The next day I didn't wake up with a hangover, Strawberry Hill was truly almost non-alcoholic. It brushed the mind with the odor of alcohol, tickled it and then ran away. It lacked the power to consume the mind and alter it every which way.

Alejandro had dropped me off last night like the perfect gentleman he was and I had shut the door in his face like the perfect gentleman I was. I regretted the fact that I had suddenly turned into somewhat of a softie last night and had not tried harder to scare him away.

I vowed to murder him if it came to that and get rid of him in any way possible.

I had only started contemplating the consequences of my actions as I walked down to the Hot lounge when my phone broke out into a chorus of 'Baby shark'.

I picked it up and sure enough it was Jane.

"How did it go?" She asked.

"Good morning to you too."

"Quit playing around."

"Awful, terrible, horrendous"

"I take it that it went well then." I could practically hear her grin. I rolled my eyes.

"Sure, whatever you want to believe."

"Your dad called. He has been trying to reach you. Says you aren't answering his calls."

"Jane, you and I both know that I am never going to answer that man's calls right? I haven't talked to him in three years Jane. I have never answered his calls during that time."

"Yes, Tristan, I do. But just hear him out okay? Give him another chance. He is grieving too, Tristan."

"He has no right to be grieving. Do not ever call that man my dad. He lost the chance when he did what he did, Jane. This is the end of this conversation."

"Okay, I get ya. Take care, Tetris."

I didn't answer. I just hung up. I didn't want to think about this. Not today, not when I could go in and talk to an ill-tempered Stacy, who would serve me coffee while staring at me like she wanted to put a stake through my heart. I shook my head, shaking off the memories which came flooding back.

I had tried so hard to move on. Now that I had come so far, I was never going back.

I walked into the Hot Lounge and after getting my coffee, settled down in a corner by the windows. For some reason my eyes wouldn't stay on the cup of steaming coffee in front of me. They were wandering around, searching. Searching for him.

I sighed when my eyes didn't find him. He hadn't called. Not that I wanted him to. Did I want him to? Surely I didn't.

I wondered whether he was okay. I hoped that he was. It hurt to see his smile fade away as if it was suddenly lost to time.

No matter how much I denied it, a part of me hoped that he was going to show up. But he never did.

I walked up to Stacy, trying to convince myself that she wouldn't eat me.

"Ah, how often does Luke come here?" I asked, before I could hold it in.

"Why do you want to know?" She asked, quirking one questioning eyebrow.

"I- ah- I am just curious."

"Are you crushing on him or something?"

I blushed, turning stark red. "Of course not." I let out a very fake sounding laugh. "Why would you even think that?" A nervous sweat trailed down my forehead.

She looked at me with a piercing gaze, nailing me down to the floor, staring deep into the trenches of my soul. I tried to be as blank as possible but my discomfort was evident in the way my face twitched, my foot tapped and my eyes kept blinking as if a kid was turning the car's windows up and down.

"Sure, whatever you say." She said. Something flickered in her eyes, the iciness shifted.

"He comes in here a lot, not as much as you but frequently. Maybe you'll find him in here someday." She said. "Now either scram or tip me. I don't have the entire day to talk to you unless you pay me for it."

I immediately walked away.

Now, there could be two possibilities. Either Stacy was just a good manipulator and had devised this perfect lie to get me to keep coming here or the other being a very remote but more promising possibility, she was actually telling me the truth.

I wondered why I wanted to see him. What would I say? What would I do? Did I really want to say anything?

But there was this irrational feeling inside me telling me that it didn't matter. I just wanted to see him.

I walked out of the coffee shop with a clearer head and a hopeful heart, all thoughts of Alejandro left me as I took a cab to work and spent the entire day trying not to procrastinate, cornered by money and numbers.

At the end of the day my brain was a whirring mess of static. There was not much going on in there. A silent sea of corpses of numbers past.

When I got home, I didn't expect a tall, coat-clad figure standing on my doorstep.

I gasped as soon as I saw him. He looked the same. The same perfectly pressed and polished attire. The same, brushed, on-point beard, not a single strand out of place. The same trimmed brown hair. But the face had aged. The twinkle in his eyes was gone and instead there was this infinite, incorrigible, impenetrable darkness inside.

I took a step back.

He turned around and saw me.

Whatever I expected, I didn't see there. I expected a flicker of a twinkle, a shadow of a smile, a small display of affection, a hug even. I expected something. I didn't expect to see a perfectly still, emotionless statue staring back at me.

"Hello, Tristan." He said, his voice colder than it ever was.

"Hello, father." I said, my voice laced with an equal amount of iciness. He shouldn't be here. He should be in London or Australia or anywhere else in the world, wherever he had a project to do. He wasn't supposed to be here.

"Three years." He said. I just nodded. I didn't want him here. Why didn't he just leave?

"What are you doing here?" I asked, glaring at him. All the hate and anger welling up in my stare.

"I have come to see you."

I laughed, a cold, cruel laugh. "Stop kidding. WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?' I raised my voice, my body flaming up with anger.

He just stood there. Emotionless.

"Tristan-" He started. I laughed again.

"Who the bloody hell do you think you are, standing in front of my house after what you have done? I think I made it very clear, you are not welcome here. I am done with you. I need you out of my life. Do you understand?" I said, my voice a ball of blazing fire and my eyes threatening to spill the pain I held in.

"Tristan, just let me speak."

"I did. I did let you speak once. And we both know how that worked out. You had your chances. Now, take your bloody money and your bloody business and get off my porch."

He didn't speak. He looked at me, his eyes scanning me as if he was seeing me for the first time in my life. Then, he dropped an envelope at my doorstep and walked away.

I watched him as he walked away. The familiar, proud stride. The familiar poised, ram-rod straight spine clad in everything expensive, reeking of wealth. The man I used to call my Dad.

I turned away from him, watching him fade into his Mercedes. I wondered why Jane didn't consider him unreasonable. He was after all one of the most unreasonable men I had ever met. Never listening to anyone but himself. He didn't believe in second chances. Well, guess what neither did I.

Mother would have given him a second chance. She always had. I never will.

I looked at the envelope sitting on my porch and picked it up. I didn't open it. I don't think I ever will.

I tucked it at the very back of my cupboard. He didn't deserve a second chance.

After standing purposelessly in the middle of my living room, having no idea what the hell to do with my life, my phone pinged.

The Damsel in Lobster-ess: Wanna watch a movie?

I looked up.

Why not? It's not like I had anything better to do anyway. Jane was working late and I was bored. One of my biggest fears was being alone. To get rid of that fear, I filled my life with as many people and many things as possible.Trying to fill the gaping hole always present inside.

When Jane and I moved to this new city, far away from everything, I didn't know anyone here. The people at work were just snobby crapheads and I had no intention of ever interacting with them more than I was forced to. The last time I tried to open up, the Martin thing happened.

I never wanted it to ever happen again..

I needed to be away from my thoughts so I simply wrote:

Yep

I had figured we would go to the movie theater but Alejandro had other plans. Once I was settled down in his strawberry scented, sensible car, he said "We are going to my place. I have a home theater."

Home theater, holy Hitchcock!

It dawned on me that I knew almost nothing about Alejandro. In my quest to keep things boring I hadn't let them get any personal and I was practically in a car with a stranger who could very well be a serial killer.

"So, what do you do for a living?" I asked, hoping to god he didn't say disposing dead bodies. His lips quirked up into a grin, telling me that he liked what he did for a living.

"I am a teacher." He said. "A high school teacher."

I looked at him as if I was looking at him for the first time. He looked too hot, too exciting, too interesting to just be a high school teacher.

I blinked. "Really?"

He chuckled. "Yes, really."

"What do you teach?"

"Ah, the love of my life - history."

I gaped at him, my mouth hanging slightly open. All my history teachers had been snarky old ladies and grumpy old dudes who talked really slow like zombies. I had never had a teacher like Alejandro which was probably for the best because I would have been too busy staring at him to actually pay any attention. I might have failed everything.

"Damn, I can't imagine you as a history teacher."

"Maybe you could see me in action someday." He said, his eyes twinkling. The mere thought brought him happiness. He really did like teaching. I smiled.

"What about you?" He asked, his eyes flickering towards me for a brief second and then turning back towards the road.

"Accountant." I said, with a sigh. His eyebrow quirked up.

"You don't like being one?" He asked.

"Nope." I said. "I like numbers and I like words. I do not like having to spend an entire day, dodging income tax, calculating profit and figuring out how to drill money out of everything. I wanted to be a writer. I just - I gave up on that for a stable job like my father wanted."

"So, why not write now? In your free time I mean. If you like it, you should keep doing it. It's the same thing I tell my students, if you like something you should never give up on it." He offered me a kind smile.

I smiled back. "Maybe."

But I wasn't sure I could write anymore. Not after everything that had happened. I just wasn't the same person. I had realized the world wasn't my oyster and I couldn't have things I wanted.

We reached his house soon enough. It was a typical New York City apartment, certainly larger than mine. We walked in.

I expected something familiar like a mess of everything all over the place, like my own apartment. I did find something similar although it was nothing as drastic as my own. A coat here, a carton there. Nowhere near the ruckus I had going on in my own apartment.

He walked into the living room and I stared open-mouthed at the giant screen standing in front of me.

"Whoa." I said, with a low whistle.

"Let's just say I like to go full-on hard when I watch documentaries." He said, with a chuckle. He gestured towards the couch, grabbing a couple of drinks from the refrigerator and passing one to me.

I sat down, ensuring that there was a pillow between us.

Thus began The 100. I watched the movie and heard the laughs and oohs from Alejandro. He was certainly enjoying this more than me, being a history buff and all. So, I just smiled, looking at how it made him smile. He was a good man. I just wasn't sure I was good enough for him.