Pacing this castle has become a hobby of mine whenever I’m stuck in my search. Very few people remain at Bellthorn over the holidays, and I have yet to pass a single one of them on this excursion, thankfully. These days, I’m just as much an animal as Orion, ready to bark and bite anyone who looks my way. That will change soon, with the student body due back within the next few days.
Rather than going the long way, I take a private passageway that I didn’t know about even a few weeks ago. These little holesand hollows are only for the Bellthorn elite. Despite the fact that I am entitled to use them, I wouldn’t have known how without this time alone here. That’s one of the only pluses to all of this—learning my way around Bellthorn. The others can’t hold their knowledge over my head if I can get around just as easily as they can.
I take a turn toward one of the towers. It has a great lounge with bright sunshine and a view of the mountains that stretches for miles. Rather than a set of stairs leading to relaxation, I come face-to-face with the only other founding family member who is also stuck at Bellthorn. The asshole himself, Soren Rook.
Disgust drips through me as I look him up and down. For years, he was my best friend, and then when I left to pursue my music, I never heard from him again. Now, he’s taken the only solace I had in this godforsaken place. My hatred and resentment are boiling, waiting for an excuse to simmer over. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t seem to see me.
He wears his usual clothes, a stylish white shirt and black pants, but they’re crumpled. Since no teachers or professors are here to enforce the rules, I’m not bothering to wear the weirdo shit they usually demand. So why would he? His hair is longer and shaggier than usual, with a scruff on his chin I’ve never seen before. His eyes seem gaunt and black rather than brown.
“Soren,” I say, not because I want to be friendly, but because I’m dying for him to say anything that would justify a fight.
He keeps walking forward, it seems with every intention to walk around me, but he’s not being a prick. I really don’t think he sees me. I’m too angry to give a shit what’s going on with him.
“Soren?” I ask despite myself. He takes a step to the side and starts walking up the stairs. My hand shoots out, catching his wrist and forcing him to stop. He looks down, but past me, and I start worrying about his condition. Could there possibly be something wrong with him?He’s just upset that none of hisfriends or his brother will talk to him,a nasty voice in my head comments.Or maybe he realized that Arabella’s pussy wasn’t worth chasing Sable out into the cold.
“Soren,” I repeat, shaking the wrist I’m still holding.
He finally looks at me, flinching as our eyes connect. I’m not sure what the hell I did to deserve that when he’s the one who ruined everything.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, looking down at my clothes and then up at his, making it clear what I’m talking about.
“Nothing,” he answers completely flatly, and I do nothing but stare at him. He stares back, not a hint of embarrassment or explanation in his steady gaze. A hollowness there that sets my teeth on edge. Part of me wishes he would say something to alleviate this tension. Underneath everything, he was my best friend, and maybe I want to forgive him.Apologize, beg for my forgiveness, anything other than stare at me with half-dead, bloodshot eyes.
That’s when I realize why his eyes look so damn black. His pupils are eating up half his iris. I’m a musician, and I’ve seen this look plenty of times.
“How fucking high are you?” I ask.
He has the nerve to laugh. “I’m not high, Hadrian. I’m about aslowas someone can go.” He pitches his voice to match, and I’m sure he’sincrediblyhigh.
“Since when are you getting fucked up in the middle of the day?” None of us are innocent, but I’ve never known Soren to act like this. When we were little, he was scared of the teenagers who smoked pot for Christ’s sake.
“I couldn’t give a shit what time it is, Hadrian. I’m busy.”
He pulls his wrist, trying to get me to let go.
“Busy how?” An old sense of duty and loyalty to him propels me. Beneath his haggard face, I see the young him and realizethe hatred isn’t nearly as complete as I had painted it. He shakes his head and then turns on his heel, trying to walk up the steps. He isn’t making good progress, and instead of trying to hold him back, I go with him.
“Jumping out of a window,” he answers flatly. “Want to watch?”
“You’re full of shit.” But my memory skitters back to a time when he was twelve and he was making similar “jokes” and exit plans at the same time.
“I am, but I was hoping that might encourage you to let me go.”
I’m so fucking surprised by what he said that I let go.Soren thinks I want him dead?Do I? I’m surprised just how sure I am that the answer to that question isno. The care I have for him takes me by surprise as he walks up the stairs with a distinct wobble to his steps.
None of the windows are large enough for him to get his shoulders through. I don’t actually think he’d kill himself,right? I try to convince myself that I’m not worried about him.I don’t care enough to help him, I tell myself before deciding he deserves what he gets and leaving the stairwell. Leaving doesn’t eliminate the sickness in my stomach, though a tether in my chest I assumed had broken between us twinges in warning. I keep walking, no destination in mind now, just questions. Maybe I am worried about him because I pull my phone out of my pocket.
Me: Your brother is as high as a kite.
Orion: Soren doesn’t do drugs like that.
Me: Apparently, he does.
Orion: He’s not my problem.
Me: Whose problem is he then?
Orion: If it’s up to me? Feed him to the fucking birds.
