by T L Swan
* * *
The cab slows to a halt outside Alastar’s mansion. I gingerly get out of the car. I’m not feeling half as brave now. What am I doing here? I walk up the stairs and bang the brass knocker that sits on the double doors. Nobody answers.
I knock again.
Oh, this is great. He’s pretending he isn’t home. I should throw a rock through the fucking window. I knock again and surprise myself at just how loud it is and the door opens in a rush.
Alastar stands in front of me in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. His face falls when he sees me.
I stay silent, shocked at his disappointment that I’m here—that he is really here.
He lied to me.
“Em,” he murmurs.
“Hello.” I feel the stupid tears of betrayal wanting to break free again, but I hold them in.
We stay silent as we stare at each other. Why? Why do I feel the urge to throw myself into his arms?
He seems off. Something isn’t right. “Are you okay?” I whisper.
He drops his head and hesitates.
“Please. You need to go home.”
Chapter 17
I remain silent as my eyes search his. He doesn’t want me here. What do I say to that? Maybe Thomas made the whole thing up about him loving me and he really doesn’t give two shits?
“Why did you lie?” I ask.
He stares at me as if choosing his words carefully before he speaks.
He drops his head.
“You can’t even look me in the eye when you lie? You told me you were going overseas?” I ask.
His sad eyes meet mine. “Baby, I mean it. Go home. Please.”
I shake my head as tears sting the back of my eyes. “Don’t you feel it? Am I in this alone?”
He doesn’t answer. He just drops his head again.
I step forward and take his hand and his eyes fall to our entwined fingers. “Is something wrong?” I ask.
His eyes meet mine.
My bottom lip quivers. “I’ve been missing you and now I find...” My voice trails off. I can’t even say it loud.
He nods softly. “I know,” he whispers.
“That’s it? You don’t have any feelings for me at all?” My lip trembles as I try to hold back the stupid tears. “Is this in my head? I need to know. I can’t stand feeling like this.” I can’t believe I’m standing here in near tears practically begging for him to talk to me. I’ve hit an all time low.
His haunted eyes meet mine. “Of course I do,” he whispers.
“Why?” I murmur.
He gently swipes his hand over my head to brush back my hair. “Don’t.”
“Why are you pushing me away?”
“Em…” He hesitates. “This is something that I have no control over. It is bigger than you and I.”
I screw up my face in pain and he pulls me into an embrace. “I don’t understand,” I whisper into his shoulder.
“If I could change it, I would.”
I pull back to look at his face. “Are you sick?”
He shakes his head sadly. “No.”
My eyes search his for a much needed answer.
He takes me into his arms and holds me tight. I feel like I’m breaking. What’s wrong with him?
“Go home, my love. Please. Go home,” he whispers into my hair.
I pull back and shake my head as my anger gets the better of me. “No!” I yell. “I’m not leaving you here like this.” Something is seriously wrong with him. He just seems so sad.
“It’s for your own protection. I need to protect you. Go!” he yells.
“Protect me?” I step back. What does that even mean? “You wont me hurt me, I know that,” I whisper.
He shakes his head angrily as he pulls out of my grip. “I have no control over this. If I did, I would be by your side.” He walks over and sits on the lounger and puts his head into his hands in despair.
I stand still on the spot as I watch him looking broken on his lounger. I don’t know what’s going on with him, but I do know that he needs me here tonight and I’m not leaving him like this. Something is wrong.
I’m pulling out all stops. “Thomas told me you are hopelessly in love with me.”
His eyes snap up and he screws up his face. “What?” He didn’t.”
I nod. “Yes, he did. Just half an hour ago.”
He stands angrily. “Where did you see him?”
“At the Rose. He’s blind drunk.”
He narrows his eyes. “Well, he’s wrong. I don’t.”
My heart drops hearing him say it out loud. My bottom lip starts to quiver as I stare at him through blurry eyes.
Empathy hits him and he rushes to me and holds me in an embrace, whispering into my hair. “My beautiful Emmaline. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I do love you, baby. Don’t cry,” he whispers. “I can’t stand to see you cry.”
My eyes search his. “We can make this work. Whatever it is… we can deal with it together,” I promise him.
He holds me tight but doesn’t say anything.
I gently kiss his chest and then with controlled strength he pushes me off him. “No. I said no.”
My anger erupts. “You just said that you loved me!”
“I do. But it changes nothing. Leave now!”
I fold my arms defiantly. What the actual fuck is going on here? He’s talking in riddles and my anger starts to simmer dangerously close to the surface. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what the fuck is going on.”
He narrows his eyes and storms out of the room. I hear him march upstairs and then the doors bang open and shut.
What do I do? Do I follow him? This man is messing with my head. I start to pace in the living room when he storms back in, fully dressed with a set of keys in his hand. He locks the door that goes down to the cellar. Huh? What is he doing?
“What’s down there that you don’t want me to see?” I frown.
“My photography equipment,” he snaps.
“You are home! You locked that from me.” He is hiding something. What has he got down there?
“I locked it because I’m going out.”
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me, Alastar!”
“Fine!” he yells.
He picks his keys up from the table and storms out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.
My eyes stay glued to the back of the door that he just left through. I am shocked to my core.
I rush to the window to see him get into his car and speed down the street in first gear, leaving me with my heart hammering in my chest. I can’t believe this.
He left me alone in his house and drove away. I slide down the wall to sit on the floor in the silence, unable to hold the sobs in a minute longer.
Then, I begin to howl.
* * *
I sit on my window seat and sketch in my drawing pad using a lead pencil. It’s late at night and the city lights twinkle away below. Every now and then I find myself just staring into space… thinking of him. Remembering our beautiful time together. If I was with him now we would be naked, lying by the open fire in each other’s arms, talking about our day, and I smile at the thought.
Then reality hits home. He’s probably in someone else’s arms right now in front of the very same fire we made love in front of.
Well played, Alastar. Well played.
You seduced me with your body, captivated me with your personality, and made me fall in love with your soul.
I have no one to blame but myself. If I had been more experienced with men, I would have seen it coming. I smile sadly to myself. I did see this coming, but, like a Tsunami, I couldn’t stop it. He was just too beautiful.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Liam and our relationship since the demise of my relationship with Alastar.
Karma… that’s what this is.
Liam loved me.
He loved me, and like a flake, I fell out of love with him, but only because I was bored with my li
fe. Adults don’t get bored with their lives. They fix, they persevere, they work hard on it.
I was weak. Why didn’t I fight harder?
He was trying to save money for our future so that we could have our own house, so that we could provide for our kids, and yet it wasn’t enough to hold me. Only now that my heart is splattered like an egg do I feel such a deep remorse that I hurt someone so deeply. If I feel this sad after a few weeks with Twinkle, how must Liam have felt after all those years with me? My mind goes back to the times when I was messaging Mark behind Liam’s back and I feel nothing but shame. How could I have done that to him?
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 fucked 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?”
I smile nervously. “Hello.” I hold out my hand and shake his. “I am Emerson Mathews, and this is my colleague James Sutherland. We are here from Chesters to photograph some art that we sold to you.”
“Ah, yes. I have been expecting you. This way, please.” He walks off and we smile at each other as we follow him. He opens a large set of double doors, which lead into a huge ballroom. My mouth drops open. Holy crap. Every single wall is full of beautiful artwork. “I believe the pieces you are here to photograph are here.” He points. “Here. Here, and on this wall.” He turns to his left. “I believe it is the six bottom pieces. And on this far wall, it’s all of the oils.”
I smile in awe. Shit! These were seriously expensive pieces. This collector must be loaded. “Thank you.”
James gets his camera out and starts clicking away while the man stands and waits.
I turn to him. “Is the owner here? I was supposed to be giving a brief interview with them. If today doesn’t suit, I can call through the week.” Jeez, this is the last thing they want to do when they are having a party. How inconvenient?
“Yes, Monica is out the back. I shall ask if she is available.”
He leaves us alone.
James and I look at each other and smirk in amazement.
“FYI: I’m going to try my best to shag Monica,” James whispers. “I don’t care if she’s a hundred. I need me some of her cash.”
“Me, too,” I whisper. “This is bullshit rich.”
“Totally,” he murmurs as he starts to snap away, taking pictures of all the artwork.
Ten minutes later, two women come into the hall—one around forty-five and immaculate, the other a younger hippie, arty type woman with long blonde ringlets in her hair.
“Hello.” The attractive older woman smiles. “I’m Monica, and this is my friend Tabatha.” She gestures to the blonde.
“Hello.” I smile nervously as I shake both their hands. “This is James.” James stops what he is doing and shakes their hands.
I take out my pen and pap
er. “I’m sorry, is this a bad time? I understand you are having a party and I really don’t want to inconvenience you?”
Monica smiles warmly. “Not at all, dear, but thank you for being so thoughtful.”
Oh, she’s a nice lady. I instantly feel relieved.
“Tabatha runs an art gallery in town.” Monica smiles proudly.
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
Tabatha smiles. “I’m trying my best. It was my late father’s.”
Monica pats her on the arm. “Now, now. Don’t be modest. You are doing a fabulous job. Your father would be so proud of you.”
Tabatha smiles gratefully.
“Her father and I were lifelong friends,” Monica adds. “I miss him dearly.”
My face falls. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I reply.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I must get back to the party, but Tabatha will show you around and do the interview, if that’s okay? She buys all of my art for me, anyway, so she knows more than I do about their origins.”
“Perfect.” I smile.
Monica starts to walk out and then turns back. “James?”
“Yes?”
“You are going to stay and take some photographs for my charity for the paper, aren’t you?”
He smiles, relieved that she remembered. “Certainly,” he replies.
“I have ordered dinner for you two and set you a place.”
James’s smile nearly splits his face. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“Please… make yourself at home and stay for the whole evening if you like. I just ask that you stay around for the auction in around two hours to take some photographs of that.”
“Of course.” James nods. “Thank you for the opportunity. I will call you on Monday to check the wording of the copy that you want me to put with the story.” Her eyes hold his. “That would be very much appreciated.” She smiles and leaves the room.
I take out my pen and paper and turn to Tabatha. “Where shall we begin?”
* * *
An hour later, I look down at what I am wearing as I stand in the bathroom cubicle and brush my hands over my thighs nervously. I’m wearing a long-sleeved, ice grey dress with a fitted top and a little flared skirt that hangs just above my knee. I’ve complimented the outfit with nude high heels. and my hair is down and full. I knew there was a chance we would be hanging around for James to take the photos, so I had to find something that was a bit dressier than I would normally wear to work. I thought I looked okay, but now that I’m here, I’m not so sure. I feel underdressed, but then Tabatha seemed quite casual, too? It is an afternoon garden party. I’m unsure of the dress code for these things.
