I should never have trusted him.
“He slipped into a dark place again and none of us noticed. I fixed it. He’s fine.” His tone is flat and void of space to argue. I raise my chin, hunting for a scrap of the bond I thought we’d made today, but find nothing. Phoenix has his face buried into his chest and I know he’s hiding from me, his shoulders shake and I know the panic will set in worse with the crowd still around him.
“I think we should all call it a night.” I furiously wipe at my cheeks, whilst everyone breaks into agreements, someone murmuring about getting a nightcap in the bar room, whilst others saying goodnight. Lily hasn’t moved an inch or said a word, in fact she looks like an angelic illusion in her shimmering dress, the outdoor lights hitting the gold beads. He won’t meet her gaze either, so she slowly walks forward, squeezes his elbow and then retreats into the house too. She always knew when to give him space better than I did, but maybe for the first time in my life I should too. Pain stabs in my chest at how he clings to Wren and not me, the irrational fear of not being needed by anyone rearing its unwanted, ugly head. I know I'm being ridiculous, but another sob racks through him and Wren pulls him towards the house, as everyone else also goes inside too.
A scream of frustration begs to be released, not for myself but because my person was hurting so deeply and I didn’t even notice.
“Robin?” Cardinal says my name softly. “What shall I do with the clue?”
It takes me a moment to collect myself to look at him, and I have to cough to unblock the frog lodged in my throat. “Um—dining table? That way everyone can read it in the morning I guess.”
“That was fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, don’t worry.” My response is automatic—the polite, good girl, submissive Robin is speaking now. Twisting my bottom lip between my teeth, I look up at him, but it’s clear there's nothing more left to say. Giving me a little nod, he holds out his arm in the direction of the conservatory and we enter the house together. He places the crimson envelope on the dining table, Aya no longer on the floor. She’s probably in bed with her fiancé, snuggled up to the awful cretin.
We keep walking, turning up the stairs, my wedges thudding softly on the carpet and his strong steps follow behind me. Tiffany lamps light up the corridors as we turn left to our rooms, chatter coming from the bar hideaway and hushed conversations from occupied bedrooms. I pull my key out of Wren’s blazer and I don’t stop, not even when he calls my name or says goodnight on a defeated sigh.
Chapter nine
Robin
Idon’t know what time it is, but I slip out and take my time washing my face and brushing my teeth in the little tiled bathroom, in between mine and the room next door. A brittle numbness has set in, and I can't stop seeing the fear in Phoenix’s eyes. It hurts my heart, and I don’t feel right in my skin not rushing to find him. I feel like I’m physically stuck in this room, having to accept that my best friend not only lied to me, but fell into a place where he needed to hurt himself with drugs, again. Just this time he didn’t come to me for help.
The rational part of me is incredibly convincing, whispering that I shouldn’t blame Wren for this, but I’ve done it for so long that it’s easier to fall into the habit. I wonder if it was him that decided I wasn’t to be told? That makes more sense to my hurt heart right now. I shouldn’t feel jealous that he let someone else in. I know Phoenix and I have an unorthodox bond; only few understand it or accept it. As we're getting older it's starting to tear a little, which I can admit is fucking hard.
A firm rhyme of knocks sounding against my door breaks the spell and I shoot up from my perch on the bed, hoping it’s Phoenix.What if it’s Wren?
Nervous flutters dance inside me as I open the door, but I reel back as a thick leather shoe wedges the door further open, and the stench of whiskey invades the air. Corbin leans against the door frame; probably to hold himself up because from his blood shot eyes, he’s very drunk.
He towers over me. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you making eyes at me all night?” he says, gritting out the words. He crosses his arms over his chest and I can’t help but do the same.
“You’re joking right? Why in the world would I give you any of my attention anymore?” My words burn as I almost spit at him, anger rises quickly in me, but it’s rapidly boiling over in him too. After everything he did, the manipulation, gaslighting, cheating, he really thinks I’ve been pining over him tonight? “You should leave.”
His eyes are murderous as he steps further into the room, still leaning against the door where his foot is wedged.
I automatically grab it with one hand and try to push, but it remains firmly open. “I don’t think so Robin. I think you’re jealous of my fiancée. You couldn’t help watching me all night, with those sad little eyes. Hoping I’ll take you back?” he leans down into my space and I’m suddenly caged into the wall more than I like. “You’re pathetic. Throwing yourself all over him in front of me.”
I breathe through my panic because I’m sure he wouldn’t actually do anything to me in a house full of guests…but something in his eyes makes bile rise in my throat.
Moving from the door, he places both his arms beside my head, wedging his knee inbetween my thighs and I fucking hate it. I’ve gone into momentary shock, because I can’t get my bodyto move, even though the rage turns my vision white. What in the hell does he think he’s doing?
“Get off me.” My voice is steady, but I might as well have not spoken.
“You’re such a little slut letting him put his hands all over you. Acting like such a desperate fool all over him. You should feel disgusted, acting like that in front of everyone. You should be embarrassed.”
“I want you to leave. Now.”
The spiced cologne and whisky rolling off him suffocates me, scorching my inhale. His solid frame isn’t moving but pushing, causing pain in my back as I press myself further into the wall to try and create the tiniest of space to breathe. If he’s trying to scare me, this is a new low even for him.
A tattooed hand appears on his shoulder and Corbin is ripped off me; flung back into the corridor and pressed against the wall, the photo frames shaking as Wren’s forearm presses against his chest. My eyes meet green, which is shadowed with something dark that allows me to let out a shaky exhale. I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly feeling vulnerable in just my oversized t-shirt, legs bare.
Both men are dominating in the tiny space of the doorway, Wren having a slight height advantage over him. If Corbin looked murderous at me, he is damn right ready to slit his throat and bathe in his blood. Looking away from me, Wren grasps him by his shirt and slams him against the wall again, his forearm pushing into his neck.
“Do you not understand someone turning you down Corbs? She didn’t beat around the bush. She told you to fucking leave.” His voice is dangerously low—firm and steady, like he has perfect control. Corbin, on the other hand, is shaking.
“What’s this? Is Wren Hastings, world renowned man slut getting all noble over a girl?” He pushes his forehead against Wrens, “Hm? Trying to get into her pants?”
In a flash Wren pulls back and punches him in the face, his knuckles connecting to make a crunching noise. My hands rise to cover my face and I can’t help but yelp.
