Find Me Alastar(84)

I deserve to feel this low and I definitely don’t deserve for Liam to still be my friend, so who knows why he is?

He went and visited Mum and Dad the other day to tell them he has started seeing someone else. That’s Liam. Honorable.

Unlike me.

I hope she’s good enough for him. One thing I know for sure is that I wasn’t.

He deserved so much better.

I continue to draw on my notepad as I lick the Nutella from my spoon. It’s my comfort food. This breakup is going to cost me ten pounds on my behind, but I don’t give a shit because I’m quite happy never showing anyone my behind ever again.

Love is overrated.



* * *



The days have turned into weeks.

The nights are blurred with the days.

I’ve lost all perspective.

I’ve lost all hope of Alastar ever coming back.

He’s gone forever.

Work is mundane and everyone is pissing me of to the point where their lives are in danger and if I get served one more bad cup of coffee someone is going down.

I wish I were joking. I visualize myself grabbing the coffee girl in a headlock at the café and gouging her eyes out with my teaspoon, forcing her to make my coffee right.

I waited all my life to fall in love. Now, I am alone, heartbroken and away from my parents. I want my mum.

I want her to tell me that everything is going to be all right, that tomorrow I am going to wake up and not feel like … like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.

I miss him.

Every day I miss him and every day I hate myself for it.



* * *



“Have you got the directions?” I ask the photographer.

He glances at me from his seat behind the wheel and smiles cheekily. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

I smirk, bouncing up and down as we go over bumps in his pick-up truck. “Totally.” I smirk.

We are driving to a country estate to see one of our good news stories. I’m excited for the first time in a long time. Apparently a celebrity fundraiser is being held here today. The photographer I am with, James, also freelances for the gossip columns, and the owner has asked if he can take some photos of the party for the local paper while we are there. Considering I have been binge drinking like a college kid since Alastar screwed me over six weeks ago, I’m looking forward to it. Something civilized for a change and, quite frankly, I never want to date another man for as long as I live. The memory of losing my very last ounce of dignity at Alastar’s house the last time I saw him is horrific, and something I don’t want to ever revisit with a man ever again. Understandably, neither does Brielle. She came to Alastar’s house that night and scraped me off the floor. If she hadn’t, who knows? I may still be there waiting for him to return. I guess it’s just going to be one of those horror stories that I will always remember. Went to England, fell in love with a player who totally f*cked me over, became a nun… End of fairy tale. Life in the monastery is going to be positively peachy keen and drama free. I stare out of the window as my wayward mind wanders. I wonder what my Twinkle Star is doing right now?

I go over the conversations we had where I thought he might have been sick. I hope he’s okay, and I hope that whatever the reason he left me for was worth it.

Deep down, I’d like to believe it must have been.



* * *



Driving into the large stone gates, I look around excitedly. This is one of the country estates that you read about in magazines.

We continue up a long road until we get to a grand house where cars are being parked by the valet. I look around at the dumpy truck we are driving in horror. “Why didn’t you clean your car before we came?” I cringe.

James shakes his head. “I didn’t bloody know they would have valet, did I?”

I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “God. How embarrassing. There must be at least ten empty coffee cups in here.” I frown.

“Oh, shut up. Have you seen your desk at work?”

He’s right; my desk is a shambles. I really can’t talk.

We arrive to the car park attendants who are donned in red coats and black pants. I get out of the car while James scrambles around the van looking for his camera and I retrieve my bag with my notepad and pen.

“You are?” the attendant asks with a raised brow.

“We are here from Chesters for an interview and I’m also here for the Mercury social pages to take some photographs for the paper,” James replies.

“Identification please?” he sighs in a bored voice.

James shuffles around and passes his identification card over.

The attendant looks us up and down and then signals through the house. “The party is in the marquee, just out the back.”

“Thank you.” I smile.

The attendant nods dutifully, straight faced.

“What a knob,” James whispers as we walk up the grand staircase.

“He does take his job very seriously,” I whisper.

James shakes his head. “He parks cars, for God’s sake. Even our shitty job is better than his.”

I smile and we make our way into the huge establishment that looks more like a function center than a house. We are greeted by a middle-aged man who is wearing a black suit. “Hello, can I help you?”