"They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered."
-----
When Alastair Stone agrees to spend the year with his controlling father in the beachfront city of Wrightwood, California, he has no idea...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sun was up and shining the next day and there was no sign of Alastair. After last night, my emotions were dangling between anger and concern because despite telling myself a hundred times that I'm not going to talk to him or even look at him, I texted him at night. It was too late for realization but I regretted it immediately.
I just wanted to know where he was but I got no reply back which further aggravated me. I'm not some clingy girl who needs to know where he is all the time but he should not have left me hanging on seen.
Since today was Sunday, I had no school. I woke up late and was having a large breakfast because I'm hangry. I even covered up for Alastair as if he was a teenager like a good sister that I am even when no one asked. I told his dad that he was feeling under the weather and that he wants no one to disturb him. Surprisingly, he believed me and didn't even bother to check on his fake-sick son.
My mom and Grayson went out after 11 o'clock to some art gallery that one of their friends has opened recently. I sweetly smiled at my mom when she told me to be on my best behavior and to not disturb poor sick Alastair.
As soon as they were out of the house I ran up to his room and removed the blankets wrapped around the pillows in frustration. I know I went over and beyond for him, even making a Fake-Alastair with pillows to be on the safe side but it doesn't matter. If his dad had come up and checked up on him he would at least find a body, though a non-responding one at that.
I came back downstairs to finish the pasta that my mom makes specifically the only thing she can make when she feels the sudden urge to cook. Whenever she's in a cooking mood she always cooks pasta, like every damn time. I still like it even after eating it almost every day after my parent's divorce.
Something roared outside the house, something similar to the sound that comes from motorbikes which had me on high alert. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter and quietly padded across the hall on my toes. I removed the blinds enough to look at what is happening outside. No stranger is coming to my house without going down in the battle of blood.
My jaw dropped when I saw that it was Alastair. On a bike. In new clothes. I was fuming.
He removed his helmet and set it on the handle of the bike. He ran his hand over his hair and his cheeks seem to be sucked inside, the reaction when we are whistling. Someone is in a good mood. Must be a hell of a night I guess. I switched off all the lights and covered the blinds and sat down on the sofa with the knife in my hands.
The door creaked open. The sound that those horror movies love to put in every time just to scare you for no reason. Like, of course, the house door should be creaked open, it cannot be greased open, it needs to make a sound to give you a warning that the ghost is coming for you, and if you know better you will run for your life.
What is wrong with me? Why am I even thinking about this right now?
