, insane?”

“You should.”

“He doesn’t care if I do or don’t.”

Memory sighed, rolling the dough into little egg-like shapes. “He keeps bugging me. I can’t exactly study for exams with him calling me every five minutes.”

Lulu stopped in surprise, or maybe shock. Either from realizing Bryan had some modicum of care for her, or that he remained sober enough to call.

“Really?” She asked skeptically. Memory coughed.

“Well, his friend calls. Bryan permanently lives at the casino so…”

“Why do you care?” Lulu demanded, picking up the rolling pin and waving it around. “You send him checks regularly too. Just let the bastard starve. Besides, you know he blows all the money off on alcohol or gambling.”

Memory sighed, sitting down on a stool. They didn’t have a dining table in the house; in its place
were three stools and a round coffee table.

Her sister had a fair point. Why
did
she care? Maybe the optimist inside her decided that if her mother could love such a man at one point, then there must be something redeemable about him.

Then again, she left him after five years anyway.

“Never mind.” Memory muttered. “Hurry up and bake the bread! I’m starving.”

It was weird enough that she ran into him twice in very weird situations, but a third time within one month? That was odd.
Extremely
odd.

The day started off like any other–moaning about how horrible her life was, rushing to the café and working for five hours, going to class, attending another class and finally going home–except when going home, she’d gone to a gas station to get some food.

Since Viletta wasn’t talking to her, and she had no car, she’d taken a liking to the bus. Well, a reluctant liking. She took a bus from campus to an intersection near the café she worked at, and from there walked home.

Today she’d realized she’d eaten nothing, and her stomach was grumbling like a dying whale. The café closed in the afternoon so going there to eat (and use her worker’s discount) wasn’t an option. So she sauntered into the gas station, grabbed a bag of chips, and was about to pay for it when–

“Again?”

Memory stiffened, knowing that flat voice anywhere.
My thoughts exactly.

She slowly turned around and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“At least you don’t look out of place.” She deadpanned. If it weren’t for the voice or the intense eyes, she wouldn’t have recognized him. He looked like he actually worked at the gas station, wearing a pair of cheap khakis and a black sweatshirt.

It suited him, actually, far more than she’d be willing to admit.

“Are you following me?” She inquired while paying for the chips.

He chuckled. “I could say the same.”

“Oh please. As if you have a reason to be in this hell of a town.” Memory ripped open her bag of chips and munched on them loudly, hoping he’d leave out of annoyance. When he didn’t, she left the station, shivering as the cold breeze nipped at her skin.

The Prince
followed her.

I’m confused.

Memory ignored him, walking in the direction of her house, and after thirty seconds whipped around and pointed a finger at him.

“
What are you doing?!”

He shrugged. “I was initially here for the same reason you were, but…”

Memory tilted her head, skeptical. “Can’t you, like, go to a five star restaurant and eat there? Why in the world would you eat this junk?” She held up her bag of chips, which was half empty already.

“And subject myself to the media?”
Prince Cassian grimaced. “No one would expect me to be here.”

“Yeah. Right.” Memory huffed. “Are we done here?”

He didn’t respond, only stared at her oddly, and without a second thought grabbed her by the arm. Memory yelped.

“Ow! That’s my bad arm–hey–what are you doing?!” She tried to wrench free as he dragged her back to the station’s parking lot, where an expensive car was situated.

So much for blending in.

He unlocked his car and motioned for her to get in. She stared at him indecorously.

“I’m giving you three seconds before I call the police.”

Prince Cassian
raised a quizzical eyebrow. “And would they believe you?”

“That you’re kidnapping me? Of course.” Memory reached into her pocket and pulled out the pepper spray she always carried with her.

He grabbed her arm again. “Just–listen. Why would I kidnap you if it would get me in trouble? It’s counterintuitive, especially when I’m trying to be inconspicuous–”

Memory held back a laugh as
the Prince shouted out a string of curses as the spray stung him in the eyes. She didn’t honestly think he was going to kidnap her, but one couldn’t be too sure.

She made a move to run, ready to dial the police if need
be, but the Prince grabbed her by the arm, eyes stinging from the pepper. The one she had was an extremely diluted solution, so he shouldn’t have been too blinded.

He coughed, tears streaming down his face. Memory didn’t feel pity at all and burst into a fit of giggles.

“I warned you.”

He cursed and leaned against his car, trying to rub the solution from his eyes.

“Don’t rub your eyes.” Memory ordered, stuffing the spray back into her pocket. “It only makes it worse.”

While he waited for the effects of the spray to cool down, she threw away her chips and paced around, wondering how everything had gotten so…confusing. She didn’t feel pity at all, not one bit, and yet when she could’ve run away she didn’t.

He’s definitely going to call me in now.

She sighed. Why did she have to be so impulsive? While it was true that she couldn’t care less about the status of a person–if they were annoying, they were annoying–but that didn’t lessen the fact that he had a tremendous amount of power and could get her entire family incarcerated at his whim.

That’s probably why she stayed, she told herself. She glanced back at the Prince, wondering why she hadn’t taken a photo of him crying when she had the chance, but when he looked at her with something other than anger, she jumped in surprise.

“Are you always like this?” He asked, voice hoarse from the pain. Memory’s lips thinned.

“Like what?”

“Uncouth. Rude.”

Uncouth? Memory scoffed. “Look who’s talking. You tried to kidnap me.”

“Actually, no.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m really rethinking what I’d initially planned.”

“What? What plan?”

He scowled and said nothing, op
ening the front seat of his car and sliding in. Memory’s eyes widened.

“Oh no!” She yelped, using her hand to stop him from closing the door. “You can’t drive in that condition. Your vision won’t come back fully for another hour or so.”

“That’s a pity, then, isn’t it?”

Memory rolled her eyes. “I just don’t want some poor person getting hit by you again.”

The Prince shrugged. “I’ll call my butler, then.”

Memory lunged for the keys in his hands and skipped away. She dangled them around.