The Day We Met (Alastor x OC)

Chapter 30

Juliette

As I adjusted to life at the hotel, I started to nurse my powers day by day.

The scare I had when my apartment was destroyed by the turf war was something I never wanted to feel again. I need to know how to use my abilities properly and for longer than a few minutes at a time.

So, I was out in the garden letting Ava run around and play while I tried to become familiar with my own energy.

Just from small incidents, I know that I can freeze objects... I don't think I'm actually freezing time, but if I focus I can control solid material by freezing the air around it.

Which is exactly what I did.

I sat on a bench and threw small rocks into the air, trying to catch them with my powers before they could hit the ground.

Slowly, I increased their size until it started to become difficult to catch them. My hand would tremble and my wrist started to strain before the rock would simply slip from my grasp and fall to the ground.

Sighing, I put my head in my hand, my body feeling drained and weak.

It felt hopeless. That night I'd been under so much pressure that the adrenaline had done most of the work, allowing me to exert more energy than I ever had before.

For some reason, I simply couldn't tap into that again.

Looking up, I watched Ava run around, playing by herself. She seemed to be pretending to be some sort of pirate, or criminal, holding a rose bush captive while threatening a dead potted plant for fake money.

I smiled, a bit of my stress melting away.

She's seemed happier lately, and I think having more people aside from myself to interact with has been good for her.

So far, the hotel and its inhabitants have been pleasant, if not a bit stand-offish at times.

I avoid Alastor like the plague, and ignore him when he tries to speak to me.

Part of me wants to just let him in again. That lonely piece of my soul that has no dignity. The other part of me wants him to drop dead.

"Are you alright, dear?"

Speak of the fucking devil.

My pleasant expression fell and I turned to face the source of most of my stress. He was seated next to me on the bench, though I didn't even hear him sit down.

I simply glared at him before turning back to watch my daughter.

I heard a soft crackle of static that almost sounded like a sigh.

"Can we not simply have a conversation?"

"You'd think if someone was ignoring you, that meant it's the opposite of what they wanted to do. Yet, here you sit."

I didn't turn to face him, and my tone was short and clipped.

I hated feeling guilty for talking to him in such a way. It's not like he doesn't deserve it. Why should I be cordial?