And When The Walls Come Down

Unraveling

"You were that sure I would show up?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I set my bags near the door.

My room was as I'd left it. Not a thing out of place. The obnoxious amount of pillows still decorated my large bed, making it look absolutely decadent. I wondered if my closet had remained untouched as well. There were things in there that I'd love to wear again.

Sergio smiled tightly, his face illuminated by the flickering candlelight near the bedside table.

"Would you be upset if I said I was?"

I shook my head, slipping out of my shoes as I made my way to a nearby armchair.

"You didn't have to wait up for me you know." I suddenly realized how tired I was, the jet lag catching up to me in a sudden wave of dizziness. Curling up my feet underneath me I fixed him with an intent look.

"I wanted to." There was an awkward silence, during which we both just stared at each other.

Sergio looked good, he looked healthy, happy almost. I was glad to see him, that I couldn't deny, and I was never more thankful that he didn't look anything like his late brother. Being here was painful enough already.

I wondered what I looked like to him. Both Marseille and Bogota had commented on my weight, and the pallor of my skin, despite the fact that I was wearing quite a bit of makeup to give me some color. Did Sergio see how sick I felt still? Did he notice the way the guilt and hurt had started to eat at my soul?

Did he even care?

No. That was unfair. I knew Sergio cared. Despite everything we'd been through together, I knew he loved me, he'd been the one who'd protected me and taught me things, just like Martin and Andrés had. We weren't as close, perhaps, but we shared a bond.

"You look as though you need your rest. I'll leave you, I just wanted to make sure you got here safely." He pushed up his glasses and stood up, straightening his striped pajamas. He looked adorably rumpled, unlike his older brother, who'd never had so much as a hair out of place, not even when he was in bed.

Not that I knew, of course. I never got to share that part of his life with him.

I got up as well, letting out a deep breath as I approached my bag to search for something more comfortable to slip into. I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep, despite how exhausted I currently felt, still, I was itching to get out of my jeans and jacket.

Sergio cleared his throat. "These are for you. I wanted to give them to you before you left, but you were gone by then." He left a stack of leather bound notebooks on my vanity, giving me another smile as he quickly walked out, the door shutting tightly behind his retreating form.

I raised an eyebrow at his sudden departure, wondering just what was inside those notebooks he'd left. I didn't bother turning on the light, rather, I grabbed my phone and made my way over to my vanity, which wasn't as dusty as I'd expected it to be. Who had bothered to clean in here?

I felt my stomach sink as I grabbed the first book. I knew who these belonged to.

I'd seen him carrying them around the monastery enough times.

I sobbed as I opened the first page. There were sketches done with watercolor, of me, of Martin, of us both. Of Sergio. Of the plants and animals that lived with us.

My fingers trembled as they touched the pages, and I heaved a large, hiccuping breath. This was too much.

Each picture was marked with a date at the bottom, I flipped through them in quick succession, feeling an almost childish fear at the thought of being caught peeking through this by the owner of the book.

Then I remembered, nobody would scold me for touching this, not anymore.

I knew Andrés was an artist, I'd seen his talent first hand, when he painted me a portrait for Christmas, me sitting in the middle, looking more beautiful than I could ever hope to be, while he and Martin stood behind my chair, each holding one shoulder, handsome and solemn as always. I wondered what became of it, was it still in the sitting room? Had it been destroyed?

However, I'd never seen the inside of his private sketchbooks. He was quite possessive of them you see, never allowing Martin or I to see what he painted. I'd always held a certain curiosity of course, especially when I caught him watching Martin fixedly, paintbrush moving across the page, in long, sure strokes.

Where had Sergio found these? Had Andrés given him previous instruction on what to do with them in case of his death? My head swam, and I wiped the tears away quickly, lest they fall on the pages and ruin the beautiful creations within.

It wasn't fair. I wanted to scream it out loud. None of this was fair. I felt a sudden surge of anger towards Sergio for calling me here tonight. What was the point of it all?

I shouldn't have come. I hadn't even been here a day and already I was beginning to unravel.

The sudden chill of the night made me shiver, and I shut the book softly, not bothering to open the rest, not feeling ready to see them just yet.

I didn't want to see what he'd felt compelled to draw after I'd left them behind.

///

Surprisingly, I managed to sleep a few hours. I woke up to the warm rays of the sun caressing my face, one of the many reasons why I'd chosen this as my room all those years ago.

I stayed in bed and read for a while longer, wanting to make sure there was nobody in the kitchens when I made my entrance. I didn't feel like running into anyone today, at least, not this early in the morning. I cursed myself for not having asked Sergio if the others had arrived yet.

Maybe I'd get lucky, and discover I was the first one to arrive.

I took a shower, brushed my teeth and got dressed, applying some color to my cheeks in order to give me a healthy flush. The last thing I needed was to give anyone a scare.

The monastery was quiet as I made my way down the stairs and into the kitchens, keeping an ear out for any signs of life. Everything seemed empty though, fitting really, the people who'd once given this place life weren't here anymore.

I felt an urge to see the gardens first, where we'd always taken our meals before.

Was it still the same?

Or was it different now?

The sun was too bright, but the air here smelled the same as it did before. Fragrant with the heavy scent of flowers and fresh plants that had been so lovingly tended to by me, before. I was glad to see they were still in bloom, looking cared for and well groomed.

The sight of the large table brought me to a halt.

Deja-vu hit me hard.

All conversations stopped as they took in the sight of me, and I froze, staring from one familiar face to another, until the last person I expected to see spoke up, his tone cold, "Finally, Sleeping Beauty awakens."

///

What did you think? It's starting off slow but I promise it will get good soon! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this!