Find Me Alastar

“Are you still feeling unwell?” I hold my breath as I wait for her answer.

She hesitates. “I was never sick, Alastar. I needed an excuse to leave the party.”

My heart drops. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to see you.”

I stay silent, her rejection cutting through me like a knife.

“I see,” I whisper quietly.

More silence.

“I should let you go,” I murmur.

She hesitates. “Is there something you wanted to say, Alastar?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I reply softly.

I know what I want to say. I also know I shouldn’t.

“Goodbye, Emmaline.”

The phone goes dead.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I blow out a steadying breath and place my hands on my head in disappointment as I continue to

pace.

Emerson

I sit at the kitchen table and drink my tea. It’s 6am and I have hardly slept. I feel like shit, to be honest.

When I got home last night I vented to poor Brielle for an hour over the phone about the Irish Fiasco.

Then, after a string of violent strobe lights flashing in my eyes, I finally fell asleep, only to be woken up

when Alastar rang me. I haven’t been able to fall back to sleep since. God, I wanted to see him last night.

I would have given anything to hear him ask to see me-to give me an explanation-to heal my poor,

broken heart. I keep seeing him sitting at the table at the fundraiser so unaffected and so damn freaking

gorgeous.

Vanessa comes out of her room in a rush. “Crap, I slept in.”

I frown. “Where are you going at his hour?”

“I’m filling in for a breakfast shift for someone.”

“What time were you supposed to be there?”

She looks at her watch. “Now.”

She rushes around and grabs her bag, taking her phone from her charger and opening the front door in

a rush. “See you,” she calls. “Fucking hell!” she yells.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I hear the Irish accent say.

I frown.

“What the heck are you doing?” she snaps. “I nearly tripped over you.”

“I’m sorry. My apologies,” I hear him say as he disappears down the steps.

I stand and rush to the door.

“That weird guy was just asleep on our doorstop.”

“W-who?” I stammer, wide-eyed.

“That Irish knob.” I lean over the stair rail and, sure enough, see Alastar running down the stairs in

double time to escape.

What the fuck?

I take off after him. “Alastar?” I call as I run down the stairs.

He doesn’t stop as he disappears down the staircase.

“Alastar!” I call again. He keeps going and I run faster down the stairs. What the hell was he doing

here?

I hear the front door open and I run down the bottom two flights and burst out into the cool morning air

after him. The sun is just rising and it’s freezing with morning dew blanketing the streets. I look up and

down the street and see him walking away, still in his suit from last night. Fog is steaming in front of his

mouth as he breathes.

“Alastar!” I call. “Stop… Please, stop.”

He freezes and stays facing away from me, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed.

I run up behind him on the street. “What are you doing?” I call.

He turns to face me, but he doesn’t say anything.

I stop and put my hands onto my hips as I try to catch my breath. Holy shit, I am so unfit. I pant like I

am about to have a heart attack.

My eyes search his. “You slept outside my apartment?”

He nods once.

I frown. “Why?”

He hesitates and swallows the lump in his throat. “Because… I miss you.”