Burned

Chapter 9

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Alistair's POV

It takes me two days to figure out a game plan. And it isn't a plan to woo her, but to show her I've changed, and to become the man I know she deserves. Whether or not she wants to have anything to do with me, I can't control. The whole time, I'm alone, going between the gym and my room, not even seeing Archie once. I need the solitude. And it's good, refreshing. It no longer scares me. There was a time I hated the silence, because it meant being left alone with my demons. But now, there's a desire to uncover each one and fight till I win. A desire to live in the fullness of light instead of fearing what lurks in the shadows.

I go out to find Archie, and it's only then I realise I don't even know his room number. The whole time, he's been coming to me. It makes me wonder if our whole friendship has been like this: him helping me and even saving me from myself, and me never giving anything in return. And if it has, how have I not noticed it sooner? I guess this is where the change starts. To be a better man for Thena, I have to be a better man - all round. If all the change is towards her, then it's only a facade. I begin to knock on the doors closest to me, starting with the ones to the right. Three doors later, I haven't found him, so I go to the left. I knock on the first, and a sweet old lady answers, and it's obvious this isn't the door. I knock on the second door, once then twice, and there's no response. Just as I turn to leave, it opens, and in the doorway stands Archie. He looks me up and down, almost as if trying to decipher what my current mood is - needless to say, things weren't great three days ago.

Seemingly satisfied, he opens the door wider, letting me in. On entry, I notice his room is quite different to mine. It's a suite, but instead of the generic hotel furniture that's in mine, it's decorated exactly in accordance with Archie's taste. The living room has a decidedly rustic feel: dark wooden floors, warm light emanating from antique sconces placed centrally on each of the walls covered in dark green wallpaper. To one side stands a large oak bookcase, and though I can't tell what books it contains, it's easy to guess from the worn  leather binding on most of them that they are old and loved.  A magnificent landscape painting in a gilded gold frame hangs centrally on the wall adjacent to the bookcase, serving as the piece de resistance of the already impressive room.
"This doesn't look like a hotel room", I say stating the obvious.
"I know. We have arrangement with the management of the hotel." He says, nonchalantly.
It's little moments like this that remind me that though Archie is the most humble person ever, he is also richer than the gods.

"So" he says, with a clap of his hands. "I know you didn't come here to check out the state of my accommodations. So what's the run down?"
"I want to be a man. A good man. Like you." It takes some effort on my path to say that last sentence - it stings my pride. Archie is the same age as me, we've led similar lives, yet he's so much better. What galls me is that I was the better one, the example, before he went home that fateful summer at university and came back transformed. But gall though it may, I have to accept it. All denial will do is keep me on the path I've vowed not to remain on - the path that will inevitably turn me into my father.
"I wouldn't call myself good", and though the chuckle adds a lightheartedness to his words, I can see that my words disturb him. He leaves the living room momentarily and comes back with a bottle of whisky and two glasses.
"Is this a test?" I ask, eyebrows raised.
"No. I'm not trying to make you teetotal, I just don't want you to use alcohol as a crutch. And if I do say so myself, you've done a pretty decent job these past few weeks. So have a drink." He pours the whisky into the glasses, and hands one to me. I hold it in my hand for a few seconds, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, before finally raising it to my lips. My first sip is tentative, hesitant in the way a schoolboy having his first taste of alcohol would be. The liquid is smooth as it runs down my throat, leaving a familiar warmth behind. It's been a while.