Going Up | ✓

The Tale Of Broken Hearts - (23)

The Tale Of Broken Hearts.

Over the following week, I stop by the corner shop every day from work to pick up something, even if we don't need anything.

I find myself desperately needing to know that Alistair's okay and by the next Thursday, he seems to finally be warming up to me a little.

He gratefully accepts the hot chocolate I offer him before sitting down next to him.

It's now the beginning of December and Thanksgiving, which Oliver and I spent at my parents' house has been and gone. The New York air is chilly and unforgiving, so both Alistair and I appreciate the drinks.

On this particular day, the little boy finally decides to tell me something about him. I've told him a fair few things, regularly mentioning Oliver, who I'm convinced would love the little boy.

'My mom died,' he breaks the silence in the unnatural manner that he's always spoken in - slightly offhandedly. 'I don't remember it, but Dad never forgot. He never really treated me right and one day after he beat me bad, I ran away.'

Something flickers in the back of my brain and I can almost hear Ivan's voice correcting his grammar. Instead, I just nod, taking a bite of the biscuit in my hand. Alistair has never really been comfortable with me buying him the drink and biscuits but as long as I get them for myself as well, he seems to be all right with it.

'I've been living like this for a month now,' he continues. 'You know, finding money on the streets. The occasional person will see me and give me something but... but nobody's ever stuck around like you.'

I smile a little, curling my frozen fingers around the cardboard cup. 'I noticed you and you reminded me of my own son, you know? You also reminded me of me, I suppose. I couldn't just leave you. Besides,' I nudge his shoulder playfully with my own, 'Who wouldn't enjoy my company?'

A smile cracks the lines on his face and the fact this boy is so much more mature than he should be at his age kicks me right in the gut. 'I think everyone does.'

I can't help the laugh that spills out of my mouth. 'Thank you, Alistair.'

'My father hasn't looked for me since I left,' he tells me after a little silence. 'I often wonder if he even noticed that I left.'

My heart wrenches and I open my mouth to assure him that his father has noticed his absence but something in his expression compels me to keep my mouth shut. I know it's not really my place.

'I'm fine, though,' Alistair insists. 'I don't need him.'

I just hum, deciding not to agree or disagree with that statement. A large part of me feels like he should need his father but living with an abusive parent is never right.

We sit for a long time in the comfortable silence that often drapes us, only punctuated by our breathing and munching on biscuits.

'I've seen you before, you know,' Alistair murmurs after a while. 'In a magazine I found the other day by the trash can over there,' his eyes flicker to the other side of the shop door where an overflowing bin stands.

I suck in a sharp breath, somehow just managing to refrain from asking him why on earth he's reading that sort of thing.

'You were all dressed up,' he continues. 'You looked so pretty, at a charity event, they called it.'

A small smile graces my face at the memory.

'You were with a man.'

I bite my lip, looking away. 'Yeah, I probably was,' I admit quietly.