by T L Swan
Hmm, interesting.
He throws the tea towel over his shoulder as he chops the ingredients for our Spanish omelet, and he turns a jar slightly to the right again as if it’s bothering him.
I can’t hold my tongue any longer. “How long have you had OCD?” I ask.
He keeps his head down and his face straight as he keeps chopping.
I wait for him to answer for an extended time, but he doesn’t.
“It’s worse today than it normally is, isn’t it?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine and he nods once.
“How come?”
He shrugs.
I watch him, waiting for his answer.
He pours his egg mixture into the hot pan and it sizzles. “Some days it’s worse than others,” he replies without making eye contact, continuing to chop the bacon.
I watch him. He doesn’t like that he has this and it’s upset him that I have noticed.
I stand and put my arms around him from behind and kiss his back. “Breakfast smells good.” I smile.
I feel his shoulders slump in relief that I am not going to push for more information. He turns and kisses my lips. “It will be ready in about ten.”
“I’m going to go upstairs and freshen up.” I smile.
“Okay.” He kisses me again. “Don’t be long.”
I walk upstairs, sit on the bed and take out my phone to hit up Google.
Why is my OCD worse today?
OCD is usually triggered by stress and anxiety. It may be heightened by the fear of losing control over a situation. Repetitive actions such as excessive cleaning, turning switches or having a need for things to be just so may be caused by the feeling of helplessness in other areas of your life.
I frown. He’s stressed or anxious. He doesn’t like not being in control.
I throw down my phone and stand there scratching my head as I think.
What has he lost control over?
I stay deep in thought as I a take a quick shower.
What’s he lost control over?
I stand under the steaming hot water when it hits me like a truck.
He’s lost control of his feelings for me.
It scares him.
* * *
I lie on my back and laugh up at my photographer. Alastar and I have had the most perfect day. He has taken me to two art galleries and explained every painting that he loves to me in great detail. We’ve held hands and kissed like kids, laughing more than ever before. We came home this afternoon and made love. Then we lit the fires together and now he has me naked in bed on top of the sheets that he has changed twice because he wasn’t happy with the colors. He is at the top of a ladder with his camera and is taking photos of me from above. Apparently I am his next painting project. Every now and then he climbs down the ladder and rearranges my hair spread on the pillow, or he readjusts the cashmere throw he has strategically draped over me. He smiles, as if enamored with my beauty.
One of my breasts is on full display and the blanket is just covering my sex.
He drops the camera, stands and smiles at me.
“What?” I smirk.
He shakes his head as if hardly believing it. “I’ve never photographed someone so beautiful.”
I laugh out loud. “You horrid liar.” He chuckles as he snaps away. “Nobody I have felt this way about, anyway,” he mutters under his breath.
Now. Ask him now.
I lie looking up at him. “How do you feel about me, Alastar?” I whisper, not completely sure if I want to know the answer.
He drops the camera and looks at me from his perched position on the ladder.
My eyes search his.
“I feel like I could fall hopelessly in love with you,” he replies softly.
My heart sinks. Not the answer I was hoping for. I drop my eyes and stare at the blanket. Of course he’s going to say that. You idiot. What were you expecting?
Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
I feel tears at the back of my eyes but I am determined not to let him see them. I got myself into this position; I knew it was never going to be more.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
I drag my hurt eyes to meet his.
“Say it,” he murmurs.
I stare at him.
“Say what you want to say.”
The lump in my throat nearly chokes me.
“Emmaline,” he whispers. “What are you thinking, my love?”
“I’m thinking that you are lucky that you just could fall in love.”
He frowns.
“Instead of have….. like me.” I whisper.
Our eyes lock and, unable to help it, mine fill with tears.
I’m pathetic. I wipe my tears away angrily and fake a smile.
“Don’t… don’t mind me,” I stammer. “I told you not to fry my brain.” I half laugh.
His sad eyes hold mine and he puts his camera back into its tripod, setting it on auto.
I watch in slow motion as he pulls his sweater off over his head and slides down his pants. He climbs into bed with me and holds me in his arms.
I feel like crying to the moon.
“I wish things were different,” he whispers into my lips, the sound of his camera snapping every thirty seconds filling the silence. My shining bright Star makes slow, tender, yet terribly sad love to me.
I will never be the same again.
* * *
We walk up the road hand in hand. I feel as though I am going to hyperventilate. It’s Tuesday morning and time to say goodbye.
This morning Alastar’s OCD has been at an all time high as I watched him pack and repack my things in silence. He made the bed and changed the linen with such force, I thought he may have ripped the sheets. When we got to my apartment to drop off my belongings he insisted in putting everything away for me. I had two extra suitcases of things. It seems he shops for expensive clothes when stressed, as well.
Last night we were both quiet, both lost in our own thoughts. I told him on Saturday, in a roundabout way, that I loved him, and he didn’t say it back.
He hasn’t told me about his trip and I haven’t asked. I know this is it. Maybe I’m being delusional—I probably am—but I feel like my feelings are reciprocated; yet for some reason he just can’t act on them. I keep feeling like I have missed a chapter of this book, like there is something going on behind the scenes that I don’t know about.
We ate breakfast in silence. Well, that’s not true. The sound of my heart breaking could have been heard for miles.
I’m not going to beg.
I’m not going to lower myself to being one of those clingy pathetic girls.
I deserve better.
But, God, I want him to want me as much as I want him.
It hurts that he doesn’t.
We get to the pavement outside my work and we turn to face each other as he holds both of my hands in his.
I fake a smile. “Thank you.”
He nods, his sad eyes holding mine.
Don’t go.
“Have a great trip,” I whisper.
He nods, again not saying anything.
I just need to go. I just need to get the hell out of here before I make a bigger fool of myself.
I kiss him quickly on the lips and move to pull away but he keeps me in place, holding me by the hands.
“Kiss me properly,” he whispers as his eyes search mine.
My throat aches and I feel like I can’t breathe.
“Emmaline,” he whispers.
I stare at him through tears.
He kisses me and holds my cheeks in his hands as he screws up his face in pain.
My face scrunches up as the tears break the dam of control. I pull out of the kiss and step back.
I need to get away.
“Goodbye,” I whisper.
His haunted eyes hold mine.
He can’t even say it. He can’t say goodbye.
I turn and walk away into the cold hard reality
that I brought all of this on myself.
Chapter 16
“Oh, babe, I’m so sorry.” Brielle sighs from the end of my bed.
I nod sadly, feeling sorry for myself. “Yeah. Me, too.”
“Do you want me to tell you he’s a fuckwit?”
I nod.
She smirks. “He is such a fuckwit.” I smile sadly. If only that were true.
“What are you going to do?”
I shrug. “Forget him. I deleted his number from my phone so I can’t call him.”
“Good idea.”
We both sit in silence for a little while.
“I seriously don’t get it, though. I would swear he was madly in love with you. I think I’m more shocked about this than you are.” I stare at her, still numb. “Not helping.” I sigh.
She looks down and notices the box of letters. “What’s this?” she asks as she picks them up.
I smile my first genuine smile all day. “They came with my ring.”
“Huh?” She frowns.
“The little old lady rang me back to tell me that the box they came in has the same stampings as my ring.”
“What? What are they?” She opens the box and takes out a letter.
I smile. “I’ve been reading them in order. They are love letters to a princess from her guard.”
Her eyes light up.
“I’m up to the sixth one. They are so in love.”
She puts her hand over her heart.
“You have to read them in order. Go back and read the first one. She slipped him a note to come and visit her in the middle of the night.”
“Are you serious?” she whispers as she holds the letter in her hand and studies it.
“Those letters are the only thing that’s keeping me sane during my love life crisis at the moment,” I murmur sadly.
Brielle smiles. “Its not a crisis, it’s just an Irish fiasco. The sadness will pass because as you will soon realise that all men are bona-fide fuckwits and the female race is a lot better off without them.”
* * *
My beloved Princess.
The last twenty-two nights in your arms have been the best nights of my existence.
The Princess paces back and forth in her room, furious and unable to control her anger. Alchron hasn’t been to her chamber for three nights and today she heard chambermaids talking. He had been at a dance two nights ago with a blonde woman and they left together.
How could he do this? She thought that they had something wonderful. Her innocence had blinded her. Her angry tears roll down her face.
Knock, knock.
Her eyes dart to the door. He came! Her heart picks up pace and she runs to open it in a rush.
“Hello.” He smiles softly, but his face falls when he sees her tears. “What is wrong?” he whispers as he enters the room.
She closes the door behind him and her broken eyes hold his. “Who is she?” she whispers.
His face falls. “Who is who?”
“Do not insult me with your lies, Alchron. Who is the blonde you have been parading around the village with? I have been here waiting, pining for you, and you go take pleasure in another woman’s body?” she cries.
“Shh,” he whispers. “Your guards will hear you.”
“I do not care!” she screams.
He smiles sympathetically.
“You find this funny?” she cries through tears.
“The blonde you speak of is my sister.”
Her face falls.
His large arms hold her. “How beautiful you are when you’re jealous.” He kisses her gently on the mouth as he wipes a stray tear from her cheek.
“Your sister.” She frowns.
“My family has been visiting and I could not get a letter to you. What you do not understand, Princess, is that even if my body wanted a release with another woman, my heart would not allow it.”
Her eyes hold his. ‘Why not?” she whispers.
“The daft thing thinks he’s in love with you.”
A trace of a smile crosses her lips.
He kisses her gently again. “And unfortunately for me, I love like I fight.”
“How is that?” she whispers into his lips as her hand comes around to the back of his neck.
“All or nothing.”
A tear rolls down her cheek and he kisses it away. “I love you, Alchron,” she tells him. “I need you to make love to me.”
He stays silent in thought.
“You don’t want me?” she whispers as his lips drop to her neck.
He bites her hard and she whimpers. “More than anything,” he murmurs almost to himself. “But you are not mine to take.”
“I am.” She kisses him softly and his arousal starts to cloud his judgment. “Take me, Alchron. I’m yours.”
Emerson
“Do you want another drink?” Brielle asks.
“Yeah, why not.” I smile.
It’s 3pm on Sunday and we are at the pub for lunch discussing Brielle’s obvious crush for her boss. I think I liked it better when she at least tried to deny it. Alastar left two weeks ago, but he is never far from my mind. How can you spend a couple of weeks with someone and be so totally hung on them? I feel like I have lost someone I loved dearly and it doesn’t make sense to me at all. I’m trying my hardest to fight it, but I feel like I’m losing this battle. Brielle is going on and on about Mr. Masters while I just sit and stare into space. What’s wrong with me?
“Do you think I should go to the doctor?” I ask. Brielle frowns. “Why?”
“I keep getting these flashing lights in my eyes and I am dreaming of gunshots. It’s been worse since he left.” I run my hands though my hair in frustration. “It isn’t normal to feel like this, Brell. Maybe I have depression.”
She smiles sympathetically and grabs my hand over the table. “You know how you feel about Alastar?”
My eyes drop to the table and I nod.
“This is how I feel about my ex.”
My sad eyes meet hers.
“I was, maybe still am, totally in love with him.”
I squeeze her hand. He put her through the ringer.
“And I felt like I was going to die if I didn’t have him.” I nod again. Yep, that’s it.
“He was sleeping with other women while I loved him with everything I had. Then he would apologize and cry and tell me he loved me and beg for another chance.”
“Oh, Brell.” My heart aches for my beautiful friend.
“And I would take him back because I loved him so much that I couldn’t believe that what we had wouldn’t last forever. He broke me and my self-esteem. I had nothing left when it finally finished.”
I drop my head again.
“I just want you to get some perspective, Emerson. Yes, you fell in love with Alastar and it sucks he didn’t fall in love with you before he left. You do have a little stress right now, but you have come out relatively unscathed. You have your self-esteem, you are still young, and you weren’t married with kids. There is no lasting financial burden and he respected you enough not to cheat. You knew all along that he was a short term thing.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I sigh.
“You need to snap out of it. It’s been two weeks.”
I smile a defeated smile. “Thank you for being so wonderful.” I sigh, grateful that she can put things into perspective for me.
“What are friends for?” she whispers as our drinks arrive.
“Ladies,” a loud drunk voice calls from across the pub.
I glance over and my eyes widen. It’s Thomas and my eyes scan everywhere, looking for Alastar.
Has he come back for me? Please say yes.
Thomas comes over and falls into the chair beside us. “My favorite two Aussies.” He laughs way too loudly.
“I thought you were away?” Brielle frowns.
“Nope, we don’t leave for another two weeks,” he slurs.
What? I drop my head to hide my dismay. He hasn’t
even gone. He lied to get rid of me. I feel like I have just been hit in the stomach.
I’m a stupid fool.
“Did you want me to come over tonight, Brielle, and give your boss that show?” He smiles.
“No, I’m good,” she replies with the shake of a head, her concerned eyes watching me across the table.
“Where is Alastar?” I ask.
Brielle widens her eyes in a shut up kind of way.
“He’s at home being a miserable prick, I imagine.”
He turns his eyes back to Brielle. I think he really does want to do her on Mr. Masters bed while he watches. “Do you want to dance, Brelly?” he asks in a nearly unrecognisable voice. Like Alastar, his accent is much stronger when he’s drunk.
Brielle’s eyes find me for approval.
“Why is he miserable?” I can’t help myself. I have to ask. He’s going to be fucking miserable once I cut his dick off with an axe.
“Ahh, let me see.” He rubs his chin when he stands then side steps as he stumbles. Gosh, he is drunk. He takes Brielle’s hand and pulls her out of her chair. “He has fallen hopelessly in love with this Australian girl named Emmaline and he can’t have her. So he’s sulking.” He rolls his eyes in a drunken stupor. “Stupid prick.” Huh. Brielle’s eyes snap to mine as he spins her around.
“Why can’t he have her?” I blurt out.
He shakes his head. “Baby, even if I told you, you would never believe me in a million years.”
He spins Brielle around and she laughs out loud as my pulse starts to thump in my ears. He’s fallen hopelessly in love?
He’s fallen hopelessly in love?
With me??
Then why did he tell me that he had already left?
What the hell is going on with him?
That’s it. I stand with renewed vigor. I catch Brielle’s eyes and give her a wave before I head out of the door. I take out my phone and scroll through Brielle’s texts until I get to the one where Alastar gave his address and sent it to her that night she came over for dinner. I lift my arm for a cab as I run out onto the curb.
Alastar O’shea, I’m coming to sort you out! And you had better be hopelessly in love with me, you big fool or else there is going to be trouble.
