Calore Dance Academy// Red Queen AU

Chapter 15

My apartment might be sad, but Kilorn's is hands-down depressing.

A few days later, I stop on the second floor of my apartment, and not bothering to knock, I let myself into my friend's apartment.

Gisa wasn't wrong: it's barren, more barren than usual.

I give his living room a look over, in case Gisa missed a note lying somewhere on his couch or table. Then I wander over to his joke of a kitchen, nothing more than a fridge, oven, and microwave, and go so far as to look in the fridge. For anything that might give me a clue.

The last time I was in his room would've been when it was his mom's, years and years ago when we'd play hide-and-go-seek around the apartment building. I enter it again, finding a bed, nightstand, and closet.

The plain sheets and comforter are crumpled back, but I find it hard to believe that Kilorn ever makes his bed. I toss his pillows onto the floor, heave his mattress up to look under it, and pull the sheets further away from the bed.

I throw open his closet door to find a dusty floor, a couple of hangers, and the rest of Kilorn's junk he elected not to take with him. A skateboard, a guitar he never should've bought, and an empty laundry basket I doubt he touches more than once per month. Among other things.

And last, I turn back on myself, returning to his bed and nighttime stand. Littered with useless knickknacks and a clock, I sift through more of his crap, looking for something, anything to give me a trail. The drawer right beneath contains a flashlight and nothing but.

Gone. He's gone.

Only now I realize that he's found them. He's not sleeping out on the street or on the subway looking for them when he could do it just as well from here. That would've been the best-case scenario, but it doesn't make sense. He's found them, and now he's gone.

It's silly to think about. The island of Manhattan is so small, and yet scouring every building in the city would take a hundred years. Not to mention the other four boroughs and Jersey City right across the Hudson.

Though Kilorn's not here and the apartment's quiet, I shut the door to his room.

And silently slink down against it, crumbling to the floor.

<><><>

I've been climbing a lot of stairs lately.

This morning, when Mom and Gee were out again buying new medical provisions and groceries, I finally had the chance to roll over my dance supplies to a duffel bag, save for the shoes I keep on the roof.

Classes are in four days, and I've spent most of my time up there, playing an insane game of catch-up. Everybody thinks I leave the apartment and head downtown, but I'm usually right up there, just a few stories above. I haven't brought home money this week, diving into my savings from Wall Street to keep cash flowing onto the table. Mom and Dad have noticed the change, how I've only deposited hundreds and fifties this week, but they don't complain. We desperately need it, with my brothers unemployed and Dad struggling to keep a consistent job.

Considering what I did on Sunday, I'm good with ballet, so I've focused on the other genres I told Tiberias I used to dance in.

Up on the roof, I spend hours tapping and making up jazz combinations, hunting for weaknesses in my technique. I haven't actually performed choreography since dancing in the studio, which is highly unnerving, as I'll be dancing in advanced tap and jazz and hip hop classes next week. So I've reviewed most of my modern dancing: made sure I actually can do moves in tap shoes, rather than in socks on my bedroom floor, and loosen up and dance hip hop.