Find Me Alastar

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

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