No, this chapter is not as long, but the next one is worth it. And sorry my updating isn't as frequent (especially for the 99, I swear that chapter is coming). My dog had her puppies and they take a lot of work, but luckily it's becoming easier. So. Here's the chapter. Next one will be up shortly and I'm very excited to write it. Oh and if any of you have any one-shot ideas for Bellarke, please tell me because my inspiration is...well...I don't have any.

I'd nearly forgotten about mom's phone call. Nearly. But not completely, and the moment the door closed behind me and went upstairs was when it all came screaming back. My chest tightened but I shoved it away, hurrying up the stairs. I discarded my wet shirt in the laundry and went into my room. Then I dropped onto the corner of my bed and put my head in my hands, trying my best to keep my thoughts as blank as possible. Trying to scrub Bellamy's earlier words from memory. Trying not to think of my mom's empty room and what else I might be able to find throughout the rest of the house.

But the day had been long enough. I didn't even grab any dinner as I switched my damp jeans to sweat ones and crawled into bed, exhausted.

Tomorrow. I'd figure it out tomorrow.

*******

I was just about to leave when I heard it.

The whine of the door opening, followed by mom's footsteps. Nightshift. I would've walked down then. I was ready to. But then her voice drifted up to me and I realized she was on the phone. Her and that phone.

And just like last time, she was talking to him.

"I'd be eating right now if I weren't so tired," mom was saying, her words carrying up to me beside the banister.

She wandered into the kitchen. A chair leg grated against the floor as she pulled it out. "No, you don't have to do that. Well—no, she's already left for school."

My car. It was still in the school lot. Foreboding bloomed in my stomach, simmering like hot water.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," mom continued, oblivious to the daughter who was hearing every word. There was hesitancy in her voice—enough to tell me she was nowhere near letting the man into my life and I didn't know if I felt grateful or infuriated. A bit of both.

"No that's—fine. Fine." I pictured her raising a hand in defeat. My mom never lost an argument unless it was pitted against dad.

That foreboding feeling grew.

"Twenty minutes?" Another beat of hesitation. "I think that's okay." There was a smile in her voice. "I'll see you soon."

Something lodged into my throat that wouldn't budged no matter how many times I swallowed. She got up from the chair and headed for the stairs.

Maybe I should just make myself known. Catch her in the act. Stop it all. Stop it now. Maybe she'd lie to me again. Maybe I wanted her to.

When she rounded the last flight, I darted into my room.

I stood behind my door, waiting as she got ready. Tired and yet, she was still willing to go out and do something. With him, the nameless man.

I tried to quell the uproar of anger—of betrayal—that ignited inside me. I really did.

Two minutes passed. Then five. I heard her emerge and waited until she left. The wall grew warm under my back. More minutes fell away, but the front door did not open. She did not leave.

And it took me until ten minutes had elapsed for me to realize.

She wasn't meeting him.

He was coming here.

That foreboding throbbed and I unconsciously touched the scar at my chest. I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to run from the room. Hurry out of this house before everything I feared was confirmed. Run before the man reclaimed his name. Before the idea of him was given a body and a face.

But I couldn't move. I remained as still as stone. Waiting.

When the doorbell chimed, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Mom padded to the front door as I stayed behind my door, feeling the air twist inside my lungs. The scar throbbed and I shut my eyes as she opened the door.

A pause. Then I heard them embrace. "You look beautiful," said the man, in a voice I recognized.

I stilled.

No. No it—it couldn't be.

Mom laughed. "Right. Come in."

My mind blanked. The air around me seemed to dissipate until there was little to breathe in. Which was fine; I wasn't breathing anyway.

He sounded different this time, less professional. Involved. And I knew him.

I knew him.

Marcus Kane.

He clapped his hands. "Onward to the kitchen," he said. "Now, you take a seat in the living room and just relax. It's time for me to show off my culinary skills."

"What are you making?"

Kane clucked his tongue. "It's a surprise. Highly confidential." She gave another small, tired laugh and I could see her in my head, standing behind him like she once stood behind my father.

"Aren't you supposed to be relaxing in the living room?" Kane added after a minute.

Mom sighed, exasperated, and her footsteps echoed as she left the kitchen.

"And no peeking!" Kane called after.

My room around me turned, like a carousal. Turning and turning and turning.

It felt as if someone had torn the breath out of my lungs. Marcus Kane. The man I spent one hour, two days a week talking to. Relaying the remnants of my life to. And while I'd shared my personal feelings to him, he'd shared something much more intimate and personal with my mom. Both behind my back and right in front of me.

My legs felt weak.

School, the place I was supposed to be—the place I wanted to be if it meant getting away from this—had already started. I could sneak out and risk being seen, but I couldn't seem to move my feet.

I thought I'd wanted to know. I thought I'd wanted him to have a name. But I suddenly missed my ignorance. Missed not knowing. It was so much harder to picture my mom with someone who didn't have a face. And now that he had one, the images crystallized. I could see them together, laughing. Cooking. Mom with her hand on his shoulder, smiling up at him. Kane occupying another man's space.

I hated it, and I wondered about confronting them. But my legs refused to move. Maybe I really was a masochist, because I didn't do anything that I wanted.

I stayed in my room, and endured it.

The voices. The occasional laugh. I couldn't remember the last time my mom had laughed like that. The smell of something spicy and rich wafted up to me, filling my room, stuffing itself up my nose. I didn't want to hear any of it, but it was like a force kept me from jamming my fingers in my ears. They talked. They laughed. I waited. At some point the voices died away and I thought they must've fallen asleep. I almost went down then, but I couldn't. Hearing it was one thing, but seeing it was another thing entirely.

So I stayed there, watching the light pooling into my room wear as morning dragged into the afternoon.

Mom messaged me once to ask when I would be home.

I told her later.

So he stayed longer.

I didn't know what time it was when I finally heard him say goodbye.

There was a pause that I didn't let my mind linger on for too long. Then he was gone. Mom went into her room. And I quietly crept out, phone in hand. I couldn't be in this house any longer. Not after that. Not after hearing it play out like some romantic film one floor beneath me. But I had nowhere to go.

I paused on the stairs, the phone collecting sweat in my palm.

An idea came to me. It was ludicrous and imposing, but I typed a message, ignoring the feeble voice that told me it was a bad idea.

The text was sent before I'd even crossed the threshold.

******

I'd bided my time until evening fell. Having to walk to school helped some, but I couldn't get those thoughts out of my head. The force of them manifested into a headache that raged at both temples. The sky resembled one giant contusion.

Temperatures were dropping and the wind chilled my bare arms. It swept my hair around me, kissing the column of my neck. The metal bird grew cold against my skin. I hadn't brought my jacket—again—and cranked up the heat when I reached my car, sitting idly in front of the now-vacant school.

That was when I'd gotten a text back and I was relieved when it wasn't from my mom.

I stared at the address across the screen, debating. I wondered if park benches were any comfortable. I thought about calling Thalia, but she was a member among those in the lot of people I didn't currently want to talk to. I didn't think about going home.

My eyes stung and the address blurred.

Bad idea, my mind chided, again and again.

But I forced it silent and put the car into drive.