chapter eight      "So, do you have an answer for me?" Ellie said as she walked quietly into the dining room. Harry had his back to her. He turned around when he heard her voice and smiled at her.      "There you are. I was beginning to worry that you weren't going to show up. Glad you've accepted your responsibility." He was mocking her. Ordinarily, this would really piss her off; but with Harry, it just made her smile and laugh.      "Touché."      "Yeah, I have an answer for you."      "Good, let's walk." They took their route out to the garden like the day before. They walked to the bench she and Will had sat on yesterday. "So, what's your answer?" He breathed deeply and rested his elbows on his thighs.      "What do I want in my life? Oh God, independence, freedom."      "From what?" she asked, leaning back and crossing her legs.      "This trap, this charade."      "You think it's a charade?"      "Yeah, I do."      "Why's that?"      "Look at my life!" he replied in exasperation. "I can't shower without it getting national coverage!"      "I'm sure it's frustrating."      "It is! People act as if it's their right to know every little fucking detail of my life and I hate it! I'm a human being not a hamster! I don't deserve to be watched and speculated over like this! It's just not fair."      "So, what is there to do?"      "What do you mean?"      "I mean, let's say, hypothetically, that you give up all your royal titles, and live in a hut in the middle of no where. Would things change?"      "Probably not, once a royal, always a royal. Plus, Will would never let me do that."      "Why's that?"      "He'd be too worried about me."      "Does he have reason to worry about you so much?"      "I suppose. You see Will can handle this, well, at times I handle it better and at times he handles it better."      "Handles the press?"      "Yeah. I'm the carefree one, the kid who couldn't care less at times. While Wills, he cares. It matters to him what people think, I never got why, but it does. It really gets to him at times."      "What do you tell him when he gets upset?"      "That it's not his fault. The press is a pain in the ass, and there's not much we can do. They'll always be there, especially when we screw up and shit."      "Have you ever listened to your own advice?" He signed deep and ran his fingers through his hair, or what hair he had (it was shorn awfully short).      "I guess I should. It's just hard at times, you know?" she nodded.      "I know exactly what you mean, I really do. Psychiatrists often times dispense advice not always following it themselves."      "What do you do when stuff like that happens?"      "Well, I just have to remind myself that I too, am not perfect. I am human just like my patients and am inclined to slip-up and make mistakes. And at times, you have to tell people what they need to hear, and at others, what they want to hear. It all depends on the person and their status, emotionally that is."      "So what category am I?"      "I tell you what you need to hear. The truth. Telling you what you want to hear won't help anyone."      "So what do I need to hear?"      "Let's start with the answers to my questions, you never really answered them."      "Okay, you'll have to remind me."      "What do you want in your life?"      "Peace. I ultimately want peace."      "How are you going to achieve this peace?"      "I'm not sure yet. I want to share my life with someone, but I don't want to marry young. I don't want to be overwhelmed like my mother."      "You think she was overwhelmed?"      "Yeah. I mean, she was in love with the fact that my dad was a prince, and she was in love with being in love, but I honestly don't know if she was truly, head-over-heels in love."      "Do you find love uncomfortable?"      "What do you mean?"      "A lot of children of divorce have hard times finding comfort in love, in committed relationships, in relationships at all; because they're waiting for the walls to come crashing in on them."      "I guess I feel like that sometimes, but not really. I mean I'm scared. I don't want to make the mistakes my father and mother made. I don't ever want to get to the point when I hate someone like that."      "So what do you do want in a relationship?"      "Understanding. I want to be understood, I want someone to love me for me, not for who I am, or what I have, or who my family is. I want to love in the purest sense, like movie love." She smiled.      "You know, I have never heard I guy use that phrase before."      "What phrase?"      "Movie love. Usually girls use that phrase, because they fall in love with the 'dream'. Girls are usually the ones who have the hardest time falling for reality."      "That's me. I want the perfect girl who cares about me, and is intelligent, funny, warm, charming, calming and sensitive. I want a girl who's not afraid to tell me that I'm being a jackass or that I look like a complete moron." She chuckled.      "You are a breath of fresh air, Harry. You know that? Most guys want skinny model types with big boobs."      "Oh, I want that too!" He said smiling widely. She laughed and he joined in with a brief chuckle.      "Okay, so on to the second part…what do you want to accomplish professionally?" He shook his head, leaning back down on his knees.      "I have no idea."      "None at all?"      "I thought about it, I really did; but I couldn't come up with anything. I haven't really found something that I'm really passionate about."      "Is that it?"      "What do you mean; is that it?"      "Well, what do you enjoy?"      "Polo."      "You could explore the international equestrian competition circle. You know, Olympic Competitions and all. You could breed racehorses or you could race horses, you could set up a non-profit organization where you give children with MS, down syndrome, etc. riding lessons as a part of their physical therapy. There are scores of opportunities that you could pursue in the realm of horses and polo." He leaned back against the bench, and eyed her.      "You really are scary you know that? I throw a hobby at you and you rattle off five different life-long jobs that I could turn that hobby into."      "Three, I gave you three options…don't get dramatic on me!" they chuckled and Harry got up and walked around a bit. Ellie shifted in her seat and cleared her throat, nervously.      "Uh oh…" Harry muttered. 'I know that sound, that's the sound my father makes before he tells me bad news."      "I'm not going to tell you bad news."      "Good."      "I'm going to ask you some questions, and all you have to do is answer me truthfully."      "Bad news."      "Not if you just answer them honestly. The more honest you are, the faster we'll be done."      "Fine."      "Let's start with an easy one, shall we? Why?"      "Why, what"      "Why smoke pot?" He made a deep huffing sound and kicked at the dirt on the ground.      "Why not? I'm fucking 16! That's what 16 year-olds do!"      "You think that's going to fly?"      "Why shouldn't it?"      "In my experience, that's never the reason."      "Well, with all due respect, how extensive is your experience?"      "I've treated or done sessions with about a hundred drug users."      "About a hundred?"      "Yeah, you're my hundredth patient regarding drugs."      "Oh lucky me! Do I win a prize or something?" he remarked, sarcastically, rolling his eyes.      "Yeah, me for the rest of the week." He turned around and faced her suddenly.      "That's it? Only till the end of the week?"      "Yeah, probably. Why?"      "Just seemed awfully soon, that's all."      "Oh, well, back to my question…why?" he sighed and walked back to the bench.      "Because, I was tried of being "cute little Harry". I was tried of being defined by my brother."      "You wanted to be seen as your own person. You wanted to stake some claim on our own life, etc…"      "Yeah, exactly. I know it sounds stupid, but it's true. This guy offered me some at a party at a pub near here, I was tired of hearing my brother's voice in my head all the time 'don't screw up, Harry'. So I smoked it, so what? I knew it was a mistake, I knew my dad would flip out about it! But, at least he'd flip out over me! Not Will, not dear perfect little Will."      "From the time that I first met your brother, about a month ago, till now, I can assure you he is far from perfect." Harry scoffed.      "Yeah sure."      "No, really, he gets flustered, and finds himself rather ill at ease about things. I think he's scared about his position and how he handles the press more than you."      "Why do you say that?"      "Because, you, when you're not acting like a pompous jackass, are very open, very calm and at ease with yourself. You know what you're comfortable with, and what you're not. I'm not sure if you know who you are yet, but you have the unique ability to truly blaze your own path."      "All right. So, I'm calm, but I have no idea who I am? That doesn't make any sense to me."      "Okay let, me explain a little better. I think that your mom, before she died, instilled in Will, his skeleton." He moved to speak, but she put her hand up. "Let me explain. She built a sort of foundation of morals, values, principles, ideas, etc; a handbook for life, kind of thing. Now, she did the same for you, except when she died, yours wasn't complete; and the stress and burden of her death sent some of it crashing to the floor. With me so far?"      "Yeah," he nodded.      "Okay. Well, Will, though shy and uncomfortable, is very aware of himself, he knows what is expected and what is required. You consciously know this, but emotionally you're still trying to tell everyone, 'no, no, that's not me, I'm not like that, I'm my own man'. You've yet to find yourself in your position."      "I gotcha. That makes sense. But, so, if that's true, which it really is, what do I do?"      "Understand."      "Is that supposed to be funny?"      "No, not at all. You know the one thing people want so desperately in a partner, usually turns out to be the one thing they really want in themselves."      "So I just have to understand that I am Prince Henry of England, and there's shit that I can do about it."      "No. You can abdicate, you can give up your title, yes?"      "Yeah."      "So you have options. But, what you aren't comfortable with yet is the feeling of eternity. Your life so far has been broken down into increments of time. And you've lived you're life one increment at a time. Soon, you're life will go from short increments, to a long, vast, span of time."      "Well, when you put it like that, it should scare the shit out of anyone!"      "You're not listening to me Harry! You're afraid of doing the same thing for a long period of time, because you fear failure."      "How do you get that?" he asked, his defensive, and cold exterior reemerging.      "Think about it. You find the prospect of love uncomfortable, you're not really sure who you are; but at the same time you are HIGHLY comfortable with your life at this moment. You're afraid that you'll become your father. That you'll make the same mistakes, and that you'll have regrets. You're afraid that if you actually let yourself settle into a groove with one particular person, that you'll screw up and that it will end in divorce. Am I on the money?"      "Yeah," he said somberly.      "This is not a bad diagnosis."      "How do you figure?"      "Now that we know what's wrong," she said reaching her hand out and putting it over his, "we can fix it." .:. back