She was the girl who was afraid of love. Terrified of it. It isn't permanent, she believed, it leaves you and it leaves you broken.
He was the boy who desperately needed it. Love--the only thing that could've rooted him to this world.
Ophelia and...
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Alastair led me out of his apartment to show me the paintings--his mum’s paintings--after breakfast.
There were a few of them here in the studio, at least that’s what he told me. Andrea was keeping them in some sort of a storeroom. There was this silence between us on our way there. We hadn’t talked much about anything during breakfast either. I felt too sick to eat anything, but I did eat a little of those pancakes. Milo, the overly-energetic pup who I was still having a hard time being around, on the other hand, was a little too happy to be let out of Alastair’s little apartment and down to the studio.
Andrea had arrived by the time we reached downstairs. If I looked messed up from my appearance, which I knew was pretty evident, she didn’t bother pointing it out. Instead, she happily gave us the keys to the storeroom and took Milo out for a morning walk. I had no idea what to do other than follow Alastair down the dark-floored hallways.
After a short while, we were inside a small room filled with rows and rows of painted canvases. Some of them looked unfinished. Some of them were painted twice. It was like one of those surreal moments when you wondered if everything around you was real or not. The delicate paintings and Alastair, both; both seemed unreal to me.
“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, my eyes raking across the different canvases. There was something so different about them, especially the group of ones Alastair told me his mother had painted. The colours and the sceneries looked just like the ones I had once come across in the Hawthorne mansion.
Steph would love these, I thought.
“I know.” Alastair gave me a small smile, closing the door behind us and walking closer until he was standing right beside me. My breath hitched just a little when his arm brushed against my own. “I'm far from home, but this place makes me miss it a little less.”
My eyes flickered from one painting to another and I walked towards one specific one. It was a plain, empty field. I had a tiny feeling that it was the field behind the Hawthorne mansion, the vast green land behind the tall Victorian structure. I remembered that place being so quiet and beautiful--a perfect picture to paint.
“Ophelia,” Alastair spoke up behind me. “I do care about you.”
I faced him, a little surprised. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a habit of his out of frustration. “It wasn't...I didn't tell you all about this, not because I don't care about you.”
I merely stared at him, waiting. I wished he'd say more. But he didn't. He didn't say anything more than that. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t tell me why.
“That party. The one on New Year’s Eve.” I said, eyeing him a little warily. Maybe I was scared of what he’d reply to me with. “I saw you there at Maria’s cabin. Was it real?”
