"SO," I SAY, my brain wrapped in a warm, wine-induced buzz as I rest my elbow on the island, leaning closer, "tell me about Mason Byrne."

The boy in question raises his eyebrows, the icy blue that makes up his eyes glittering with mirth. He's loosened up considerably after a few glasses of wine, his posture relaxing, a lazy grin hanging off his mouth when he speaks, and it's fascinating to see this side of him; the side of him that isn't a stone cold, emotionless robot. We've been chatting amicably for the past hour or two, and the clock is creeping late into the night, but neither of us seem to mind. I don't think either of us would be sleeping right now anyway.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," I remark honestly, my eyes widening. "I mean, it's only fair, seeing as you know everything about me."

He laughs, leaning back in his seat and letting his arm hang over the top of the chair of my stool, my heart stuttering at our close proximity. "I don't know everything," he corrects me, and my lips quirk.

"Okay, then how about this?" I propose. "I tell you something about me, and you tell me something about you. Keep in mind, I have a very limited memory bank."

"Fine," he agrees, nodding, a smile still playing about his lips as he lifts an eyebrow. "Tell me about yourself, Castillo."

I squint, pursing my lips, trying to think of a fact he may not know. Finally, an idea occurs to me, and I snap my fingers, feeling proud of myself. "My favourite colour is green," I tell him confidently.

"Groundbreaking," he says sarcastically, and I grin.

"I know, I know," I quip, shrugging my shoulders, "I probably just shattered your world. I hope you can recover."

"I think I'll manage."

Reaching over, I nudge my elbow into his side gently. "Your turn," I remind him.

"Hm," he says, staring up at the ceiling as he mulls it over, his finger tracing the rim of his wine glass, and I find my eyes memorized by the motion. "I want to move across the country someday," he finally comments.

"For college?"

Mason lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "I don't plan on going to college," he tells me, shaking his head. "High school has been shitty enough. I've learned that I don't exactly like being around people."

I raise my eyebrows. "Well, you seem to be doing okay right now," I remark. "I'm a person."

His eyes flicker to mine, studying my face. "You're different."

My heart picks up again, and I'm quick to justify his words by reminding myself he's got a whole lot of alcohol flowing through his system right now. Though even as I try to rationalize, I begin to acknowledge the fact that I'm drawn to the boy sitting next to me. I've been drawn to him since the start, even if it didn't always seem like it. There's always been something about him that pulls me in. He's an intriguing addition to this whole mystery, but I don't think I'll ever be able to completely solve the puzzle that is Mason Byrne.

"Different how?" I ask, after a pause.

He watches me a moment longer, before his mouth slides up into a smirk, and it seems as though he changes what he was about to say. "Well, you're not a murderous psychopath like the rest of our friends, for one."

"You never know," I say, reaching for my glass of wine and taking a sip. "I could be."

"That's very true," he agrees, grinning once more, and removing his arm from the back of my chair.

Leaning back, I study him again, biting the inside of my lip. "Tell me more about you," I urge, reaching up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. "The favourite colour thing is all I got. What's your family like?"

Mason laughs, and my mouth spreads into a close-lipped smile, enjoying the sound. I wish he would laugh more often, wish I could remember a time where he laughed freely, before everything went to shit.

"Well," he says. "My dad's a piece of shit, and he ditched my mom and me a long time ago. He still shows up every now and then, but I wish he wouldn't. My mom's new husband isn't horrible, but her taste in men leaves much to be desired." The words themselves are concerning, but the way he says them is light, and unconcerned, an edge of dark humour to his voice. "I'm counting down the days until graduation when I can finally get the hell out of here."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I murmur sympathetically, my eyebrows furrowed, and he shrugs nonchalantly, reaching for the wine bottle and topping up his glass. "Apparently I am also a member of the Shitty Dads Club."

"Yeah?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Grimacing, I crinkle my nose, regretting my decision to bring up Andres, since thinking about him only reminds me of my own foolish actions. "He cheated on my mom," I say, sighing. "I guess I'm a piece of shit too. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree."

He's silent for a few moments, his face solemn, before looking at me with a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "What's the deal with that whole situation?"

"It's complicated," I mumble, "and messy."

He pauses. "Were you in love with him?"

"I don't remember," I say honestly, shaking my head. "I don't know. I trusted him."

"Hm," he hums, watching my face intently and waiting for me to continue.

I consider the situation, staring at the kitchen counter with pursed lips. "I feel like maybe... he was the only guy I knew that was genuine. And I mistook that comfort for romance," I explain, not realizing this is how I felt until speaking it aloud. "He told me we were best friends before everything. I believe it."

"Makes sense," Mason murmurs. When I meet his eyes, I'm surprised to see that they're filled with kind sympathy, instead of judgement. "You can't help how you feel."

"No," I remark, raising an eyebrow. "But you can control how you react. That's the part where I fucked up."

"We all fuck up sometimes," he tells me, lips lifting in small smile. "That's what second chances and forgiveness are for."

I feel my mouth curving into a smile to match his."You know, you're actually not a bad guy," I say. "We just needed to get a little wine in you."

"Don't tell anyone," he teases, and I roll my eyes amicably.

Turning to the clock on the wall, he sighs, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. "Shit, when did it get this late? I should really get home."

I blink at him. "Um, no," I say bluntly. "You've had way too much wine, you're not driving."

"Alina," he protests, and I give him a serious look.

"Alright, let's see you walk in a straight line," I tell him, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly.

He accepts the challenge, rising to his feet, gripping the top of his stool for balance. With a determined look on his face, he tries to walk across the kitchen floor to the other side of the room, but he wobbles, staggering slightly, and he has to latch onto the counter to keep himself from catapulting to the ground. He sighs, dragging a hand over his face, gazing in the direction of the front door.

"You can crash on the couch," I tell him, standing up from my own chair, heading in the direction of the hallway closet to grab him some bedding. "Sofia won't be home until tomorrow afternoon, so you don't have to worry."

Mason follows behind me quietly, our footsteps padding on the laminate floor, and I locate the closet, sliding the doors open and grabbing a handful of blankets. He purses his lips together when he sees them. "At least let me help you," he says, reaching out to take them out of my hands, but I jerk out of his grasp stubbornly.

The sudden movement causes my head to spin, my knees buckling, and he reaches out, his hands flying to my waist to steady me as my breath catches. Startled by the sudden contact, I meet his eyes, always seeming to draw me in with a magnetic pull, and he looks equally shocked by our unexpected closeness, mere inches apart, only separated by a mound of blankets. Clearing my throat, I take a step back, and his fingers slip from my hips.

"Sorry," I mumble, and he nods before I turn away, heading to the living room and feeling a burn in my cheeks.

We enter the room, and it feels too dark, so I reach over to flick on the lamp above the couch. Unfortunately, the light only serves to bask Mason in a soft glow that does things to my heart, and I quickly look away, setting the blankets down.

"Will you be okay out here?" I ask, risking a glance in his direction again.

His lips upturn in a small smile as he nods again, taking a seat. "I'll be fine, Alina," he murmurs. "Thank you."

"Goodnight, Mason," I say, realizing I said the exact same thing to him hours ago on the phone, but I mean it this time.

"Goodnight."

Leaving him to get settled and hopefully get a bit of rest, I turn away, making for my bedroom. My heart still beats a little faster in my chest with the knowledge that Mason is just downstairs, and it's both a comforting and terrifying thought. Taking a deep breath, I settle under the covers, willing my heartbeat to slow down, my blinks becoming increasingly slower until my eyes finally fall closed.

And for the first time in a long time, I sleep peacefully.

✘✘✘

When I finally fight my way out of my groggy haze, I begrudgingly push myself into a sitting position, my head heavy and pounding. Grimacing, I place a hand to my forehead, in desperate need of an Advil. Or five. I rise to my feet with a lengthy yawn, the events of last night slowly coming back to me. The moment it finally registers that Mason Byrne spent the night, I stop short, freezing in my tracks, the concept entirely too ridiculous for my early morning brain to process. Surely none of that happened.

Moving quickly, I fly down the stairs, paying no mind to the fact that it makes my headache intensify as I head straight for the living room, taking note of the wine bottles and empty glasses in the kitchen, a hint that everything actually did happen last night. I stop in front of the couch, still needing to see to believe, though it's too late. Mason has already vacated the area, leaving the blankets folded neatly on the cushions. A small, folded note rests on the pillow, and tentatively, I reach for it.

Thank you, it reads in his bold writing.

My shoulders relax, though I'm not sure whether it's in relief or disappointment. Maybe a little of both. I'm not exactly sure how to face him after the night we had. The air between us shifted, and he looked at me a little differently.

I can't help but wonder if I felt anything for him before all of this, before the memory loss and the fateful night in the woods, or if he was just always in my peripheral vision, never quite in focus, but never out of sight, either.

Sofia returns home a little after noon, and by then I've gotten rid of any evidence that I had company over last night, or that I consequently got wine-drunk. Audrey still hasn't emerged from her room, though I did check on her and bring her a glass of water in case she woke up and got thirsty.

I look up from my homework, taking note of the tired expression on her face as she kicks off her heels and removes her coat. She doesn't notice me until she fully enters the kitchen, but then she gives me a passing glance, nodding once before shuffling over to the Keurig, looking to be in desperate need of a coffee. Must've been a crazy weekend with Clark.

Bringing my eyes back to my English assignment, I try to work in silence, the quiet bubbling of coffee being made the only sound able to be heard. My eyes flicker in her direction every few moments, watching her as she leans against the counter, massing her temples with closed eyes.

"Hi," I finally greet, and her hazel eyes dart to my face sharply.

"Hello," she says, her voice slightly raspy until she clears her throat.

I expect her to say more with the way her eyes linger on me, but her attention is drawn to the coffee pot as it finishes, and she turns away, reaching into the cupboard for a mug, filling it promptly and taking a sip.

"I have that appointment with Dr. Meyer in an hour," I tell her after a pause, and she blinks, looking down at her watch. I'd nearly forgotten.

"Mm, is that today?" she murmurs distractedly, before nodding again. "I'll take you."

She doesn't say anything more, disappearing further into the house with her mug of coffee, and I'm left to puzzle over her strange behaviour. I don't allow myself to dwell on it too long, though, my mind occupied by thoughts of the impending visit to the doctor. Closing my notebook, I take a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare what I'm going to say when I see the infamous doctor.

Leaving the kitchen, I head to my bedroom again. I catch sight of my cell phone on my bed, left where I carelessly tossed it last night, and I bite my lip, tempted to contact Mason. Not for any particular reason, just to get some sort of response from him, whether that be words printed on my phone screen, or words spoken into my ear.

I text him to let him know about the appointment.

Stay safe, comes through a moment later, and it's startling how much comfort those two words bring me.

When it's time to make the trek to the Pender Falls General Hospital, I slide my phone in my pocket, thinking I can record my conversation with Dr. Meyer if I feel the need. The drive to the hospital is silent, and my curiosity over Sofia's actions continues to grow.

She pulls into the parking lot, turning to me and raising her eyebrows. Her face is still distant, as though she's not really here, and up close, I notice her eyes are rimmed with red. Her haggard expression reminds me of the day I woke up in the hospital, laden with exhaustion and anguish, though this time, she tries to mask it.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" she asks, her voice sounding dull.

"No," I mumble, shaking my head, figuring it'll be easier to talk to Dr. Meyer if she's not around. "That's alright. I'll be fine."

"Okay," she says, shutting off the car and leaning back in her seat, her eyes already drawn to the window in front of her. "Come back out here when you're done."

I nod my assent, taking a deep breath before opening the door, pushing myself out of the car. The air is cool, leaves skittering across the pavement, and I shiver slightly beneath my coat, sticking my hands into my pockets. I begin my journey across the parking lot on trembling legs, both fearful and exhilarated at the prospect of coming face to face with the mastermind behind this whole thing, the one that made the old me disappear, and has been avoiding the new me ever since, like the coward that he is.

The receptionist is a small elderly woman, and she looks up as I approach. I place my hands on the counter, giving her a polite smile.

"Um, hi," I greet, clearing my throat. "I'm here to see Dr. Meyer?"

Her eyes move back to her computer screen. "Name?"

"Alina Castillo."

Her fingers move quickly over the keyboard, and she nods, gesturing to the waiting area with her chin. "Have a seat, Ms. Castillo. He'll be with you shortly."

I bid her a quiet thank you, leaving the counter to join the rectangle of chairs, my eyes darting over all the people with varying conditions, trying not to linger on any of them too long. It feels as though all eyes are on me as I sink into one of the cushioned seats, next to a mother whose little boy plays with a truck on the carpeted floor in front of her. She gives me a timid smile that I return, before I haul in another deep breath. My knee begins to bounce, bile rising in my stomach, as I will myself to calm down.

The last thing I need right now is to have a panic attack in the waiting room.

"Alina?"

My eyes fly open at the sound of the nurse calling my name, and I rise to my feet, forcing my movements to be slow and controlled. I close my eyes once more as I follow the nurse, sending up a silent prayer for strength to whoever may be listening, then continue down the hall, preparing to meet the man who played a part in ruining my life.