THE MOMENT THE call disconnects, I act quickly, removing it from my history. "Come in," I say distractedly, my voice loud enough to carry through the door as I swipe to delete the call.

I'm just setting my phone on the nightstand when the door opens, revealing my sister. She sighs heavily, making a beeline for my bed and flopping down onto the empty space, causing the mattress to bounce a little. I raise my eyebrows in quiet surprise, observing her as she stretches her limbs out, a pout on her face. Her brown hair spills onto my comforter beneath her, and she wears a white blouse and pencil skirt, dressed in a scarily similar fashion to Sofia.

"Job hunting is going great, thanks for asking," she mumbles sarcastically.

I crinkle my nose in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

Sitting up, she tucks her hands beneath her thighs. "Will you go out with me? I need to drown my sorrows."

I raise an eyebrow. "Go out where?"

"To dance and have drinks," she explains, before clasping her hands together and batting her eyelashes, sticking out her bottom lip. "Pretty please? You deserve to do something fun."

"I'm underage," I remind her.

She lets out a bark of laughter, waving a hand in dismissal. "As if that's ever stopped you before."

I open my mouth to protest, before realizing she's right. "Touche," I reply, my mouth sliding into a smile.

"Besides," she says, taking my hands into hers, and I can't help but feel a nudge of excitement. "You already look nineteen. What difference does a year make?"

Biting my lip, I will myself to turn down her offer, knowing full well it's the smart thing to do, but the appeal of a night without any worries is too irresistible to pass up. "Well..." I trail off, half-heartedly trying to think of an excuse to say no.

"You're into the idea," she says proudly, nudging my arm. "I can tell."

Standing up from the bed, she pulls me with her, and I stumble to my feet, unable to shake the smile from my face. "Maybe a little," I say sheepishly.

"Yes!" she cheers gleefully, and it's hard not to share her enthusiasm. "Change into something cute!"

Before I have the chance to pretend to protest any further, she skips from the room, presumably heading to her room to change into something appropriate for a night of clubbing. Sighing, I turn to my closet, beginning to scour through it for something to wear. I locate a shimmery black number, and I hold it up to my body, appraising it in the mirror.

In my reflection, I see a trace of real happiness, and I don't recall ever witnessing it before now. It softens my features, making me look less harsh and intimidating, and more like a teenage girl, with regular teenage girl problems.

I throw off my jeans and sweater, and slip into the dress, finding a pair of heels to match, and a necklace. Doing a little twirl as I watch myself again in the mirror, I smile. Audrey enters my room soon after, and her squeal when she catches sight of my outfit is enough to reassure me.

We head out toward Audrey's car, and I find myself thinking about how ironic it is that an amnesiac wants to spend the night forgetting.

✘✘✘

Two hours later, Audrey is drunk out of her mind, and while I'm definitely not far behind in terms of sobriety, I've taken on the role of her babysitter.

As it turns out, she becomes prone to trouble while intoxicated, and if I'm not pulling her off a guy who is clearly taking advantage of her current state, I'm swatting a drink out of her hands to prevent her from getting any worse. The idea of going to a nightclub definitely sounded a lot better in theory, but now that I'm here, I just want to crawl home and fall into bed. There are too many bodies cramped into too small of a space, and the music is so loud I can't even hear myself think. When Audrey declares that she needs to use the bathroom, I'm grateful for a slight reprieve.

It's quieter in here, though the music still pulsates through the walls and rumbles through the floor. I lean against the wall, enjoying the cool feeling of the tile on my warm skin. Closing my eyes, I imagine I'm somewhere else.

But the sound of Audrey stumbling out of her stall causes my eyes to open, and I push off the wall. She makes a face, straightening out her dress and sluggishly making her way to the sink to wash her hands. The curls have practically fallen out her hair, and her eye makeup has become smudged, both things she seems to take note of as she assesses her appearance in the mirror.

"I'm so ugly," she comments bitterly, turning her face to examine it from all angles.

"What are you talking about?" I ask incredulously, coming to stand beside her.

"It's no wonder Parker dumped me," she continues, her eyebrows tipping upward, and the name makes a sense of dread come over me. I have a bad feeling about the direction this conversation is headed. "I mean, just look at you!"

My eyes widen, my heart picking up slightly. "Me?" I say, laughing nervously. "What are you trying to say?"

She rolls her eyes, turning away from the mirror to face me, leaning against the sink. "I'm saying you're gorgeous. You've always been the prettier one. Maybe if I looked a little more like you, I could actually keep a guy around."

I let out a small breath of relief, grateful that she wasn't making the accusation I thought she was. But my heart sinks when I think about her words. "Audrey, don't be silly. You're beautiful."

She simply crinkles her nose, pushing off the sink and walking toward the door. "I need another drink," she says, slipping through the door clumsily and reentering the throngs of people outside.

"No, you do not," I call, following after her, trying not to lose sight of the back of her head as I push my way through the crowd.

By the time I actually catch up to her, the bartender is already handing her another shot, which she promptly downs, and I groan, sitting down next to her, and leaning my head on the counter. After taking one look in my direction, she orders another one, sliding it over to me, and the cool glass grazes my arm. I lift my head, eyeing it skeptically, and she nods her head in encouragement. With a sigh, I decide to just fuck it, tossing it all back in one quick motion.

I wince as the liquid burns down my throat. "Alright," I say, turning to face her. "Can we go home now?"

Audrey pouts, sticking out her bottom lip. "Aw, come on. The night is still young!"

"No," I disagree, latching onto her wrist and dragging her in the direction of the exit. "The night is already way too old."

She continues to grumble to herself, but she lets me tug her along, following behind me without putting up much of a struggle. Once outside and in the fresh air, I grab my phone out of my bag, and, without really thinking about it, I dial a number that's quickly becoming very familiar. I place the cool device to my ear, wrapping my free arm around my torso and bouncing up and down slightly, trying to keep moving to prevent myself from getting too chilled.

Mason picks up on the third ring.

"Alina," he says, his voice urgent, "Is everything alright?"

"Totally," I reply quickly, feeling warmth rush to my cheeks. Why did I call him? Why didn't I just call a cab? "Um, totally fine. But, uh, could you maybe come pick us up?"

He pauses. "Us?"

"Me and Audrey."

"Where are you right now?"

I take a few steps further away from the door, and Audrey gives me a confused look, shuddering a little from the cold. Craning my neck, I try to read the name of the place, but my vision is blurry and the font makes it hard to make out any letters. "Not sure. Cardina's? Carbino's? Gardenia's?" I squint, trying out several options.

"Cardino's. Alina..." he says again, trailing off, disappointment clear in his tone. "Why are you at the club?"

I wince, though I anticipated this reaction. "Well, I'm not exactly... sober."

He sighs. "I'll be there in ten."

True to his word, Mason arrives in front of the club ten minutes later, his vehicle slowing to a stop a few feet away from the entrance.

Audrey and I sit on a bench, her head resting on my shoulder as she struggles to remain awake, and I work on getting us both upright as Mason exits his car, slamming the door shut behind him. I meet his eyes as he approaches us, but he looks away quickly, his jaw set. A feeling of guilt settles in my chest as I stand, keeping a tight hold on Audrey to keep her from falling to the ground.

"Let's get her in the car," he says, avoiding my gaze as he slings one of her arms over his shoulder.

"Okay," I murmur, doing the same, and the three of us slowly make our way over to his car in silence, a somber feeling in the atmosphere.

Mason pulls the door to the backseat open, and I let him safely set Audrey inside. She mumbles a few incoherent words, before dozing off again, and he closes the door behind her. After it clicks back into place, he turns to me, and I don't shy away from his stare. He looks unimpressed. The features of his face are hardened, his blue eyes sharp, and the pangs of regret intensify. He simply stands there for several moments, his lips pursed into a firm line, his judgmental gaze burning a hole in my face. For the briefest of moments, his eyes run down the length of my body, before he turns away, wordlessly getting into his car.

I blink a few times, trying to process what just happened, before quickly getting into the passenger's seat, not wanting to test his patience.

The drive back to Seymour Avenue is all too silent, and my eyes flicker to Mason's hands on the steering wheel every few seconds. Once we arrive at home, I follow him out of the car, stepping out onto the concrete, straightening out my dress.

Mason opens the back door, and together we lift Audrey from the vehicle, bracing her on our shoulders again, and I begin to feel restless due to the lack of words being spoken. He's still being very careful to avoid my eyes, despite the fact that I keep looking at him pointedly, and I chew on the inside of my lip as we shuffle slowly toward the door, Audrey's head lolling lazily.

"If you're pissed at me, just say so," I finally tell him, an edge to my voice.

He glances in my direction sharply, before looking away again.

I roll my eyes. "Fine, keep giving me the silent treatment," I mutter.

After awkwardly maneuvering through the door, we slowly make our way to Audrey's bedroom, and with a heave, we set her down on the bed. Huffing slightly, I blow a strand of hair out of my face, grateful to not be bearing her weight anymore. For a second, we just stand there, watching as she settles into her covers, still a mess of incoherent mumbles, before I turn to Mason, and he finally holds my gaze for longer than a few seconds.

"Give me a second to make sure she's alright," I remark, raising an eyebrow. "And then we can talk."

"Good idea," he says shortly, his eyes intense on my face for a beat longer, and warmth rushes to my cheeks.

Then he turns, exiting the room and heading down the hallway. I wait until his footsteps fade away into nothing, before taking a seat on the bed next to my sister. Her hair has fallen into her face, and I reach forward, brushing it aside. This causes her eyes to flutter, until they finally open all the way, and she squints, lifting her head slightly to look around the room, confusion spreading over her features as she takes in the familiar setting.

"How did we get home?" she wonders.

"I got a friend to pick us up," I say quietly, wondering if Mason is still within earshot.

"Oh." She blinks sleepily. "I feel funny."

I give her a small smile, squeezing her shoulder gently, before standing up from the bed to help her take her heels off, pulling the covers over her body. "Sleep it off."

I begin to walk toward the door, but she reaches out, catching the skirt of my dress. Turning to look at her in surprise, I see the sheepish upturn of her lips. "You're a good sister, Allie," she says sincerely. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight."

A feeling of warmth makes a home in my stomach, though it's accompanied by the ever-familiar feeling of guilt. "Anytime."

She gives me one last smile before her eyes fall closed, her grip releasing, and I turn the light off, creeping out of her bedroom, shutting the door behind me with a quiet click.

Feeling a little light-headed, I make for my room, eager to get out of the dress, and I slip out of my own heels as I walk. Once inside my bedroom, I shimmy out of the dress, selecting a pair of leggings, a large sweater, and a pair of socks, pulling them on before heading back downstairs to find Mason.

I find him in the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the island, his fingers drumming on the table, the lowlight casting shadows on his face. A bout of nervousness arises in my stomach, and I take a deep breath before I enter the room. His eyes flicker to me when he sees me approach, the movement of his hands stilling, and I hop up onto the stool next to him, resting my elbow on the table and my chin in my head, looking back at him. I wait for him to chew me out, to get angry with me, to mutter something bitter, but he remains silent.

"Seriously?" I question. "You're still not gonna say anything?"

He sighs, dragging a hand over his face. "What do you think I should say, Alina?"

A humorless laugh escapes me. "Don't act like you're not about to give me a lecture," I tell him, leaning back in my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.

His lips press together in a firm line, and he chews on the inside of his mouth as he considers. "Fine," he finally says. "I think you shouldn't have gone out tonight. I think it was a stupid idea, and something very bad could've happened. I think you were being reckless, and if you keep it up, it's going to get us in trouble." I bristle with each new sentence, and he pauses when he's finished, raising his eyebrows. "Happy now?"

"Overjoyed," I remark, narrowing my eyes.

"Great," he says, flashing me a sharp smile, and we fall back into silence.

Mason reaches up, running a hand through his hair, and I bite my cheek. When he realizes I'm not going to say anything, his face softens slightly, and he examines my expression. "Why'd you do it?"

I scoff, rolling my eyes again, and throwing my hands up. "For Christ's sake, Mason! Why do you think?" I ask, a little louder than necessary, and he raises his eyebrows. "I needed a break from... all of this." I gesture in front of me, as though all of my problems are stacked on a neat pile, and I hate how my voice breaks as I say the words, my eyes filling with tears.

He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to continue, and my lips begin to tremble. "Ever since I left that damn hospital, my life has been a fucking mess," I say, my voice sounding increasingly clogged, and I look away from his steady gaze, angrily swiping at the first tear that falls. "I can't remember anything past a few weeks ago, I can't sleep at night because of nightmares about my closest friends trying to kill me, my infidelity is the reason my sister feels like her life is ruined, and I have to face my almost-murderers everyday and pretend like nothing is wrong."

I have to pause to collect myself, swallowing down my tears and continuing to try to catch them as they fall, unable to meet his eyes. "I just wanted one night—one fucking night—where I could pretend I was a normal human being who didn't have to deal with any of this, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't give me shit for it."

It's quiet again once I finish speaking, and my anger and frustration seem to take up all the space in the room. I knew a breakdown was coming soon, but I'd hoped there wouldn't be anyone to witness it.

Wordlessly, Mason gets up from his stool, and I glance up at him finally, watching his actions. Part of me expects him to just walk out, and leave me to deal with my own problems, but instead, he grabs the box of tissues on the counter, sitting back down and sliding it over to me. Feeling mildly embarrassed, I reach for one, nodding my thanks.

As I attempt to fix myself up, he keeps his eyes riveted to the counter. "I understand," he says finally, his voice low, and I freeze. "I'm sorry."

I don't say anything, too caught off guard by the unexpected apology to form words, and his startling blue eyes flicker to mine.

"I just..." he starts, then pauses, pressing his lips together. "I just don't want anything bad to happen to you."

When he looks at me again, his eyes hold mine captive, and I become hyper-aware of how close we're sitting, our knees grazing. "Something bad already happened to me," I murmur distantly, not entirely focused on my words.

"Exactly," he says seriously. "I'm trying to keep it from happening again."

We're locked in a weighted silence, and I hear my heart beating in my chest, the pace faster than usual. It looks as though he's going to say something more, but then he seems to snap out of his trance, blinking and clearing his throat. I lean back slightly, and some of the tension in the room melts away, allowing me to breathe easier.

"I get them too, by the way," he says quietly, after a pause.

I blink. "What?"

"The nightmares."

Even as he says the words, his face looks haunted, and my heart sinks. I can imagine they must be just as horrifying and nauseating as my own. I swallow, my eyebrows furrowing, not liking the idea of him being tormented in his sleep. It's not something I would wish on anyone. "How do you deal with them?"

His lips turn up in a ghost of a smile as he looks at me. "I don't."

The answer doesn't do anything to put me at ease, and it occurs to me then that I'm not the only one who needs a break from this whole mess. Pressing my lips into a line of determination, I stand from the stool, and Mason watches me with a frown of confusion. Heading over to the cupboard, I pull open the doors, locating a bottle of red wine on the top shelf, and I bring it down, grabbing two wine glasses before going back to the island. I set a glass down in front of him, and he raises an eyebrow, though his eyes have a sparkle of amusement now.

"We could both use an escape," I tell him, uncorking the bottle, and pouring some into his glass before he can protest.

Sofia most likely won't be happy that I broke into her precious supply, but I can't find it in me to care at the moment. I pour a glass for myself before sitting down and holding up my drink for a toast. At first, he just eyes me, a dubious look on his face, and I raise my eyebrows expectantly. He seems to war with himself for a few more moments, until he gives in, fighting a smile as he clinks his glass against mine. We both take generous sips, and I enjoy the taste of the bitter liquid as it courses down my throat.

"What were we toasting to?" he asks, and I squint, thinking.

"To... not being able to properly cope with our trauma," I decide, lifting a brow.

He grunts in agreement. "I'll drink to that," he says, before downing the rest of his glass.