Find Me Alastar(121)

“I can’t tell you. I want to… but I can’t,” he cries.

Work out that he’s going to kill me? Is that what he means? I need to get out of here immediately.

I turn and start to walk to the door.

“Don’t leave me…” he yells.

I stop and stare at him. “Just talk to me. Explain this. Please,” I sob in a whisper.

Tears fill his eyes. “I can’t. Please. I need you to trust me.” He reaches for me and I step away from him. “I love you,” he whispers again in pain.

“Don’t touch me,” I murmur through heavy tears. “I don’t even know who you are.”

I turn and walk out the front door.

He doesn’t try to stop me.

And I don’t look back.



* * *



It’s Friday night and I sit alone in the silence of my bedroom in my apartment. It’s raining and I am on the window seat watching the heavy droplets fall. I came back to my temporary home after I ran from Alastar on Wednesday. I haven’t left the room since. I have no clothes, no makeup, and I am totally alone. I haven’t even called Brielle.

I’m too ashamed.

I fell in love with a man who I didn’t know. A criminal. The same man who I know may very well try to kill me. He’s succeeded in one way already. He has killed an innocence in me that I will never get back. I have never been so disillusioned in my entire life. I know I need to call the police, and I will at some point. My eyes tear up at the thought of Alastar behind bars. Why am I so in love with him?

I should hate him… but I don’t. I’m grieving the life that I had looked forward to with him.

I so wanted the fairy tale to be true.

Tonight we were supposed to be flying out to our castle to get married tomorrow, but instead I’m sick with grief. I get a vision of us lying together in front of the fire in each other’s arms, laughing, and my eyes close as the pain slices just that little bit deeper.

This is unbearable.

I stand on autopilot to go and make myself a cup of tea. I’ve hardly eaten since Wednesday. Hank has been cooking for me, but I just pick at it. I can’t stomach the sight of food, let alone eat it.

I’ve decided that as soon as I pull myself together enough, I am getting on a plane back home to Australia.

I can’t do this.

I can’t pretend that my whole world hasn’t fallen apart. I can’t hold up the fa?ade that this is the trip of a lifetime and that what we had didn’t matter… because it did.

It mattered to me a lot.

I just wish it had mattered to him. I don’t know what I was thinking placing all of my trust into someone after only a few weeks together. It just felt so right. I have been over and over our last conversation in my head. Trust me. I love you. Pain lances through my chest as I recall his tortured face. Don’t leave me. I close my eyes as the tears burn my face. I am utterly broken, too scared to leave the room incase he finds me. I’m scared to put my phone down incase I miss the call where he tells me it’s all been a hoax. I’m ashamed to call my friend and hear her say I told you so. I’m disgusted to tell Mark that I left him for a criminal.

I pick up my phone and stare at it. Why hasn’t he rung me?

Is he alright?

Is he safe?

Is this part of his condition?

Why do I care?

I throw the phone down in disgust with myself. Stop it. You’re being crazy. I hold my head between my two hands. I’m going crazy.

In my f*cked up head I’m holding him as the victim in all of this—as the mental health patient who can’t help his actions and needs my love and care to get better. But the reality is… I am in danger. He had pictures of tombstones with my name on them. An unhealthy obsession with death.

He’s not unwell, he’s a criminal, and I need to get that through my thick head. My head and my heart are in a battle to the death. My head tells me he’s dangerous and to go to the police, but my heart says trust him and return to his perfect love.

I don’t know what to do or how long I can keep fighting with myself like this.

In a zombie state, I lie down on the bed, get under the covers and pull myself into the fetal position and weep.

God help me. I can’t do this.



* * *



Monday morning, I stand in line in the coffee shop across from work as I wait for my order. The streets are congested and there is a hive of activity. I’m having lunch with Brielle today. I’m going to tell her about Alastar, and tonight after work, I’m going to the police. After a weekend of soul searching, I realize that, now more than ever, I need to think clearly. I went and bought myself new clothes yesterday. I’m not going back to the house to get my things. He can keep them. I’m not telling Mark. I’m not giving him the satisfaction. I’m going to give the police an anonymous tip off and then I will not be involved at all. I am going home to Australia, but I just have to break it to Brielle and that won’t be easy. It was me that forced her to come to the other side of the world, after all. I get my coffee to takeaway and go out onto the corner to cross the road and find myself stopping dead in my tracks.

Alastar is diagonally opposite, waiting on our corner as he has done for me everyday when we were together. He is wearing a large overcoat and his hands are in his pockets. He looks so sad and I have to close my eyes for just a moment as my own pain takes over. He is looking into the oncoming crowd for me. He doesn’t know I am here, and when I realize this, I quickly duck back into the coffee shop and take a seat at the window to watch him in silence.