Find Me Alastar(122)

I sit with my stomach in my throat as I watch him search for me among the people. He’s as broken as I am, I can see it in his face, in his demeanor. What am I doing?

Maybe I should run out there.

Maybe I can be an art thief, too?

Yes. I could do it and we could run away together like Bonny and Clyde.

As long as I am with him, I could do anything, I know I could. But then… my mind goes to the pictures of the tombstones and my heart drops. That’s abnormal. He’s not right. If I go back to him knowing that he’s dangerous, it’s just irresponsible to my family.

For half an hour I sit and watch him in silence as the foul sense of despair fills my every cell. No wonder he’s so rich. His money is other people’s. I glance at my watch. 9.30am. I was supposed to start work half an hour ago. Bloody hell, go home, Alastar. My phone rings. Mark. Shit. I screw up my face. I have to take this. I haven’t been to work for two and a half days, I am going to lose my job, and that’s all I need now.

“Hello,” I answer weakly.

“Em? Oh thank God. Are you okay?”

My eyes fill with tears. I am so not okay, it’s ridiculous. “Yes. Sorry, I have been unwell,” I murmur.

“Are you coming in today?”

I frown as my eyes watch Alastar on the street. “Umm.” I hesitate, I can’t work in this state. But… shit, just go in, Emerson. What are you going to do in your room all day? I remind myself. That room is sending me f*cking crazy. Crazier. “Yes, I am going to come in now. Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. I just need you to cover for me.”

I frown. “Why what are you doing?”

“I have a meeting and I need someone here to talk to the board about the good news stories.”

“Oh, okay.” I hesitate. “I will be there soon.”

“Thank you. See you when I get back this afternoon,” he replies.

I hang up and stuff my phone back into my bag. Shit, now I really have to go in. I sit at the bench seat as I watch Alastar take his phone from his pocket to check the time. He hangs his head and sadness overwhelms me. Oh, baby. Has he come to our corner every morning to look for me? Has he waited every afternoon? Why hasn’t he just called me and explained why this has happened? In my stupid heart I am still hopeful that he can explain all of this; that he has been set up in some elaborate scheme. My head tells me a completely different story, though. He leans back against the wall and looks up to the sky in despair. I close my eyes in pain. I badly want to run to him. Why? I watch him pull himself together and slowly walk around the corner. He’s finally given up and left.

I sit for another five minutes staring into space as I try to gain some sort of composure, before I finally drag myself out of the chair and out into the street. It’s worse knowing that he is suffering as much as I am. I can’t stand the thought of it. The cars are flying past and I wait to cross. My eyes look back over to the corner and I see Alastar again. He is facing me and his hands are in his overcoat pockets. I stop dead. His eyes search mine and my own fill with tears as my bottom lip starts to tremble. He holds his head to the side and I know he would be thinking don’t cry, baby. The traffic lights change.

Just walk across the street, just walk across the street.

I put my head down and walk briskly without looking up. I can’t talk to him. If I do, I know I will believe anything he tells me, right now. I want to run into his arms, I want to run away with him and never come back. This has to be a dreadful mistake. He is dangerous, Emerson, I remind myself. But even as I reprimand myself, I know in my heart of hearts that he would never hurt me. I can’t believe he is capable of ever hurting anyone else, either. He’s too gentle, too loving to ever be capable of the things that my brain is telling me that he’s been doing. I get to the other side of the road and start to walk up the street toward work.

“Emerson,” he calls from behind me.

I stop with my back to him, my eyes planted firmly on the ground as my broken heart hammers in my chest.

“I miss you,” he says softly.

I pause, still with my back to him. I miss you, too.

“Trust yourself,” he murmurs.

I frown. What does that mean?

He doesn’t say anything else.

I wait for another twenty seconds as I search my brain for a comeback. The street is bustling with people, and yet I feel like we are the only two people on Earth. Say something else, Alastar. Explain to me why those things were at your house. I need you to tell me, damn you. I stand with my back to him, and he stands directly behind me. I can feel him so close, yet so far away. I’m too weak to deal with this. I can’t cope. I swallow the lump in my throat, put my head down, and keep walking to work.



* * *



Brielle’s eyes widen in horror. “Are you serious?”

We are at lunch and I am filling her in on the week’s strange turn of events.

I shake my head as I rearrange my cutlery. It’s hard for me to even look her in the eye. “You promised not to say anything,” I say in monotone, lifeless voice.

Brielle grabs my hand over the table. “When did this happen?” she whispers.

“Wednesday.”

“Emerson.” She frowns in horror. “It’s Monday. Why didn’t you call me?”