The Eighteenth- The Apology

I wait by the dorm building. Students are coming out early, because the voting and first round is tonight. It used to be the night after the announcement, until parents of students complained about no extra training opportunities. That's why it was such a shock for us to start earlier in my year.

A group of tenth years walk out of the right wing. I scan through the crowd to try and find Tristam... And he's scurrying out. He catches sight of me and suddenly, a smile comes to his face. He runs over in the grass.

"You came," he says, as if he invited me.

"Yeah," I do my best to grin.

"Do you... Want to go..."

"Up to your room?" I know what he was going to say.

He nods quickly and nervously.

"Yeah. Let's go." I open the door and step inside. The olive green walls are pretty.

He follows. I signal for him to go up the stairs first, since he'll know the way better. He nods and starts walking. I focus also on the walls, which are covered in pictures of graduates. It's a bit weird, knowing that they're watching us go up the stairs.

It's the fourteenth floor and I'm wondering how the hell far up he can be. "Are we... Close?" I asked. "I mean, not that I'm getting sick of walking; it's just taking a while."

"I guess you can say so," he tells me as we get to the fifteenth.

This floor's nicer than the rest. Of course it has to be, though. It's the trainer's and teacher's. I make a list in my head of things that would make the student's floor better: carpeted floors, cleaner red walls, less freaky paintings and pictures, a clock... I lose count.

And soon enough, we're at seventeen, the top floor. "How'd you get all the way up here?" I ask as I observe the dingy hall.

"These are the rooms supposedly no one wants. The Buchanans picked this one for me."

Is that even possible? I mean, as far as I know, we're separated randomly and by year. "They picked it?"

"Guardians, parents, whoever, decide, yes," he nods, confused I don't know. "It sort of shows what they think of us. There's the luxury floors, which are right under the trainers', the average floor, first to twelfth, and then there's this," he stands in front of a room, which I guess is his.

That thought scares me a bit. If he's not lying, then my parents only think of me as average. It's even more terrifying because they expect me to be above everyone. But suddenly, I forget about myself. There's someone else who more than likely felt worse: Skylar.

To have her parents feel that way about her, especially knowing the fact that she will inherit their throne! Average and her would never have been used in the same sentence, from what I knew of her! So why would she be considered that?

My train of thought is cut off by Tristam holding the door open. I step in, unprepared for the shock I get. I would expect a dreadful, dark room.

But for one of the worst rooms, it appears brilliant. Paint is chipped off the orange wall, but blue is painted in those areas, complimenting it perfectly. There's only one window, but its size makes up for it. It goes up the whole wall in height, and is at least two yards wide. The curtains are just cream sheets with intricate designs, but they block out just enough light. And before it is a grand piano, which seems like it's new, but probably has been their for ages.

"It's gorgeous," I whisper to him.

He nods and shuts the door. "I guess so. I try to make the best of it."

I walk over to the piano. That's the one thing that caught my attention. It looks as if it's been polished recently, noting from the person I see when I observe it. It's not exactly a mirror, since everything, my white skin, my walnut hair, my aqua eyes, is in black and made thinner.

A note is randomly played. I gasp quietly and jump a bit before I look and see Tristam is sitting at a bench and playing. He isn't looking at me, just moving his fingers slowly across to different keys. All he plays sounds perfect, as if it'll stay that way, even if he messes up.

Suddenly, he stops and winces. "Sorry. Screwed up."

"How?" I ask. "That sounded amazing!"

His face lights up, as if I've just made his day. "Thanks... I think I hit the wrong key... Guess there's nothing overly wrong with that."

And he continues. I walk over to see what he's playing. The sheet of music doesn't have a title and the notes seem to be handwritten, though. I assume one thing. "You wrote this?"

Tristam nods, but continues playing. It's stunning. Garnet and her guitar seem like nothing compared to it. He has this talent that can't be summed up into words. It's a beauty that comes out of the tragedy that his life seems like. Didn't he have no home? No family? And didn't the Buchanans look at him as subordinate?

He finishes. I'm at loss of words. "Well, thank you," he slides out and walks to the window. "You're basically the only one who'd listen."

"Honestly, thank you," I go to him.

He turns his head to me, hazel eyes wide open like a pleading dog. "For what?"

"Last night. You shouldn't have taken the blame. That was my fault. I know how tough Conall can be; I had him as a trainer in the future."

"It was a total misunderstanding. He was only looking for Skylar. I knew you were going to have to save her, from what you told me, and I wasn't just going to let him find out who you were. At that point, he would've done anything to find her."

"... You did it... For me." I can't even consider what I say a question. I already know the answer, so it's useless asking.

"Why else?"

But I can't just let that happen. "Tristam, really, you shouldn't ev-"

He holds his hand out to stop me. "Vesta. After all the things that happen with me that most people let go of, I can't let anything pass. Especially that."

I look down at the ground. All the blood in my body rushes to my feet, and I can't even face Tristam. Two people who I didn't love are the ones who love me. But I don't love Eilian and I can't just love Tristam.

After all, didn't he die in the future?