Promise

Chapter 14: An Unwanted Kingdom

Ariadne sighed. "My brother doesn't like people taking care of him or worrying about him. He doesn't want people seeing him on the worst day of his life. It'd kill him."

"But I—what if people want to take care of him and worry about him?"

Ariadne paused again before speaking. "I've only ever known one person that he's let see him when he's weak, Robyn. And that's you. If any of us has a hope of trying to show my stubborn brother that we love him and we're there for him, it's you."

A dry laugh escaped me. "No pressure."

Ariadne laughed too. "None at all."

We talked until I pulled up to his building, parking in Damon's usual spot.

Taking enormous breaths, I knocked on his door and waited. Nothing. Common sense should have told me to turn back around. Unfortunately, it was nowhere to be found.

I turned the knob, half expecting it to be locked but it was open. Pushing it wide, I sucked in a breath.

Nothing about this apartment seemed like a home. It was sterile, impersonal, untouched. Intrigue filled my mind at the grand piano sitting in the corner of the hall, looking out over the city, but that was the only thing that may have suggested that someone even lived there. There was no artwork. No personality pieces. No pictures. No color.

Correction: there was only one piece of art. I recognized it immediately. My breath hitched, remembering the grand opening of my studio years ago.

Christian had spent the day quietly walking around each exhibit, staring at my work as his thoughts took him elsewhere.

There was nostalgia in his eyes when they fell on this piece that wasn't very much like me. I liked bright, happy colors and loved painting nature. This particular one that had caught his attention was darker–the colors of the night seeping through but the real art was in the corner of the canvas.

The silhouettes of a young boy and girl were sitting on a rooftop under the twinkling sky, nothing touching except their shared earphones–before the days of wireless existed.

It was the two of us–when we were younger.

Christian bought it immediately.

I didn't know he'd kept it.

In all honesty, I was surprised he'd even come that day because he was always so busy, but he was one of the first people to walk through the doors. He'd gotten angry that I even doubted it at dinner that day but even then–even when we were at one of the most strained points of our relationship–the second my hand connected with his hair, all his anger dissolved immediately.

Setting my bag down carefully on the ground, I walked into the kitchen and placed my tray of cobbler on the counter. My fingers ran across the piano, which hadn't collected a single bit of dust on it, like it was frequently used. There was no way Christian played a whole instrument and I just didn't know about it. Then again, I'd missed so much of his life that I supposed it was entirely possible. His mother was incredibly musically gifted, and she'd passed her voice down to Ariadne, but maybe there was a little bit in Christian too.

Time was a cruel thing. I used to know everything about Christian. Now, it felt like nothing.

I padded around his apartment, looking for signs of life.

When I made my way into the living room, I found it.

Christian sat painfully still on the leather sofa, his head thrown back into the plush cushions, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. It was pitch dark, faint lighting streaming in through the closed curtains. He clutched a bottle of whiskey in his hand like he was afraid it would leave him. Shards of glass, presumably from another bottle were shattered across the other side of the floor. His hands were littered with cuts and bruises, beaten up and bloody. Next to him, his phone buzzed relentlessly with calls and texts that were all going unanswered.