Royalty Gone Bad

Chapter 22: 22. Homesick

***

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.

--

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.

“Breakfast’s ready. Would you like some, now?” she asked him.

“Mm-mm,” he shook his head in sleep, his eyes refusing to open. And then he mumbled. “No, now go

away.”

“Suit yourself,” she stood. “But we’ll keep you some. All you have to do is put the Bacon and eggs in

the microwave to heat them up a little. You hear me? Dad and I are going out later and you might not

see us when you wake up. Okay?” she asked, gently tapping his shoulder to make sure he heard.

“Yes, yes, yes. Can I sleep in peace?” he grumbled in sleep and tossed in bed, the sheets coming off

him and exposing him in nothing but his boxers. Saïda gasped a little and being the good and kinda

naïve girl she was, she turned immediately and backed the sleeping Prince.

“We’re in the kitchen having breakfast then,” she added and left his room.

***

After breakfast, Saïda spoke a little with her father.

“Dad, I was thinking of getting a job, myself,” she said.

“Why?” Djafar asked.

“You know how I am. I hate staying around all day with nothing to do. The only thing I do here is cook. I

easily get bored.”

“Okay. So what job would you do? Do you have an idea on where to ask for one?”

“Yes. The Moroccan food store where I buy the ingredients to make our food. I think they can take me

to help. I’ll go ask the owners. It’s an old couple, assisted by their two sons.”

“Alright. You can ask for a job there. Let me know if they’ve accepted you or not.”

“Okay, father. Thank you.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll be going to meet the person the sultan said I should meet. I will be back in the

evening.”

“Okay.”

---

Djafar eventually left, some minutes later. Saïda changed and was ready to go stroll and go to that

store where she hoped to find a job.

Before leaving, she checked on Asahd one last time and he was still fast asleep, undisturbed.

Knowing he’d not heard a word of what she’d said earlier, she wrote a note and left it on the table

before leaving..

--

Asahd’s POV:

I woke up, hours later. I checked my time and it was one in the afternoon. My head was hurting a little

and all I wanted to do was finally take a cool, refreshing shower.

I got out of bed, grabbed my toothbrush and towel. I wore some shorts and left the room.

I was surprised to see that there was no one sitting in the living room and watching TV. I then noticed a

note left by Saïda. I picked it and it read:

-Because your sleepy self didn’t hear a single word I’d said this morning, I had to write this.

Your breakfast is in the microwave. I guess you know how to use it. If you’re still hungry, there’s

leftovers from yesterday’s meals in the fridge. My father and I went out. I’ll probably return before he

does. And oh, wash the plates you’ll eat from, after you’re done. Else, you’ll be starving tonight. I mean

it. Wash them.

Saïda.-

“Yes Mommy. Anything you say,” I muttered and dropped the paper before going to shower. NôvelDrama.Org (C) content.

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