cupid clearly hates me.

[ 41 ]

"I never thought it would come to this."

The air is warm now, but not the kind of warm that makes you want to sink into a dark envelope made of that same warmth and fall asleep for a month. It was just plain old warm, nothing special.

"Me neither," you croaked.

In fact, you were quite uncomfortable. Not because of the temperature, though. Because of Alastor. And because of what had happened—because of what was still happening.

He had sent you away. He really had.

"I'm sorry."

Maybe you understood why he did. Maybe you knew, deep down, that Alastor wasn't being selfish at all—that he was only trying to save you. Maybe Dr. Goldberg was right; Alastor wasn't giving up on your love, he was giving in.

Maybe.

"You should be."

The arm did not detatch from your shoulders when you looked up. You blinked away your tears, then wiped the back of your wrists along your cheeks. Your eyes stung, even though they weren't dry. The sensation confused you, but you tried not to think about it. Thinking made your head hurt even worse than it already did.

"Let me take you home."

Alastor. The man—no, the demon—you had foolishly fallen in love with. The demon you had kissed, cuddled, and cried with—the demon you had poured your heart out to... the demon who had promised never to leave your side.

He made a promise, and he broke it.

Stop thinking about it, you told yourself. Pangs of misery were shooting through your body, and with each pang came another set of tears.

"Okay," you mumbled.

Alastor helped you to your feet.

Vaggie, Charlie and Angel Dust had already left. To where, you had no idea, but if you had to guess, you would probably say the hotel. It wasn't like you cared, though.

Alastor took his time walking you back to his cabin. Seeing the trees pass leisurely by as you walked on made you feel tired. It was all so familiar and mundane—almost nostalgic. The air felt dryer than usual, making the burning in your eyes worsen and causing a tightness to form in the back of your throat. It was irritating.

Alastor glanced down at you, an unsure look on his face, but you ignored it, keeping your eyes transfixed on the grass under foot.

After a few more minutes, you yawned and blinked hard. For some reason, you still felt tears pushing on the backs of your eyes, even though the worst of your emotional burst was over. It felt like a faucet had been turned on behind your eyes and couldn't be stopped.

Strangely enough, you didn't exactly mind. You were too sleepy to try and stop the steady trickle of frustrated and sad tears.

Just then, Alastor slid his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Maybe he had noticed your crying, or maybe he just wanted to touch you. He didn't stop walking, and neither did you, but it felt strange to let him touch you. Weren't you mad at him? Or... were you just mad at yourself? Were you even mad at all?