The cracked vinyl creaked as I slid into the booth at the back of the bar. Jeremiah reaches out his large black hand, and I clasp it with a firm grasp.

"Glad you could make it." I tell him over the din of the bar. I had just finished eating out with Jenna after we finished shopping, thankfully without any more blackouts. She did manage to pick out a midnight blue dress that was very flattering, yet entirely work appropriate. Even in my limited fashion understanding, I knew the color suited her fair skin perfectly.

"Nah, man. I am glad you invited me out, Carson; it's been too long." Jeremiah drops my hand and flags the bartender down.

"So, what's been keeping you busy?" he continues. "Jenna been keeping you on your toes?" he asks, with one eyebrow raised.

"Not in the way you would like to think." I laugh as his suggestion.

"Damn, am I going to have to find a new friend to live vicariously through, since clearly you are no help anymore?" Jeremiah asks rhetorically.

"Or, you know," I pause for dramatic effect, "You could go out and get a girlfriend, and that would solve your problem too." I wink at him, Jeremiah has never had "girlfriends", assorted booty calls, yes. Girlfriends, no.

The young bartender arrives at our booth; she must be new. Jeremiah and I come here often enough we knew all the regular employees.

"What can I get for y'all this evening?" She had a bit of a southern drawl. She was pretty though; her chin length light brown and green eyes suited her round face, and it appeared that Jeremiah noticed as well. The thing about Jeremiah is that, while I wouldn't consider myself inept at talking with women, he, on the other hand, excelled at it. He had the looks, the muscles, the voice, the eyes. Frankly, he was the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, and he used that power well. He had ever since we were in high school together.

She shifted her gaze away from Jeremiah's intense gaze and on to me. Maybe this is the one girl that could stand up to the charm that oozed from him. "I will take whatever beer is on tap."

"Okay, and for you?" She looks back at Jeremiah.

"Whisky, straight." He eyed her name tag pinned on her, rather tight, black shirt. "Thank you, Jessica." He drew out her name in a way that had most girls hooked.

The bartender, now identified as Jessica, rolled her eyes. She turned away from our table, looking incredulous. Whispering something under her breath that sounded a lot like "freaking male misogyny".

Jeremiah looks to me as I try to control my laughter, "I am sorry, is this thing on?" He asks, gesturing to himself. "Why the hell is it not working?"

I crack up laughing, "Dude, I had a better chance with her than you had! When has that ever happened?"

In a quick flash, he shoots a rather obscene hand gesture my direction as I continue laughing.

"Honestly, how is that even possible?" he continues his rant. "I mean you look like you just got hit by a bus! How are you winning?"

"I mean it has happened once before." I pause, waiting for him to catch on.

"No, man. You cannot consider the time when I met your almost fiancé as a win. You already had her. Frankly, just be glad she didn't leave your sorry ass for all this." He says, motioning to himself again. The bartender comes to our table, dropping off our drinks quickly before retreating to the bar again. I reach for my beer, pulling it to me and taking a long drink.

"But dude, honestly, why do you look like shit? If it isn't Jenna, and I know it's not work, you don't work hard enough for that, there is no other explanation." Jeremiah also picks up his drink, downing it in a single go. Apparently, his pride was more hurt than he let on.

"I can't sleep." I tell him, shrugging my shoulders while refusing to make eye contact.

Jeremiah sets down his drink glass slowly, "You mean like a touch of insomnia, not a big deal kind of not sleeping?" He leans forward, the table shifts under his weight. "Please, God, tell me that you aren't suggesting what I think you are suggesting?"

I smile without feeling at him, taking another drink of my beer, savoring the cool liquid as it runs down my throat. I finish my drink in another swallow, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.

"For how long?" Jeremiah asks, all matter of joking aside.

I flag the bartender down again; she nods and grabs refills for Jeremiah and me. I look back at Jeremiah, answering his question, "About a month now. I was trying to keep it from Jenna, you know I don't want to worry her with this specific part of my past, but," I pause, waiting for the bartender to drop off our drinks and leave our table hastily again. "I am starting to blackout in front of her now. She's talking about me seeing a specialist. I mean she is scared, like really scared."

"Man, you can't see a specialist. You can't see anyone about this. They would throw you in the looney bin before you even finished telling them all the shit you see in your head." Jeremiah was managing to keep his voice low despite the rate at which he was talking.

"I know, trust me." I reach for my second beer, "It's not like I am going to walk up to a therapist and tell her about my messed-up childhood in which I was plagued by an imaginary friend for a decade." I held up air quotes around the term imaginary friend. "Only to run away from her, go into hiding with my parents who were then tortured and murdered, in front of me. Then, proceeding to be placed in a crappy foster home, where I was the favorite punching bag of the alcoholic foster father.

"But then, that's not even the worst part. The real kicker comes when I tell them that I continue to be plagued by her, this "imaginary person" for the next decade of my life, because I keep having reoccurring nightmares, that happen not just while I am sleeping. I will literally be wide awake, and they happen."

I notice that my voice is increasing in volume, but I can't be bothered to adjust it. The words just tumbled from my mouth. After years of never saying the full truth, and Jeremiah being the only one I can confide in, they just fall out in front of him. Though, the alcohol probably isn't helping.

"And they aren't just your garden variety nightmares. No. This occur in all different formats that range from my adult-self appearing with her, when she is a child, to just straight up reliving moments in my childhood with her. To, oh wait, here is where they throw away the key to my padded cell. I have dreams of, what I guarantee to be real events, that involve her... as an adult. Things that I never experienced. And yet, I have a freaking backseat pass to her adult life, that strangely looks an awful lot like espionage. Not that I would tell them that part though, that may be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

"Yeah, that therapist would love me." I raise my glass in an ironic 'cheers' before downing this one as well.

"Good God dude, would you keep it down?" Jeremiah looks around the bar, making sure no one was listening. "You are going to make me look bad." Jeremiah does this, he deflects real concern with humor. It's just a him thing. Come to think of it, I use it with Jenna. Maybe it's a thing you do when you care about someone.

I lay my head down on my arms that are crossed on the table. "Why do you even believe me, Jeremiah?" I lift my head in time to see him wave over the bartender again, pointing just at my empty glass. "You are the first one to admit that I sound absolutely psychotic. Why did you ever believe me?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not Aideen was a real person. She was real to you; real enough to literally make you bat-shit crazy. That's enough proof for me."

Jeremiah didn't even look at Jessica as she came back to refill again.

He continues, "Do you remember senior year, the first time this happened to you?"

"Yeah, it's not exactly like I could forget." I pause and adjust my statement. "I mean, I forgot a lot in those six months, but can't forget the fact that I will never get them back."

"Yeah, you know I am still pissed that you manage to graduate with a higher GPA than me, despite walking around like a zombie." Jeremiah sighs, "But that's not what I am talking about." Jeremiah leaned back, taking his weight of the table, and it wobbled back into an upright position.

"I am talking about the fact that you told me, and I quote, 'at least it means that I wasn't crazy my entire childhood.'" He leaned forward, whispering this time, and I struggled to hear him over the rising voices in the bar as the night carried on. "That seeing her growing and living means that somewhere, out there," he gestures to the broader world outside the bar, "she still exists.' That's why I think she is real. Because even in your sleep deprived, zombie-state, you managed to find comfort in that. It convinced me." Jeremiah shrugs his broad shoulders, sitting back once more.

"I don't remember that, honestly. I remember feeling like my heart was being pulled out, relentlessly. Like I never successfully managed to leave her in my past, unlike how I had managed to leave everything else. She was the one damn string I could never cut." I huffed air out through my nose, "Even now, with Jenna. Aideen is going to ruin it; everything I have built as Carson. The moment I finally decide to stop carrying bits of my past with me, stop carrying Emerson with me, and just let myself live as Carson, she comes back. Like she is haunting me. I feel haunted. Okay, I never liked horror movies, and now my life is a freaking horror movie."

I sigh, sitting back in the vinyl bench. Jeremiah looks at me, not with pity but with understanding, and maybe a little indecision thrown in.

"But," I continue, "there is a part of me that knows the only place I will ever see her is in these sporadic dreams. I mean, when it isn't plaguing me and it's the random, every once in a while, dreams. Like she is passing through again or something. I can find comfort in those. It's like a touch on the shoulder, brief yet reassuring. I feel reassured that she is still out there." I pause, rubbing my hands through my dark hair. "God, I feel like an idiot."

I sit forward quickly, "You want to know the worst of it all." I don't wait for Jeremiah to respond. "I was going through my dad's files today, the ones I ignored for ten years. Yeah, don't look at me that way." Jeremiah readjusted his face, so it wasn't showing complete shock. "I think I figured out how she accomplished it. How she became 'imaginary'. I honestly think it is possible. And I think my dad is the one who made it that way."

---

Hi readers and friends!

This was a big chapter and important chapter to the plot! Are the pieces starting to click into place?!

*Note: You are still probably confused about a few of the plot points, which is intentional- I wouldn't want to give away too much at once- however, please ask questions if you have them. Some I might answer with "Be patient, you will find out soon," and some I might answer with "OMG, you're right! I forgot to explain that!". Feedback and constructive criticism are ALWAYS welcome!

I try to keep each chapter shorter (1,500 words, though this one was closer to 2,000) so they don't take quite as much time to read through, and this one was bound to exceed that. Being that as it is, I did divide it into two so keep an eye out for the rest of the conversation because the story continues! I mean, honestly, how did Aideen stay "imaginary" for all those years (10 to be specific-more on this later)?! Come back and find out, or better yet, drop your theories in the comments because I am interested to hear your take on it.

Finally, I am astonished to find the community that I have found here! Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support. It means the world to me, and I will never be able to say it enough! Your votes and comments bring me so much joy (literally happy-dance level of joy every time I get a Wattpad notification).

I hope you are enjoying the story!