I'd Rather Go Blind

31st August 1958

Darling diary, I was inconsolable. Whatever quarry Alastor and I would've had last night, they never got to meet either of us. I could only sit at the dining room table, agonizing over what to do. The simple fact is that I cannot live without my Alastor. I must have a relationship with him, in whatever diminished form he allows. The world is cold and cruel to me without the promise of ever seeing him smile again... These are the thoughts that swirled tempestuously around my brain until dawn.

I exhaust myself. God knows what I do to others.

It struck me that, although I had his trace on the night, I barely noticed him fleeing the apartment. I must have been so anxious to make sure of his lack of sexuality. That stupid pridefulness -- that need to prove his claims -- had utterly blinded me in the moment. But as I burst through my own door, I felt him running down the street. I saw his scattered vision as he caught the cab. It pains me to think upon it, bien-aimé. How I had frightened him!

For hours, I looked upon my trinkets: the photographs of him, the fork, the wine glass he had touched... and then I realized that with the wine glass, I could still find him! It was more than possible to track him down, and if not, he was likely to be at his own domicile, which I knew very well.

My apology would have to be perfect. Robust, totally accepting of blame, and leaving plenty of room for forgiveness. I had to be forgiven, even if it meant forgoing Alastor's apology for hurting me! If I lose Alastor, I thought, I will never truly love again. I thought sadly of his burning eyes, the sickle curve of his smile, and the beaming happiness I had witnessed just before my attempted kiss ruined everything! But perhaps this could be salvaged... if I could convince my Alastor that the interest in him was but a passing fancy.

And I wanted to present him with a gift of some kind. No strings, only something he could use to... well, for a while, I had no clue.

And then I did.

To make this gift took several phone calls, an hour consulting three different books, and more hours crafting it. It was a miracle I made the thing at all, dear diary, for my emotional reserves were near exhausted, and my body was not far behind! Then, when it was finished, I tucked the accessory to my gift into my breast (next to his photograph for good luck) and sped out the door. In no time, I flew on my bicycle to his apartment, levitated to the first floor, and entered the window; for the trace told me he was right next door.

It took a minute to prepare myself for the cold front he was likely to raise. There's no good way to prepare for something like that, bien-aime! Anticipation only increases the physical fear. Try preparing to suck a lemon and see how your mouth waters!

But eventually, I pushed my way through the door. "Don't get up," I said, and Alastor was silently startled, clutching his heart.

"How did you find me?" he asked, clambering to an upright sitting position. (Upon a brief glance, he was reading some murder mystery novel.) His face was stony and hurt, even with the smile. Something about the hurt expression was captivating to me. It all comes back to art, I suppose. Paintings of flowers are all well and good, but the best art evokes something, and disturbs the beholder. Truly, Alastor was now a masterpiece. "How did you find me?" he repeated. "Please go."

"I'll tell you in a moment," I said, and let him see there was no anger in my heart. "First of all, let me apologize for everything last night. I should never have lashed out at you. I should never have made a problem of my feelings..." I paused, forced myself to be courteous. "But I swear, it was more a matter of hurt pride than anything. Now I know you cannot reciprocate, my romantic curiosity is gone. Extinguished, simple as that. Believe me when I tell you: it is that easy."