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As they neared Dallas' room to grab his phone, Adelaide heard the faint murmur of voices from the kitchen. Not Eden, too soft to be Hollis, but she was sure there were two - Beaudan and Callum, then. Perhaps Beaudan had finally decided to join his family - Hollis should be able to find him shortly, then. As they made their way back downstairs, Adelaide listened to Dallas chatter about some sporting event she hadn't paid attention to. It had never been her thing, but seeing how animatedly Dallas talked about it, she decided that she would watch a replay later so she could talk to him about it. Leave it to the youngest Morcant to change her view on sports. They passed the kitchen, and Adelaide couldn't help but peek in, looking for Beaudan. He was nowhere to be found, though, and a rather troubled-looking Callum met her gaze. Adelaide stopped short, Dallas bumping into her with a muttered apology that she ignored. Something in Callum's face wasn't right - the tightness in his brow, though typical, was different, and the way his frown pulled at his face made her pause. "Where's Beaudan?" Her voice seemed to snap Callum from his thoughts, as he jumped at the sound, gaze snapping to her own as he wiped his face carefully clean of any expression. "He went out." The response was dull, lackluster, and vague. She knew Callum wouldn't give her all the answers - he never had, and she was sure even if he did like her, he would still be carefully obtuse with his responses. But the way he guarded his expression, watching her with a scrutinizing look, made her hesitate. He wasn't telling her something, that much was obvious. Beaudan hadn't gone out since they arrived, had avoided leaving at all costs unless it was to the beach - and he certainly wouldn't return by himself. He would have asked Dallas to go with him, maybe even Callum if he needed an escape. Before, he would have asked Adelaide. Though she knew she was missing something, Callum wasn't the one who would give her answers. She nodded curtly before turning away, keeping her expression neutral until she could no longer see his face. Only then did she allow her brows to crease, her frown to mar her face as she contemplated Beaudan's whereabouts. He wouldn't have gone into the town - had been so opposed to the idea that she was sure he would skirt around it regardless of his destination. She held up a finger to Dallas before slipping out the front door and rounding the corner of the house. As she suspected, one of the cars was missing, its absence sharp as she surveyed the drive. Beaudan hadn't gone anywhere close, then. Plastering a soft smile on her face, she returned to the house, gesturing for Dallas to come to her near the door. Callum would stop her if he overheard, and she needed to know where Beaudan had gone. "Where would Beaudan take a car?" She left the question light, a simple inquiry as if she was asking for the nearest cafe. Dallas frowned for a moment, thinking, before he responded. "He usually goes to the other home..." he began, eyes squinted as he thought. "The closest one is in France, though, so I don't know why he would have left without letting us know. But that's the only reason we take the cars anywhere here. Everything else is close enough to walk." Adelaide nodded, his words confirming her fear. Beaudan had taken off, left without letting her know - had probably intended to keep it silent entirely, but Callum had seen him and kept his secret. Had let him leave without Adelaide knowing. "We're going on a drive," she whispered, tone fierce as she felt her welling anger overflow. "The cellar can wait." "I don't know, Addie... Beau only goes there when he wants to be left alone-" "Beaudan lost the right to be left alone when he kissed Hollis in front of me. He doesn't get to run away before he fixes his mistakes."
She was firm in her decision, anger coursing through her. Beaudan had left without a word - had tried to run away from the problems he created. He should have known Adelaide wouldn't allow that. |
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Darkseeker
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Beau just kept driving. Time passed, he knew it did, but it didn't feel like anything was happening, even as he pulled up to the flat. This was an impulse purchase from the year before, a time when he'd needed an escape, and would've done anything to get away from the early grief that struck his family. The grief from the too-fresh loss of Kennedy, the only other Morcant girl. The cousin who he had so adored. From a young age, Beau had spent more time with his intense older sister, and the baby cousin had trailed after them with the sweetest desire to join their games. Callum had always teased Beau, calling him names for preferring his time with the girls rather than be thoroughly trounced in tennis, or baseball, or whatever else Cal could come up with when they were at Windemere, the home on the water. But Beau had never cared. Eden adored him, and Kennedy looked up to him, and everything was perfect. It didn't matter that at every family gathering, Aunt Zara and Adia fought like cats, and took pills like candy. It didn't matter that his grandfather would make self-righteous comments, eye the Latina waitresses with distaste simply for the colour of their skin. Because he was happy, and sunburned, and beautiful. Summers were always the best for the children. They played tennis and tag. They read in hammocks, and splashed in the waves. When they were very little, it was always exciting when they went out on the boats, and the newest baby would wear the familiar orange lifevest, and all that could be seen was a tuft of blonde hair and a flash of winking blue eyes. The old man and his beloved wife would keep an eye on the grandchildren, looking every bit the dashing elder couple, and Adia and Zara would wear dresses and pearls, and pretend that their husbands still loved them, and would cook food. Oyster bakes, tea at noon. It was a habitual and adored way to summer, and it didn't change from the time that Beau spent his first summer on those white beaches to the last summer that everyone was at Windemere. The summer that changed Beaudan forever. The summer he was sixteen, everything had changed. They had been at Windemere, down by its sprawling beaches. The adults had been up at the house, arguing, and the strains had managed to reach all the way down to where the children were lying in the sand. Beau was supposed to be watching Kennedy. Eden had told him to keep an eye on her a while before, but Callum and him had been throwing insults back and forth, and Dallas was so little that he had been busing building sandcastles. And Kennedy, their bright, beautiful, amazing cousin, and gone into the waves. And the waves had been too big, and by the time Beau got to her, it was too late. He would never forget the feeling of soaked blonde curls against his shoulder. How poetic, it seemed, that the water, which was so important to the Morcant family, would be the thing to steal away their beloved cousin. Beau hated that house now. Every place he went seemed steeped in grief, like a cup of tea left too long, and then returned to with distaste. He pulled up to the flat. He hadn't bothered to furnish it much in the years since he'd had it. It was empty, and dusty, and cold. And that was everything that Beau needed in those moments. Solitude, and a moment to grieve for everything. This was the place that he'd taken everything that reminded him of Kennedy, and left it. Left it to be forgotten, but that wasn't what Kennedy deserved. And it was time to face that ghost, no matter how much it pained him. Becaues it was *his fault.* His fault that she was gone, that Aunt Zara rarely left the house anymore, that he knew that she relied heavily on hte same things he did. Because they had to. He unlocked the flat, and stepped inside. It was dark, and only a few light still worked. He pushed a box out of his way, and it fell, its contents spilling across the floor. Colouring pictures, old medals, mostly his. But a couple of Cal's and there, in the bottom. Kennedy's. He turned away, and walked to the center of the main room. There was no furniture, so he lay in the middle of the floor, staring aat the ceiling. The wispy curtains made him even more paranoid of the ghosts that haunted his past, and for the first time in two years, he lit a cigarette.
"I'm sorry, Kenz," he whispered to the dark. "You didn't deserve all this shit. I miss you." |
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Darkseeker
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Edited at January 19, 2025 07:44 PM by The Tea Drinkers
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Dallas drove while Adelaide stared out the window, mindlessly watching the scenery fly past. They had taken the night to stay in Milan, the fitful five hours of sleep meant to keep them alive for the remaining twelve hours of the drive. It had done little to boost Adelaide's spirits, though, and she found herself growing drowsy as the cities meshed together. What felt like minutes later, Adeliade jolted away to the roar of the engine shutting off, blearily staring at the building before her. It wasn't extravagant, by any means, the framework slightly outdated and the colors fading. The building itself was vast, taking up nearly a block by itself, and Adelaide craned her neck to count the stories as they rose in the sky. She shot an inquisitive look at Dallas, who shook his head. "Beau bought it. I've never actually been here before." She shrugged, brushing it off as she stepped out of the car. Neither of them had brought more than a duffle bag, haphazardly filled with the necessities and thrown together in haste. With her bag over her shoulder, she followed Dallas into the building, the eerily silent city falling behind. He checked his phone briefly before going to the elevator. She didn't pay attention to the numbers he pressed, too busy stressing about the state she would find Beaudan in as her foot anxiously tapped the ground. As they had made the drive, she had allowed herself to pause and consider why Beaudan would have left. He hadn't told her, so clearly he didn't want to see her - she could be ruining everything by showing up without letting him know. Not that there was anything to ruin. Certainly not, she thought, despite the way her heartrate picked up as they stepped into the hall. Most definitely not, as her clammy fingers wrung together when Dallas gestured to the door, handing her a key. Absolutely, one-hundred percent not, as her hand shook so much that she had to grip it with her other just to fit the key into the lock. The door was silent as it swung open, coming to a stop before it hit the wall. The floor was plush carpet, softening her footsteps to a near imperceptible whisper as she slowly entered the flat. She turned to look at Dallas, but he just waved her forward without following. His eyes reflected her own, fear and worry at what they had walked into. With a resolute sigh, she pushed further, noting the box on the floor, the contents spilled across the hall carelessly. She frowned as she sidestepped them. Beaudan was meticulous, more often than not spotless in everything he did. The only time she had truly seen a mess around him was when he had been in a fit and destroyed his room. The fact that the box was still sprawled across the floor was concerning, Adelaide's shoulders buncing higher as she stepped over a picture. She didn't gasp, didn't make a noise when she saw Beaudan, sprawled on the floor with his face to the ceiling. Cigarette butts littered the floor around him, and she was sure she could see a bottle of wine tucked into a corner. Beaudan was in a state, clothes a rumpled mess, face ashen and heavy with emotion. Her own heart pained in sympathy, her body urging her to comfort him. She stayed rooted to her spot, debating. It had only been a day since she had done something similar, though the sentiment was much different this go-around. What did she do? Did she speak to him? Let him know she was there? Would he answer? Slowly, she picked her way across the floor, steps light as she dodged cigarette butts and photos. She made no effort to gain his attention as she sank to the floor, laying her head beside his. Their shoulders almost touched, and she could feel the cold radiating off of him, so at odds with his normal heat that she frowned. Slowly, her hand crept closer, and she grasped his gently. She didn't look at him, didn't make an effort to speak. Whatever was going on, she was unsure how to proceed. Beaudan would have to speak first, let her know what he needed. If he wanted her to leave, he would tell her. As her fingers clamped down on his own, though, Adelaide prayed that he wouldn't send her away. |
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Darkseeker
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Beau didn’t move. The cold was bone-deep, unusual for someone like him, whose body always radiated heat like a furnace. His fingers were numb, his legs lifeless beneath him, but he didn’t care. He barely registered Addie’s presence beside him. She was a faint blur in the edges of his vision, her warmth and concern lost in the haze of cigarette smoke, nostalgia, and unrelenting pain. The windows were wide open, letting the rain drizzle in, leaving dark, damp patches on the floor. It didn’t matter. Beau’s long lashes fluttered closed for a moment, brushing against his high cheekbones. He felt raw, as if he’d been cracked open, his most delicate parts exposed to the cold, unforgiving reality of his life. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped the press wasn’t following him right now. Not with everything falling apart like this. Ignoring Addie’s quiet attempts to reach him, he pulled his hands back, fumbling for his phone. The cracked screen, a relic of the day he’d met her, had only worsened over time, each new fracture mirroring the breaks in his own spirit. Through the web of cracks, he typed his own name into the search bar, his fingers trembling. The screen lit up with article after article, tabloids filled with headlines about him. They were as cruel as always. Nothing too invasive this time, just the usual gossip about his lifestyle and the endless scrutiny of his choices. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t personal—seeing it still felt like a knife to the chest. He let the phone slip from his hands and sprawled out on the cold floor. The tears pricked his eyes again, hot and insistent. Finally, he turned his head toward Addie. "You wouldn’t be here if you knew," he said, his voice thick and unsteady. “So you deserve to know.” For a moment, he lay silent, gathering himself. And then, like a dam breaking, the words spilled out. He told her everything. He told her how he’d always wanted to be Callum’s favorite, how he’d come up with clever insults to keep up with his older brother. How the summer Kennedy died, Eden had been allowed to wear a bikini for the first time, and Kennedy had begged him to come into the water with her. He’d said no, too caught up in teasing Callum, and had told her to take one of the dogs, Gigi, instead. And she had. And by the time he’d looked out, all he could see was a tiny dot of blonde far out in the water. “I was a nationally ranked swimmer at sixteen,” he said, his voice breaking. “And it still wasn’t enough. I’ve spent the last ten years begging whatever god’s out there to take me instead. To send Kenz back. To take the stupid, arrogant boy who couldn’t even watch his own cousin.” The ache in his chest grew sharper, but he couldn’t stop talking. The memories poured out, one after another. He told her about the summers before—golden, perfect, magical. Aunt Zara’s announcement when he was thirteen, that she was having another baby. A boy. The name she’d picked out. And how that baby was lost, leaving the family to mourn his absence all summer. The endless statements that began with “if the baby had come...” When he was eleven, learning to drive the boat for the first time and taking the cousins out to swim in the icy water. The best summer of all, when he was fourteen. All four of Adia’s children, plus Kennedy, together at Windemere. Callum’s girlfriend, Hester—tall, blonde, and beautiful, a perfect match for a Morcant, painting the girls’ nails and braiding their hair, and gossiping with them. Eden bringing Ty to play tennis with the boys and sneak crème soda from the kitchen so they could drink it on the roof and feel like adults. Dallas chasing after the dogs all summer—Gigi, Bryony, Tipper, and Heath—their tennis balls always soggy with spit, the dogs warm, fluffy, and waiting for scraps. The charades, the late-night parties, the whispered conversations on the beach. They talked about their mothers’ fights, their parents’ flaws, and the pressures of their prestigious schools. How, during the summer, they were best friends, but as soon as September came, they acted like strangers. Eden, who had wanted to be an astrophysicist, giving up a scholarship because their mother told her to focus on beauty instead. Crying for two weeks straight. Ty teaching them constellations—Orion, the Pleiades, Cassiopeia—just as his father had taught him before he'd gotten cancer, and his son had watched him wither away. Beau’s voice softened, and he fell silent, staring at the ceiling. “It’s not fair,” he whispered. “Kennedy should still be here. Eden should be with Ty, living her best life forever. I always wanted a niece or a nephew. Uncle Beau. And I was supposed to get a dog when I turned eighteen. I was going to name him Ronan.” His breath hitched. “We never got any new dogs after Kennedy died.” |
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Winter Month: 3 
Night 
Sleet Moon: 
