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1
As wakefulness began to take hold and his dream faded, Wille chased it. He wished to remain there, in the place where reality could be as he wanted; a source of solace rather than pain.
Afterall, sleep was just death being shy; and to Wille death sometimes seemed better than living.
Wanting to die was an odd feeling - hard to really notice as it slowly creeps in. It had begun as nothing more than a small voice echoing in his head, a whisper. Yet by the time it became too loud to quell and ignore, it had become almost normal.
The shift into accepting that little voice had begun around the time of his fight at the club in Stockholm.
He hadn’t intended for it to escalate the way it had, but shit happens.
The furious cocktail that was familial pressure, a desire for belonging and a wish for a normal life mingled painfully, thrumming through his veins. His mind was set on one task - to feel okay again. If he could just get a few drinks and stop feeling as if he were on the verge of clawing out of his own skin things would be okay.
In hindsight, he should've seen it coming. The glare of the paparazzi’s cameras had felt just a little too harsh on his unadjusted eyes and the usual low level whispers of “Is that the Prince?” were a cacophony, shaking up what the little composure he was clinging onto.
As he entered down the steps, the smell of sweaty bodies, lust and cheap booze flooded his senses. Hands grabbed at him whilst phones were shoved in his face, treating him as an object and tipping him past the point of no return. The other guy simply lit the flame by shoving him. The gas canister had long been filled.
As he was shoved, Wille stumbled backwards slightly, hitting his hip on the bar counter behind him.
The bass of the music pounded, loud enough his heart rattled with each beat. The noise that he thought would’ve provided him clarity, only further smudging his thoughts.
He pushed himself up off, walking towards the man who had shoved him and grabbed him by the lapels of his leather jacket. As he swung his head back before slamming into the other guy's face, his mind went blank.
The other guy stepped backwards, more in shock than anything, before swinging his fist directly at Wille, connecting squarely with his jaw and knocking him to the floor. Around him, the crowd of bodies closed in impossibly tighter.
It was only as the magnitude of what he had just done kicked in that he came back into himself, drowning in his sudden helplessness.
Later, much later, upon reflection of that night, Wilhelm realized that perhaps that was the first time - the aftermath of the fight - that he had considered that life may simply just not be worth it.
Wille knew that the feeling went deeper than that. That deep down maybe he was barely treading water in the facade that was royal life. But complete disregard for your own existence was not a particularly enjoyable emotion to examine, and so he didn’t.
‘I want to die.’
It had been a fleeting thought, but its presence alone should've scared him. Instead, it had almost been a comfort.
By the time he had been escorted back to the royal car, his split lip and forehead patched up, that feeling had been disregarded just as thoroughly as had been taught to do with almost any.
Instead, he elected to attempt to prepare himself for the inevitable scolding he would face, and of course, the press that would ensue. A public appearance here, a charity event there, just going through the motions of what was desired of him.
He often found that he felt like a piece of putty - malleable and soft, being molded however others wanted, and yet somehow not strong enough to mold himself on his own.
The entire concept of facing the press left him spiraling, the task becoming more and more daunting, until he felt like he couldn’t breathe and found himself standing hyperventilating over his bathroom sink, futilely trying to calm himself with cold water to the face.
Eventually he calmed and simply stood, staring at his swollen reflection, the cut above his lip throbbing as he grimaced. He continued to grip the edge of his bathroom sink as his knuckles turned white.
From that point on, his panic attacks began to become his only real display of his emotion.
2
The second time he noticed a feeling of general apathy towards life was on his first night at Hillerska.
After a busy few weeks preparing for his attendance, it was a wonder he hadn’t collapsed from exhaustion. But he supposed ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way’, and that couldn’t be more true for Wille, having kept himself going despite the sleep deprivation through energy drinks and spite.
At Hillerska, after all the introductions and formalities were done, Wille finally got to sit and just stop for what felt like the first time in forever.
While he was aware he had been pushing his luck in the past few weeks (having noticed the concerned looks Malin gave him as he swayed on his feet after yet another day without rest, but one that wasn’t over just yet), even he was astounded by the depths of weariness one can feel without collapsing into a heap.
Although in theory this night off should’ve been a chance to recuperate and just turn off for a few hours, he had never felt more awake; thoughts running through his consciousness faster than he could really process them.
Their fast and heavy footfall stomped out any logic and calm that tried to prevail.
These stomping thoughts weren’t the same that had been keeping him so occupied the past few weeks, those having been replaced by thoughts he had been too exhausted to dwell on until now; like the gaping hole he felt in his chest whenever he thought about spending the rest of his life in the public eye, the hole expanded ever more as he considered it further.
Erik’s eventful departure completely tore open the hole in his chest that had been so weakly held together, ending with Wille clinging onto his brother, like a lost child as he begged him to stay.
And then he left standing alone in the hallway, feelings more alone than ever as his skin crawled and the walls pressed down on him.
“Don’t leave me.”
His parting words a stark reminder that this felt like not so much as a departure, but as an abandonment. Their conversation had provided no comfort, arguably ladening him with copious guilt before his now isolation.
“It’s not all about you,”
“Stop being so selfish,”
“It’s not that hard.”
“Keep up appearances.”
If that was how his own brother viewed him and his situation, how sweet, caring, Erik saw him. Then what did that say about him within that moment?
Maybe Wille was being selfish, how dare he have emotions and feelings aside from concern about his
reputation.
Clearly his parents' conditioning about status having been insufficient for him.
Stupid fucking reputation.
It was in that moment, sitting alone in ‘his’ room, (it didn’t truly feel his) his own mother ignoring his pleas to come home, that the reality of his situation, one where his feelings had never really mattered, dawned on him.
What sane person would want their future to be one of constant suppression; of their views, their wants, their needs?
Being told that his beliefs were vapid and aimless.
It really shouldn’t be much of a surprise that the thought of dying ran through his mind alongside his stampede of other thoughts.
Just one among many.
A morbid partner for his psyche that was forever hard at work, planning and worrying about his every move and word and how it would be perceived.
Despite the finality of death as a solution, when compared to the longevity of Wille’s situation, it certainly held some merit. A shortened sentence compared to a lifetime of misery.
His writing tutors had always said short sentences built suspense. A full stop come too soon breaking the flow and rhythm of a phrase, a jarring contrast to whatever was written before, creating intrigue.
But was that what he wanted? To break up the monotonous cycle of day to day life?
For the first time, on that night, another thought glided across the stage that was his mind.
Putting a full stop on his life wasn’t very much a viable option in the here and now. But making himself bleed was. All it would take is his razor.
And that night, for the first but most certainly not the last time, the Prince of Sweden made himself bleed.
In the immediate, he felt more grounded. He finally had something he could control.
And yet, as he pulled down his trousers over his newly bandaged thigh, he looked back up at himself. Another secret now weighing him down, another secret hidden between the layers of himself and what the bathroom mirror saw.
3
If Wilhelm’s arrival at Hillerska clearly marked what was now his all time low, then meeting Simon had marked a slight turn for the better.
While waking up everyday became an increasing struggle, especially under the added mantle of ‘Prince, it had been over a month since Wille had last cut. Talking to someone that treated him as a real person helped him in more ways than he could ever say.
And yet, everything can change so quickly in an hour.
Wille had been excited at the prospect of spending the weekend with Simon. Despite the need to actively avoid August, it was worth it if he could spend time with his favorite person in the world.
Wille stepped out into the courtyard, finishing wrapping a scarf around his neck, Simon at his side. The trees adorned with a thinning number of leaves framed the courtyard. The leaves that remained were beginning to be tinged in an orangish hue. A symbol of change, out with the old and in with the new.
As he continued down the steps, more looks were directed his way than he had faced since the day he had arrived at the school, a sense of unease settling over him.
Before he could dwell on that discomfort however, the school counselor appeared through the double doors, calling him with an unprecedented urgency, a slight wheeze in his voice as he rushed towards Simon and Wille.
He called out, “Wilhelm!”
“Wilhelm, could you please uh.. Could you please come with me?”
“What’s going on?” Wille replied, gut sinking.
“Please just come with me,” The other man pleading slightly now.
Wille shared a look with Simon who offered him a smile before turning and following the older man indoors.
As he followed the school counselor towards the Principal's office, several thoughts crossed his mind. Had he done something wrong? Maybe his mum just needed to contact him? (she seemingly despised calling him unless strictly necessary and never just phoned his mobile).
The Principal's door swung open and he stepped tentatively in, the counselor hanging back in the hallway. Wille went to take a seat upon her instruction. So this was clearly not a short and sweet conversation.
When the phone was passed to him his stomach dropped. His mother was on the line, her voice breaking as she began to speak.
She didn’t cry. That wasn’t a thing she did. Ever.
Not once had he seen the Queen of Sweden cry and yet, right here and now she was crying, and whilst over the phone at that.
“It’s Erik,”
Her unusually soft tone caught him off guard, she was never someone who had coddled nor comforted him in his 16 years of life. But here she was, sounding warm as she spoke. He neglected the thought to bask in it, in lieu of preparing for the worst.
Somehow nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
As she uttered the words “car crash”, Wille shut down completely.
Erik was dead.
Erik was dead and he had been on his way to Hillerska to visit when he had died.
Numbness set in, overwhelming Wille, blocking out all rational thinking and emotion. Grief rolled over him in waves as he walked through the now dark corridors of the school.
The words of the principal and Olaf fell on deaf ears as he painfully nodded at them, waiting to leave. Emotion overcame him, an ocean drawing him as he bee-lined to his room.
When he finally did reach the small refuge his room provided - the sobs came quick and heavy, gasping and gulping.
Subconsciously he was aware of his phone vibrating, the text tone he had set for Simon different to the others, sounding in the distance. But it was barely noticeable, the despair clawing him open from the inside holding his focus, the ambient noise of his room a million miles away.
And that night for the first time in a month, the now Crown Prince of Sweden bled once more, his thigh bearing witness to the massacre that took place. The pressure on Wille had been overwhelming before, but it was downright insurmountable now. Crown Prince.
It was never meant to be him. He was the forgotten about one, the spare.
Sleep didn’t come easy that night, intermittent and fitful closing of his eyes before awaking in a cold sweat shortly after.
Afterall, his whole world had crumbled like sand falling through his fingers and he was helpless to fix it, no matter how he attempted to grasp at the grains.
His mind circled but got stuck on that idea once more. Death was a better option than living. Mentally taking it as lifeblood, a motivation.
Surely it could at least provide him the silence he yearned and if he tried hard enough to bother believing in heaven, maybe it would provide a chance to speak to Erik once again.
If Malin had heard the sobbing that night, too loud to be fully stifled by dormitory walls and plywood doors, she had kept it to herself. A small grace Wille was thankful of.
4
In defiance of his best efforts, Wille never had returned to the way he was before Erik’s death.
Sure, he had gradually lessened the amount of time he spent alone in his room, but no amount of time spent with Simon was able to truly salve the wound his loss had created. It was a band-aid on a bullet wound.
Everyday interactions were draining, taking all of his energy. Basic conversation was all he could manage before retreating back to the safety of his dorm to just lay cocooned in his bed.
Empty.
Numb.
Increasingly, Malin’s concerned glances had grown as he passed by her or glanced her way as they walked.
From time to time when he was alone in the darkness of his room at night, he would often dwell on how Simon might perceive him.
Surely it was with pity? The King that was never meant to be, a broken shell of a teenager, insides carved out meticulously onto a platter until nothing remained.
His anchor throughout the storm was Simon.
But still sometimes he wondered if he was also his bigger flaw. Simon had got under Wille’s defenses and now he was the one person or thing in the world who could hurt him the most. At least, that was what he had thought.
Waking up later in the morning after sleeping with Simon, Wille was determined that nothing could ever make him regret it, it was wonderful and amazing and everything he had hoped for.
But sitting in his room at the Palace having just denied his involvement in the video and wanting to crawl out of his skin, proved otherwise.
His heart squeezed at the thought of what had just begun in Simon’s life,an avalanche that would never truly abate.
He never understood the publicity team's decision.
Everyone at school knew that was his room, so although he was now ‘restored’ in the public eye, he had also metaphorically shot himself in the foot, seemingly using lies for his own self interest and casting Simon aside when it suited him.
Merely the thought the people may think him to have used Simon as a means to an end made Wilhelm want to scream.
Once more, the world felt too much, his clothes too tight, the texture all wrong upon his skin. He inhaled, attempting to use the staggered breathing technique Simon had shown him. In for four, hold for seven and out for eight.
But all that did was remind him of Simon, his heart clenching in his chest at the thought.
He couldn’t do anything right. The King that was never meant to be. The fuckup with a sex scandal. The gay one.
By now the urge for everything to just stop was one he was familiar with. And any ‘normal’ reaction had long disappeared as he welcomed it with open arms.
Finding familiarity within the shitstorm of his life was few and far between, especially now since Simon has been ripped away from him.
Perhaps at some point he might look back on his current state and feel pity but quite frankly he could barely envision making it to tomorrow let alone a year down the line.
The best way to describe his sadness was as a constant dripping of an old broken tap. More recently, that drip had increased, becoming more of a steady stream. So what had once been a self regulating flow of water was beginning to overflow, until he eventually drowned in it.
Currently, it was knee deep so he could wade and wallow in it but there was still room until it overflowed.
Wille sat once more in a bathroom with the cold, callous light of the moon the only thing illuminating him.
He sat watching as blood slowly dripped from the cuts he had made, transfixed on the crimson color of it. His ankle slowly getting more stained as the flow continued.
Something Simon had said to him once emerged to the forefront of his brain.
“Your treat your emotions are like an endothermic reaction, taking it in and trapping it inside yourself,”
The memory of Simon’s pleading tone as he had said, “Promise me you’ll tell me if things get bad, I want to be there for you.”
And Wille had promised.
Before succinctly calling Simon a nerd because, endothermic reaction? Really?
While it was a happy memory, at this moment it did nothing but sour Wille’s mood further. It’s not like he was in a place to turn to Simon after everything he had put the other through.
So he had gone and broken his promise.
The drip of blood gradually stopped and already the momentary relief from his seemingly perpetual numbness was fading.
As was becoming a more common occurrence, Wille lay down on his bed after having cleaned up his leg, his knees clasped tightly to his chest, pressing his thighs a shade too hard into his chest, getting lost in the residual stinging.
Closing his eyes, once more Wille tried to sleep, dreaming of soft brown curls and a life so different from his own.
5
Never before had he been so angry. Fuck, angry wasn’t anywhere near a strong enough adjective.
Yet at the heart of all this anger was pain.
How could his own family do this? Hell, how could multiple members of his family get involved and do this.
August had violated Wille and Simon’s privacy and yet when learning of his involvement, the Queen was willing to, what, brush over it?
Mere days before, Wille had spoken with a Royal Advisor, helping to mend August’s money problems, yet the elder had the sheer audacity to do this.
The guy who Wille was told he could ‘trust like a brother’ goes and stabs him in the back. And where does that leave him?
His own parents' disregard wasn’t new but was hurtful nonetheless; but no brother, no Simon and now he can’t even trust people he considered ‘friends’ (August might be a dick but he had had to take what he could get).
Loneliness began to creep in around the gaps left as his anger ebbed and flowed, emotional overflow so intense he wished for the numbness back instead.
Isolation the way Wille was feeling it in the here and now was something new. Previously, no matter how desperate he was, he knew there was someone out there who cared for him.
In the past few months, one by one that list of people had been picked away until no one remained.
The best way to describe this feeling was suffocating while simultaneously drowning under the weight of all of it, pushed and pulled from every direction.
Realization setting in of how alone he was while faced with the fact that he couldn’t trust or talk to anyone in his life.
Anger continued to shift into something deeper, more potent, more agonizing.
He had defied their rules for love, and facing their cruelty was the price he had to pay.
How can they be so cruel?
Again, he was sitting on his bed in his room at Hillerska, which had seemingly become his default within his room. A storm of conflicting emotions flickered through him although they were gradually becoming overwhelmed by despair.
He stood up and followed a familiar path to his en suite without even thinking about it, his mind shutting off.
Off of his bed, past the dresser, along the side by his desk and into the room heading directly for the medicine cabinet.
A medicine cabinet, a place of healing. And yet here was to seek anything but.
Relief washed over him as he saw the familiar yet sinister glint of metal. So small and thin but capable of inflicting such damage.
Five minutes later, both of his thighs were crimson as he dripped into the shower, blood coming more heavily than usual. He had been quick with it this time. No hesitation, just sheer determination for it all to stop.
It was only as he moved his hand back that he stopped to look at what he had done, tears stuck in his throat.
The rate of blood flow wasn’t decreasing but any reservations were cast aside, they were so minute when compared with the pain he was feeling.
Why wasn’t it stopping? He just wanted everything to stop, to be painless.
Little did Wille know that he would be soon, as that was the last night the Crown Prince of Sweden cut.
Standing in the shower as blood continued to pool by his feet, he could no longer hold back the sob that was stuck in his throat.
He was scared.
Despite it all, that fear wasn’t enough to get him to call for help, instead eventually passing out in the shower and hitting his head in the process.
Only then, after hearing a concerning thump, did Malin try to enter his room.
“Your Highness, are you okay?”
When she was greeted with silence Malin knocked more vigorously, “Wilhelm, can I come in? Is everything alright?”
After considering the repeated nothingness she was faced with, Malin opened his door only to find the room empty. That is, empty aside from the light spilling out of the crack under his bathroom door.
Wilhelm didn’t remember hitting the floor, nor did he know how much time had passed, but he was dragged into the place somewhere between sleep and consciousness by a voice and its shadow looming over his crumpled body.
He wanted to call out, he could hear her, although who her was, Wille was unsure.
“Can you hear me?”
“Please hang on Wilhem, yes I- Hillerska school, it’s an emergency. A lot of blood loss -the Prince.”
Desperation took over Malin’s voice as she continued on the phone to the medical team en route.
The last thing Wille remembered hearing that day was Malin? (he thinks) talking to someone.
“I know, I’m doing what I can to staunch it, God his parents have some explaining to do, how could they let it get this bad?”.
And with that Wilhelm promptly blacked out.
+1
It had been a year since the day Wille had cut too deeply, losing a concerning amount of blood that night and scaring the fuck out of Simon and Malin in the process.
A lot of things had changed since them, most namely finally getting a therapist because fuck that had been very overdue.
Having somewhere unbiased to talk about himself and everything that comes with life as a public figure and not feel guilty for burdening someone made a world of difference. Particularly as he could decide the pace and what was and wasn’t discussed, providing him the autonomy over his own life he had never really held until now.
No matter how drained he was after a session: read, very, he was always left feeling just a little bit more grounded and like one of the things that clawed at his heart had had it’s grip loosened even just a little.
And of course, in the past year, he and Simon had begun to date openly in the public eye. After Wille had healed, he and Simon had spoken, it being clear that they had a lot to discuss.
After many hours of talking, crying and some more talking they had finally reached a level of okay enough to try again.
It was undeniable Simon had been hurt by Wille’s decision to deny his involvement, but seeing Wille’s pain and properly talking about the other forces at play gave him perspective.
Through Simon acknowledging his hurt and Wille getting an actually present support system, things had been on the incline since.
Naturally, there had been bumps in the road, healing isn’t a linear process, but they had made it through and planned to continue to do so by supporting each other. So their chances were looking pretty good.
Today, Wille had woken up and smiled. Waking up next to his boyfriend/best friend meant that that happened more days than not. Seeing Simon’s soft curls as they were a little more mussed than usual after sleeping, their legs still intertwined from cuddling before they drifted off filled his chest with warmth.
Wille didn’t think he would ever get over how soft and gooey watching Simon sleep made him.
While he knew he had a session with his therapist today, Wille rolled over the warmth of the bed too enticing.
Simon blinked awake groggily, stirred by Wille’s movement, so they were now both facing each other and smiling at the other warmly.
“Good morning,” said Simon, breaking the comforting quiet of the room, “How did you sleep?”
“Better when I’m next to you,” Wille replied, laughing as Simon groaned at his use of the cheesy one liner for the umpteenth time.
They made quiet conversation as their minds began to awaken before going hand in hand to the Palace kitchen. Since it was the Christmas holidays they were spending the week at the Palace before then spending the new years at Simon’s.
Meeting the kitchen staff had been challenging for Simon but they had all grown on him, as he had them . Considering Wille’s antics in the kitchen as a child, his boyfriend's presence as they went for coffee as the chefs started to work on breakfast was nothing to deal with comparatively.
Ignoring the little voice that said this domestic bliss would eventually come to an end, Wille basked in the moment and broke out into a smile as he watched Simon petting the kitchen cat. No one knew where the cat had come from but over time it had become a feature and Simon’s favorite part of the Kitchen.
God he really loved Simon
“You know sometimes I wonder if you’re just using me to get to that cat.” Wille wrapped his arms round Simon in a hug, murmuring this into his boyfriend's shoulder. He loved that this was a thing he could do unabashedly.
Several hours later, they both left the Palace having since had breakfast and got dressed for the day of traversing around Stockholm. Slightly out of the usual, Simon was tagging along for his session today as this time of the year brought back… unwelcome memories for them both.
It still amazed Wille how much can change in a year.
Despite the side glances Wille got, he was no longer worried about them being glances from people who cared that he was gay. They were just people spotting him and recognising him as a public figure.
Everyone kept to themselves and he didn’t have to make polite conversation which was highly appreciated.
Before stepping into the waiting room of his therapist he stopped and kissed Simon.
If he could talk to himself from a year ago he would say that truly genuinely, Wille no longer wanted to die and was even happy to be alive.
He had got his closure, he was in love and no matter what life threw at him as it inevitably would, he was excited for what each new day would bring.
Maybe cupid wasn’t so cruel afterall.