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I use that key today, letting myself into his place while answering a text from Bellamy. My focus is elsewhere and it’s only when I’ve closed the door behind me and turn back around that I notice the state of the apartment.
It looks like it’s been partially ransacked.
I freeze in place at the sight. The contents of the dining table – one or two mugs, some mail, a couple books – are spread on the floor. A bottle of whiskey lays shattered next to them, it’s content dripping slowly down the white walls. Shock steals my breath.
Something tells me not to run away but to go further inside.
Uncertainly, I step into the living area. More books lay sprawled on the floor next to the couch. A small, worthless decorative statuette is broken at the base of the bookshelf. My eyes follow the path of destruction until it leads me into the bedroom. A leg peeks out just past the frame. I shift to the side, slowly revealing more and more of the body until I recognize Tristan.
My heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s sitting against the side of his bed, head bowed forward between bent legs, his elbows resting on his knees. A half empty bottle of whiskey hangs from his right hand.
“Tristan,” I whisper, a ball forming in my throat.
He lifts his head and my breath hitches, but no relief follows. The look he gives me is haunted. He looks straight through me like I’m not even there.
I drop my bag, shuck my coat off and hastily kick my shoes off, all the while never taking my eyes off him. His gaze doesn’t leave me either as I approach.His eyes are glassy and lifeless.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, cupping his face as I drop to my knees between his legs. I check his body but he seems okay, at least physically. He stares at me sightlessly as I run my hands all over him. “What happened?”
I’ve never seen him like this…so, sohollow. Even though he looks at me, there’s none of the usual intensity or mirth that I’ve come to love in his eyes. He’s just a shell of himself.
“What happened, baby?” I repeat, clasping both sides of his face in a fierce embrace.
He looks around, dead-eyed, at the ravaged apartment. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, he mutters, “I made a fucking mess.”
So, he’s the one who destroyed his apartment. I press his face against my shoulder, hugging him tightly against me. My hand caresses the side of his face as I hold him.
“Don’t worry about that, it’s easily fixable. Are you okay?”
He pulls back, his head falling against the mattress behind him, his eyes peering down intoxicatedly at me through half-lowered lids.
“He wasn’t supposed to…He wasn’t.”
He mumbles the words, his drunkenness making it hard to follow. “Who wasn’t supposed to do what?” I push his gloriously disheveled hair off his forehead, running my fingers soothingly through the strands. “Talk to me.”
“Tess texted me after you left. Apparently, our mother is in the hospital. Our father put her there.”
A chill crawls down my spine, freezing my hands mid-caress on his body.
“You mean…he hurt her?”
He nods, distress clear in his gaze. “Broke her eye socket and her left wrist.”
I swallow the horrified gasp that makes to erupt from my lips. No wonder he’s so distraught. My heart aches for them both. I can only imagine the fear she must have felt. My ordeal pales in comparison to her, but already the fear was deadly. It stays with you long after the hits have stopped.
It pains me just thinking about her having to experience that, about her being in the hospital, especially with one of her children so far away from her.
“He wasn’t supposed to– I should have been there,” he says vehemently, abruptly cutting himself off and switching thoughts. “I could have stopped him if I was there,” he suddenly rages, jumping to his feet and making me lose my balance.
I fall back onto my ass with a soft whimper, wincing when my tailbone connects with the ground.
His eyes snap down to me at the pained sound I make.
“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, crouching before me and grabbing my forearms. “I’m fucking everything up, I’m sorry.” His voice is slightly manic, his eyes wide and frantic as he inspects me for any injuries.
“Hey,” I say, cupping his nape with one hand and his back with the other, pulling him against me. “Hey,” I repeat, getting him to look me in the eye. “I’m totally fine, there’s nothing for you to worry about, okay?”
He nods and wraps his arms around me, crushing me against him.
