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I stayed outside for a while, watching the stars and allowing the memories of me and my sister counting the stars to torment me. I missed that bitch.
It’d beena week since Tristan had asked for us to start over. I’d rarely seen him since, but balloons withI’m sorrykept appearing in my room every day. I popped each one with my hair pin and threw them away.
I only ran into Tristan once on the staircase, and he walked past me like I was invisible. I knew I shouldn’t feel hurt by his action because it was what I’d wanted. It was hard to deny that I missed hearing his voice and annoying him. It was lonely and quiet here. I didn’t do well with those two terms, which explained why I was always hanging out with Morris. The temptation to ask about Tristan was hard to control.
It was Friday night, and Morris served me some Italian chicken skillet. I twirled my fork around the chicken as I stared into space. I missed Tristan. I fucking missed him, and I wanted to see him.
“Miss Simpson?” Morris called, taking the seat in front of me.
I put my fork down and sighed softly as I met his worried eyes.
“Sorry, my mind is all over the place,” I groaned.
“I can make you something else if you don’t like the chicken skillet,” he said.
“No, I love it,” I said and picked up the fork to start eating.
“Mr. Sanchester is a good man. He is just going through a rocky path right now. I’m sorry he hurt you, and I can see how sorry he is too,” he said and gave me a warm smile.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“He hasn’t left the house in a week, and every time I bring food to his room, he is either still sleeping or in the bathroom. Some days, he doesn’t even eat the food, and yesterday …” He paused and contemplated telling me.
“What happened?” I inquired.
“The mirror. I think he is doing it again,” he finished.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said, and he nodded.
“I will get you your favorite drink,” he said, and I smiled.
I went upto my room for a shower and dressed up for bed in silk pajama shorts and a small top. I grabbed a fantasy book to read, desperate to escape to another world. It was almost midnight by the time I was halfway through. I could hear the rivulets of rain outside and the thunder roaring from a distance.
I put my stuff away and left the room to get some late-night snacks. I paused in front of Tristan’s room. His light was still on, so I assumed he was still awake. I knocked and got no response. Tristan hardly answered anyway. I wanted to turn away and run back to my room, but I stayed back. Why was it hard to stay away?
“It’s Chloe. Can I come in?” I asked.
I waited a few seconds for him to answer. I took a deep breath and opened the door. He wasn’t in his bed or anywhere in the room. I stepped in and closed the door behind me. I could hear the sound of the keyboard from a corner; he should be in his home office. I walked to his study and found him in front of his computer. A cup of coffee kept him company.
“Go to bed, Morris. I told you to only come here when I call for you,” he said, not looking my way.
“Hey,” I said, resting one shoulder on the doorframe.
His head whipped in my direction, and he stared at me like he didn’t recognize me. He looked exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes and his tousled hair made him look like a walking corpse.
“Chloe?” he called in a quiet tone I could hardly recognize. “Do you need anything?” he asked and looked away, returning to whatever he was doing on his computer.
“I’m bored.”
“It’s midnight. You should be in bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“You can watch a movie or do something you enjoy.”
“I don’t feel like it,” I said and stepped into the room. It looked fancy for a home office. “What are you doing?” I asked, slumping on the cozy leather couch.
“Working,” he replied. “Any specific reason why you’re here?” he asked, turning in his seat to observe me.
