Love Bites

LOVE BITES Chapter 39 : Paranoia

At first I hesitated, pausing at Alastair's bedroom with my hand on the handle. But the longer I stared at that door, the more I felt an aching pull in my chest and before I knew it, I was standing before that very door.

Stealing in a breath I pushed forward. It opened with a creak, the hinges groaning from lack of use. Shadows spilled into the hallway and my eyes struggled to adjust to the heavy change of lighting. Inside the curtains were drawn tight, not allowing even the tiniest line of moonlight to slice through the empty darkness. 

My hand found the light switch on the wall quite easily, considering this was hardly my first time in here. I flicked it on, then again, and one more, only for the shadows blanketing the room to remain.

"Great," I muttered. "Light's blown."

I trod inside, walking straight up to the windows and yanking the curtains back. The glass rattled as a sudden blast of wind and snow hit the side of the house. I stepped back, staring out into the midst of a snowstorm worriedly. Then it eased off. The wind died and the soft patter of snow could be heard on the roof.

Turning around I eyed the large room I stood in. A double bed laid square in the center, pillows aligned perfectly and the sheets tucked in around the edges and spread without a crease over the mattress. The bedside tables was tidy, floor and cupboards equally so. I'd always made an effort to keep this room respectable, for their sake. And despite the cold weather, their room always felt nostalgically warm.

With my arms folded over my chest, I walked around the room with slow steps, taking everything in. It wasn't like anything had changed since I was last in here but still, I couldn't help but be entranced by the smallest of details about my late parents life; their favourite colours, artists, clothing. I wanted to know Mom and Dad for who they were, not only for what they were.

I didn't have a chance of learning anything when they were alive. All I had to go off were the things they left behind. 

I tediously walked around to where the wardrobe was. I could remember very clearly that I use to hide in it for fun as a child. I also remembered the day I was cruelly reprimanded by my mother for tearing one of her dresses when my foot accidentally got hooked in the drape of it.

Even those memories were fond to look back on.

Mom did have quite the temper, but only because I tended to cause her double the trouble of any normal child. And what I think annoyed her more was that Dad would often leave it up to her to take care of the mess while he sat off to the side either chuckling or in awe of my sprightly attitude. I didn't mean to cause such a riot all the time, but what as I to do confined within the manor walls all day every day?

I slid the wardrobe door to the side and as soon as I did, the skirts of many -- many -- gowns burst out. My eyes widened incredulously at the amount of outfits my mother owned.

She did adore her dresses, I thought and proceeded to cram them back inside the large cupboard.

Along the way, I admit, I got distracted. I began to pick apart the different styles and colours and it wasn't long before I found myself stepping into the most strikingly beautiful gown I'd ever laid eyes on.

The top was a strapless black corset and despite struggling to have laced it up properly at the back it hugged my slim figure regardless and flared brilliantly at the hips. The skirt was an array of magnificent blues and greys and fell down my slender legs in streams of tulle. I was obsessed. It was positively stunning and matched my shape and darkening hair perfectly.