Haunted (Alastor x OC)

Ch 18

Alastor's POV

My expression fell as soon as her body disappeared up the stairs. My brows turned up in an emotion I wasn't sure how to pinpoint.

It felt like a weight in my chest, watching her body tense up at the mere mention of what she went through.

I'll never know the extent to which she suffered...in a way, I don't want to. It will only make me mad.

Her soft footsteps sounded above me and then her door slammed. This was followed immediately by the muffled sound of crying.

I felt bad, then, for even bringing it up.

But, I want her to know what she went through...that's not what she should expect from every man. I don't know how to make her understand how a lady should be treated...

With a heavy sigh I debated going up to talk with her, tapping my finger against the countertop. Ultimately I decided I should give her space.

She separated herself from me for a reason...so I'll give her some time to cool down.

Walking around my old kitchen, I grazed my fingertips over the counter and the stove. My relaxed expression turned up into a soft smile as I remembered my time in life.

I looked around and the colors around me brightened as I remembered what it used to look like when it was brand new.

It's not run down, or anything...just less......I don't know.

It's older.

A brief memory of Dakota, the kitten I found that night so long ago, breezed through my mind. The echo of her meow went through my head as she hopped up onto the table.

Somewhere she was constantly scolded for being.

I chuckled softly, running my fingers over the tabletop.

I miss that cat...

I wonder what happened to her after I died.

I turned away from the table, letting the memory fade away. What's past is in the past...there is no undoing what is done.

I tuned back into the room above me, and still her soft hiccups could be heard. I sighed and pulled out a chair, sinking down into it.

Never did I expect that day a couple of weeks ago would lead me here.

I put my head in my hands, dragging them down my face before resting my elbows against the table to hold myself up.

I don't understand these feelings in my chest, or why her crying is hurting me so much. There's something about her that I can't quite pin down.

She's mannerless, rude, unladylike and everything in between.

But...I like her.

I let out a heavy sigh, "ma chérie, qu'est-ce que je vais faire de toi...?" I spoke softly, staring at the chair she was sitting in only minutes ago. (My darling, what am I going to do with you?)

My eyes softened and I shut them, "Qu'est ce que je vais faire..." (what am I going to do...)

**

My knuckles met the hardwood of her door-er- my door?

Shit, our door.

I placed my hands back behind my back, patiently waiting for her to answer. Her crying had stopped a little bit ago.

I decided I'd wait until she cried herself out, then hopefully she will feel better. Maybe.

I do not know how emotions work, if I'm going to be completely honest.