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We leave my apartment, stepping out into the sunshine, both of us putting our sunglasses on, wincing at the light, and start the walk back to the house, a couple of vampires.
Chapter Seventeen
I am numb with grief.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in Dark Eyes for, but it feels like forever. After we walked back from my apartment, Solon took me straight down here and gave me a glass and a carafe of bourbon.
I appreciated the alcohol, but asked him to leave me alone.
He did, hesitating only slightly.
So I’m drunk. And I’m alone.
I’ve been this way for hours.
And I keep replaying everything over and over again in my head. Down here, there’s nothing to distract me from what just happened, I’m trapped in my own mind, drowning in my own guilt.
Elle is dead because of me.
That’s the truth of it.
It was my fault that Atlas found me, my fault that he killed her. I could tell he didn’t even mean to, that he acted out of panic, thinking perhaps it was a vampire walking through that door. But he was there because I was.
I shake my head, expecting the tears to keep falling, but I’m all cried out. All that’s left is my heart, waterlogged, weighing me down until I feel like I’ll never be able to move again.
My only friend.
Gone.
The last tie to normality I had.
A girl that had such a bright future ahead of her, friends and lovers and family, she had it all…she should have had it all. She should have been able to have all the things I’ll never have.
Instead, she’s dead. Gone. Her body rotting in the Black Sunshine.
I feel like the wrong girl got killed.
Eventually, I get to my feet, swaying slightly, needing to run away from this, but knowing I can’t. I can’t run away from myself, can’t run away from what’s done.
I can escape though.
Just for a bit.
And the alcohol isn’t cutting it.
I walk out of Dark Eyes, the doors closing behind me, and head up the stairs.
I don’t stop until I get to the very top floor, and knock on Solon’s door.
He opens it, eyes raking over me.
He doesn’t say anything at first, just opens the door wider, and I step inside, enveloped by the darkness of his room, then turn to face him.
He’s got on dark grey jeans, is in the midst of buttoning up a black shirt that fits him like a glove, his chest beneath so hard and powerful. With his hair in perfect black waves by his face, plus the darkness of the room, his eyes seem extra blue and mesmerizing.
“Where are you going?” I whisper.
He continues to button his shirt. “I thought I would go out and get you something to eat. Real food. You must be starving.”
