I'd Rather Go Blind

12th cont.

At the sound of the lock turning, I moved away, dropping the now-unneeded cushion. Alastor emerged clutching a large handkerchief, the corners folded over his fist like petals. I felt a mix of emotions: sympathy for his miserable expression; anger that he didn't try to conceal it; and silly pride, for being the only one who could knock the smile off his face. I did wonder about the handkerchief, though. Surely he hadn't been crying?

"Rosie," he said, his voice unwavering but radio-fuzzy, "I'll be blunt. Either you've lied to me since August... or your emotions are getting too virulent, even for you."

"What? August-"

"Yes. After your kissing me, spraining my back-"

"I didn't sprain-"

"You promised those feelings were silly, and didn't exist? Even if that were true, those silly feelings happen every hour of every day. One moment you're sweet as pie, the next you're tearing people's jaws off. I wanted to believe you vanished your feelings... but you can't. You have no control."

I felt stomach-sick. Part of me wanted to come clean and confess my love. I wanted to apologize for touching him before he was ready, and promise to proceed with patience, as only a lover can. I wanted to say my feelings for him were uniquely enduring, and it was just as surprising to me as to him! But I was so scared of losing him by coming on too strongly -- so scared that I wanted to bite my nails down to the elbow. Instead of confessing, I weakly defended my behavior.

"What if I could vanish my feelings?" I argued. "What if I really tried? Alastor, I think of you as a friend... but I'm lonely."

He scoffed, disbelieving.

"I am!"

"Then I wish you'd stop using me to bat suitors away."

Admittedly, his protecting me from Franklin and Vox contradicted my claims to involuntary spinsterhood. Still, I dismissed it.

"They're pests. But with a good friend like you..." I began to perspire. "Sometimes it rises so fast, I can hardly breathe-"

"So what? It's not my job to play meteorologist!" The sudden edge in his voice was startling. He caught himself, then took a deep breath and a step back. (The handkerchief-petal was still in his fist.) "Listen," he said, "I've made my feelings very clear. We're friends. You do not touch me. You don't make me do things I don't want to."

I wavered on the spot. This was so miserably unfair. My natural, free-feeling responses were being held ransom. I blinked away tears and said, "You think I never did things I didn't want?"

"What?"

"That is life, Alastor. Some things simply have to be borne. Especially down here."

He stepped back again. "I think-"

"Oh, you think!"

"Stay where you are." He'd reached the door and tested it. Locked. "Rosie, open the door, please."

"Why, so you can leave?" I moved, possibly in his direction. "You have my blood on your tongue; why don't we call it even? And besides, you can't go out there now. I'd sooner die than see you turn into a red puddle!"

But it was too early to make fun. I saw him turn, trying the door again. He wanted to leave. I couldn't let him, not until I'd undone this horrible mess. "No! No, wait, please -- Please wait." Rushing towards him was no good, he'd feel threatened; instead, I collapsed onto my knees.

"Oh, for God's sake!"

"I'm trying to talk to you, that's all!"

"Rosie, stop it! You're only proving my point. Acting just like a child–!"