Find Me Alastar

In my fucked 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.

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 startNôvel(D)rama.Org's content.

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 fucking 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.