Find Me Alastar

I glance over at him.

“I will take any gift of time with you.”

I smile softly.

“One life of loving you could never be enough,” he whispers softly.

My eyes glaze over in emotion.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispers as he cups my face in his hand.

“I am,” I whisper, and my bottom lip quivers as I try to hold in my tears.

“I know this is frightening. But it’s also a gift. Don’t you feel slightly empowered knowing that, no

matter what packaging we both come in, where in the world we are born, what heritage we come from,

our love still shines through and finds its way back to where it belongs?”

I smile.

“That we made history together…” he whispers as he gently kisses my lips.

I smile through my tears.

“We belong together, Emmaline, and no matter how fucked up this story seems to anyone else, it

doesn’t matter to me. This is our story.”

I kiss him softly.

“I believe the word soul mate comes from circumstances just like ours.” I smile. This beautiful man.

“You never hear of body mates now, do you?” He raises an eyebrow sarcastically.

I smile broadly.

“A soul does not die with our bodies. And soul mates will always find each other. Every time, in

every life.”

“I love you,” I breathe.

“I love you, too.” His eyes close as his lips touch mine.

“Because of us,” I whisper through tears.

He smiles into my lips. “Because of us.”

I grip the steering wheel with white knuckle force as I wait for the garage door to go up. “Come on. Come

on.” I tap my hands nervously on the wheel as I watch the rearview mirror. “Just hurry up,” I whisper to

myself. The garage door opens. I rev the car and fly out of the garage and down the street to the sounds of

the tire’s screeching. I have just stolen Alastar’s car while he showers. He is going to kill me. I glance to

the backseat at the three large garbage bags tied up at the top. The rolled up canvases of stolen art are

inside and I have a plan. Alastar and I had heated discussions on and off all day yesterday. He is under the

ridiculous opinion that this art belongs to us and that we can keep it in the basement; that nobody will ever

know.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

Realistically, I know that it’s only a matter of time before he gets caught and I will not let him be a

fool and go to prison to prove some stupid point.

His memories of painting those paintings of me have clouded his judgment.

They are not ours to keep in this life.

The phone rings. It’s Alastar. Shit. I flick the button on the steering wheel.

“Hello.”

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” he screams in his deep Irish accent.

I screw up my face. Oh, he’s never yelled at me before. “I’m, umm, returning the art,” I stammer as I

stick my tongue out in concentration to turn the corner. Ah, it’s weird driving on the wrong side of the

road. I could die here any minute. “Get back here now. You don’t have an international license.”

I frown. Is he kidding. “Last time I looked, a fucking valid license was the least of our problems,

Alastar,” I shout back.

“They will blame you,” he screams. “Come and get me and I will tell them I did it.”

“No.” Shit, what will I say? “I have already told Mark that it was dumped on my doorstep this

morning when I woke up.”

“What?” He screams. “He’s not fucking stupid, Emmaline.”

“Yes, he fucking is!” I yell. God, I don’t need this shit. I’m stressed out enough already.

“If they blame me… come and bail me out.”

“Emmaline!” he yells.

I push the button on the steering wheel and disconnect the call. I inhale deeply and wipe the

perspiration from my forehead as I grip the steering wheel hard again. Holy crap, what am I doing? This

is insane. My heart is beating so fast. I pull up into a loading bay outside of work and look around for a

parking spot. Shit. I glance into the back seat and I know the three bags of paintings will be heavy for me

to haul a long distance. Screw the parking ticket. Alastar can frigging pay for it. He got me into this mess.

After parking the car, I put my handbag strap across my body and grab the three bags. I struggle up the

steps and into reception. Oh, great, Stephanie is here early.

She raises an eyebrow in question. “Collecting trash now?” She smirks sarcastically.

“Something like that…” I answer, distracted. Jeez, these bags are heavy. “You could give me a hand,

you know.” I groan.

She smirks. “I could.” Then breaks into a broad smile. “But I won’t.”

“Why are you such a bitch?” I frown.

“Takes one to know one.” She waves sarcastically as I get into the elevator.

I give her the bird and the doors close. Fuck, I hate that chick.

I breathe heavily as I watch the dial turn, and finally I arrive at my destination. My floor. I drag the

bags through the office and knock on Mark’s door. I hope he’s not in yet. Please don’t be here.

“Come in,” he calls.