Hell en Pointe | Alastor ✓

chapter 25

You laughed so hard you couldn't breath. "Hah! Hahah.. Holy fuck, Alastor!"

Another stolen car was your transport form out of the suburbs onto the highway, and, soon, onto the interstate towards Massachusetts. You say the words so literally it hurts, but, you ran for your fucking life — I mean, you and Alastor cut yourselves up in brairs and bushes and Alastor got his ankle bit by a dog. It was fucking chaos.

Alastor, with one hand on the steering wheel, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, very fun, my darling, until that God-forsaken mutt bit the ever-living hell out of my leg."

You burst out in laughter, the action making your stomach sore. You threw your hands over your abdomen, relishing in the pain of true laughter. You and Alastor were still soaked in blood from head to toe, and it was beginning to get dark out, so you'd probably have to stop at a hotel within the next few minutes to get washed up.

You came down from your laughter and looked at him — he was hot covered in blood like that, and some sadistic, psychotic part of your mind was turned on by it.

"Until I killed it," you added to the conversation with a simper. "Of course."

Alastor grinned. "Stupid mutt got what it deserved."

"Ohhhhh my goodness," you said perking up, feeling the tickling sensation of hysteria in your lower stomach again as you recalled another event from your run in the suburbs from the police. "And-! And when that old fat guy came out with the shotgun! I have never-" you made an 'X' with your arms and threw them out for emphasis, "-gotten off a lawn so fast before in my life."

Alastor made a humming sound, but did not reply. He left a small remnant of a grin on his face, however, and you found yourself sinking back into your seat. A sharp, stabbing pain went through your heart. Damn.

You tried again, smiling brightly and kindly at him. "It was fun, though, wasn't it?"

"Dear?" Alastor said respectfully. He seemed to withdraw within himself like a turtle into its shell so fast. What was it? Why was he being this way?

"Yep?" you replied in acknowledgement.

"You told me you hated me," Alastor said, a smirk crawling upon his lips. "In a moment of extreme passion, where everything was laid out on the table for us to relish in. And you chose to tell me how much you hated me-" he licked his lips, "-I told you the feeling was mutual. Let's keep it that way."

"Oh," you said, furrowing your brows in anger. "Fine."

The ride was silent the rest of the way until Alastor came upon an old-fashioned country inn that suited his taste. He once again had the radio turned up played jazz and swing, and was humming along to the tune. The sound was like nails on a chalkboard to you at the moment — you wanted nothing more than to be a million miles away from him.

The fuck was his deal? Yes, you told him you hated him, and he told you the same thing, but, fuck, could two people not have a moment? It seriously made you pissed off. But maybe he was right.

Maybe it was best to keep things the way they were. I mean, how many times had you made it evident that you despised every inch of his being? You've insulted him, teased him, taunted him, mocked him, and outright told him you dislike him and see him as your enemy. Alastor is a gentleman by nature, but aside from that, he's shared those exact same feelings with you.

So why does your heart ache at the thought of him actually hating you?

You scoffed lowly, knowing Alastor wouldn't be able to hear it over his own incessant humming and jamming. Stupid... fuck! Gosh, maybe you really did truly hate him. Maybe you were just confused over nothing. Yes, there was a part of you that was sexually attracted to him, but that was it. Nada. Nothing else. And it seems like he feels the same way so...