"Mason?" I ask just for clarification I heard this fucking bullshit right. She just peers at me like a terrified little doe, but I'm not having any of that. "Your ex Mason?" I put extra emphasis on the word 'ex' just to stress that he is not her Mason, but that he used to be her Mason.

"Yes, Nathan, my fiance. What other Mason is there?"

Literally any other Mason! Your high school schoolmate Mason, the guy that works at your favourite coffee shop Mason, the fucking receptionist at the dance school Mason, any fucking other Mason!

"What did he want?"

Nothing moves about her. Not her chest, not her eyes, not her hair that would fall from a distressed bun, nothing. It's like she has turned into stone with her eyes fixed on me. She's a lifeless statue you see at museums and everyone praises it. "Just... to talk. Nothing, really."

Oh, nothing, okay. Nothing to worry about then.

Does she think I'm fucking stupid?!

I laugh loudly when she says that partly from being fucking desperate and partly because I haven't heard such goddamn bullshit before. "So you two just chatted then?" She looks at me like I called her a disgusting slut, she is absolutely appalled at me, and it's fucking hilarious. If anyone has the right to be pissed about something, it's me! I have the right to be fucking pissed about her! "What did you tell him, then? What did he tell you? Did some chick leave him and now wants to get back in contact with you? And did you tell him how you had a dance performance? The trivia chat?"

"What is wrong with you?" She holds Devon's head like she's protecting him from me, which is ironic, since it looks like Devon is more protecting her than she is him.

"Then what did you talk about? Did you two gossip about family members maybe?"

"No, Nathan! Obviously not!" Annabelle snaps at me, looking even worse than before. I guess I should feel guilty about it, but I don't. The moment Mason calls, she forgets about everything else. Serves her right.

"Then why the fuck would you say you two just talked?"

Suddenly I become the bad guy in her eyes. I turned down what could've been sex of a fucking century so she would be happy, so she wouldn't be hurt, and I'm satan incarnate now. Fucking typical.

"Why are you being like this? I was trying to trust you with this, and you just lost your shit on me."

Because it's Mason! Your Hawaii fiance Mason! The man you cried about, and who made you cry yourself to sleep! But now that he appeared again, he's the fucking Messiah, the voice of the nation, the great chosen one that needs to be praised, and only you can do the good fucking job. That's why I'm being like this!

"Then what did you two talk about? It's a reasonable damn question to what you just told me."

The look she gives me... She despises me right now, it's pretty clear, but she knows that I'm right, which is a taste of victory for me. She can look or despise me any way she wants.

"He wants to meet up." By the look in her eyes and by the way she looks at me after she utters the words, I know immediately that it's only that she's realising that Mason really did call her. "Sometime this week."

I want to feel sorry for her because I know how that feels. I can still visually remember when Patty and I talked one on one for the first time after the breakup, and it sucked. It sucked so bad that even today when I'm perfectly happy that Patty and I didn't continue with our relationship, I can still remember how I tasted the bile on my tongue. But breakups are something we all go through. It's not nice, it's not fun; it's awful and it's traumatic. Patty and I were no exception, and neither is Annabelle. So no, I don't feel bad about her.

"Meet up? Why?"

That is not okay. If he wants to meet up, go for coffee sometime... It can only mean one thing and that is that he probably wants her back. And I don't blame him. He made the biggest error of his life when he called it quits with her. My guess is he went around, had a lot of sex, went back to being a teenager, and now he realised he's a sad, pathetic loser without Annabelle.

And Annabelle would take him back. I know she would. In the blink of an eye. She's been miserable all this time because she didn't have him, and now she will get the chance to get him back. They've been together for years. They lived together, they were even engaged, they knew they were in a serious relationship, and the breakup didn't happen three or so years ago, it must've been a recent thing, a this-year thing. The wounds are fresh, the craving is stronger than ever, and right in his arms she shall land.

Someone like Mason would simply win her again. With no good reason. The one to break her heart. The one who left her to pick herself back up again. The one that betrayed her love and trust. The one that is an average piece of shit. And he's gonna get her back.

"Didn't say anything about that. The point is... He called and I'm not at the top of my game right now, okay? Don't pry."

Of course...

I should not pry. I should not react. I should just smile and wave like a fucking Queen of England. And were I to slip up and tell her a piece of my damn fucking mind, it's obviously me that's in the wrong.

I was so damn happy to tell her what happened. It's weird and disturbing because that's not like me, it's out of my character, but since everything that's happened between Annabelle and me, sleeping with Flora would feel like... like sort of cheating. It's clear that Annabelle and I are by no means an exclusive couple, or a couple of any kind. I wouldn't even say that we're fuck buddies because it's... strange. But still, it would feel wrong. Had she told me to go on and fuck every day as much as I want, I wouldn't have had any problem whatsoever.

And what I get back for trying to be noble, for being a gentleman is a fucking finger up my ass.

***

Mason and Annabelle. Mason and Annabelle. Mason and Annabelle. Mason calling Annabelle. Annabelle comes running to Mason. Annabelle hugging Mason and Mason hugging Annabelle. Mason and Annabelle going home together. Mason and Annabelle living together. Mason and Annabelle having a wedding. Mason and Annabelle having a kid. Having another kid. And another. And Mason using Annabelle's love. And Annabelle not seeing that because it's Mason. And the kids are cute because they're like Annabelle.

I'm losing my goddamn shit. This is not normal. This is psychotic and paranoia at its finest.

For someone that's not exclusive or not anything with Annabelle, I sure am not relaxed.

It's not... the feelings. I don't have that kind of feelings for her, I just know her worth, and Mason does not deserve her.

Hoping that the exercise would help me by distracting me or blowing off some steam, I'm sweating on the floor and breathing hard like I'm one of the slaves building a pyramid.

My arms can barely hold me up when I'm on the fourth round of push-ups, I am breathless and sweat is trickling down my face.

Meanwhile, Devon doesn't get it. He is happy in his chubby body, and decides he wants me to join the club. Whenever I lower myself down to the floor, he comes crawling my way, and when he's right by my side, he decides to get up by leaning onto me and pushing me down.

I can see it clearly, so vividly, and before I know it it will happen for sure. At some point my arms will give in, I will face plant, knock out several and then broke the rest of the teeth that will still cling onto my gums. No more Nathan Price...

"Devon!" I shriek when he does that and my shoulders don't just ache, they properly tremble.

Somehow I manage to come out of the situation unharmed and in one piece and with my teeth intact. Thank God...

"Jesus..." I breathe heavily, partly due to an intense workout and partly because of a heart attack that my arms wouldn't be able to hold me up.

An hour and a half of working out and I'm still pissed as hell except that now I'm also physically dead to the point where I can't imagine holding up a spoon for Devon.

Annabelle is going to meet Mason. Mason will kiss her and she will fall right into his arms. She will meet him again and again. Mason will manipulate her into taking him back. Annabelle will be with him again.

Ugh!!!

I stop... for one moment, and the only thing that returns to occupy my mind is the fucking Mason.

Why did he have to call? Why did he realise he made the biggest fucking mistake of his life and is now trying to fix it?

The only reason why I'm worried is because I know how Annabelle feels about him. She refuses to speak ill of him, even though she should. She protects his image, she remembers him fondly. It's clear that besides missing him, she painfully wants him back.

Devon is holding his rabbit plushie that he's been obsessed with lately, and by lately, I mean for the past few days and for most of the day. He holds it high up, as far as his arms will allow it, then suddenly drops his hand down and smashes rabbit's face against the ground underneath his palms. He never stops looking at me as he does that.

"Yeah, Mason's alternative ending," I mutter bitterly. I am insane enough to hope for that or even try to make it happen.

My breath and heart rate have both returned to normal, and I contemplate working out again. What I want is to work myself out to death, so when I go to bed in a couple of hours, I'll be asleep before I reach the bed. If I start thinking in bed, which will soon turn into overthinking, I'm not getting any sleep for sure.

My phone pings as I receive a message, and my first thought is that it's Annabelle reporting on Mason. I spy the phone on the coffee table and I get physically sick at that mere thought. Of course, when I rationally think about it, I'm hardly the right person to tell these things, and Annabelle has girl friends with whom she shares these things with.

I grab the phone and unlock the screen. Even if it's not about Mason, a simple message from Annabelle would have the same consequences for me.

When I see who sent it and read the message, I am surprised by the relief I feel. That's because it's from May. I don't think I've ever been happy that it was her who's sent me a message, not a girl I may be one way or another interested in her.

The message reads:

Tomorrow after work? You pick time and place.

Riiiiiight...

The picture thingies and wedding expenses. Honestly, weddings should be perceived as robbery. Not just robbery of freedom, but legit robbery where all your money is taken away.

Of course, when I think of a concept of wedding right now, it's not if Daniel will call in some favours, but if Mason will try to trick Annabelle into marrying him.

She is a fairy tale kind of person, isn't she? She wants to completely devote herself to one person, wear a white wedding dress and throw the bouquet. I wouldn't say she's spent her childhood planning her ideal wedding because I don't know if that's just something cheesy you put into movies since I know not a single woman that used to do that, but she still has that quality about her that does say she wants to have a nice and wonderful wedding day.

Well, if you get married, you might as well make it wonderful. There's nothing sadder than going to the courthouse and just signing a document.

I'm a simple guy and someone who hates the idea of getting married, and even I wouldn't do that. If I ever get into some kind of accident that will erase my memory and I will wake up, ready to plan a wedding, I'll have a bombastic wedding!

I type a message for May that it's a deal as long as we meet in late afternoon.

I could ask Annabelle to stay with him for another hour or two, but I refuse to. I will not engage in conversation with her now. Frankly, I simply can't do it without bringing up how Mason suddenly resurfaced. And, to be completely honest, I'm hurt. I thought we were... enjoying each other. I gave up sex with Flora. And Annabelle throws her ex at me.

Forget it. Forget about it. Stop thinking about her.

And I try. As I try not to think about her or imagine her reaction or what she felt when Mason called her, that's when my imagination really takes off.

The bunny Devon is squashing begins to look a lot more like Mason's head than before, and I wish there'd be a puddle of blood around it. It'd mean a job well done, and Annabelle would be safe from him. Everything would go back to normal.

Okay, those are some proper serial killer thoughts...

I don't think I'm entirely healthy. Mentally, I mean. These can't be the thoughts of a normal person, and if they are, I'm surprised we've only had two world wars.

I look at Devon who is progressively getting bored with the bunny, and looking around for a new adventure, possibly the one that involves me.

There is a way I could entertain him, I suppose. And get work done at the same time.

I tell him to stay put as I crawl to the TV and start browsing through the drawers until I find a box with a New York imprint on it.

I get back to Devon, but when I put the box on the ground, I don't sweep him up. I want him to work! So, I stretch out my arms, and his face immediately lights up. He drops the bunny - who cares about Mason, anyway - and crawls up into my lap.

I ease him on one of my knees when I cross my legs and tell him: "A trip down the memory lane. I warn you, it's Patty. So, don't start crying when you see her."

I open the box and just the smell of the photographs reminds me that ever since I moved out of my mum's place for real (college doesn't count), I never reopened the box. Not even when I switched the apartments. It's just one picture that remained somewhat sacred to me, and it's what kept me company after we broke up, but I always kept that photograph in a drawer or in my wallet or in a jacket - it was always with me. Therefore, the scent of our old house is there, and instead of the pictures being the only thing on my mind, it's whatever happened in that house that occupies me.

I pull out the first chunk of photographs and quickly go over them just to see what exactly is on these pics. With Devon supervising, I don't want us to slowly and surely stumble upon... naughty pictures. I have to make sure those are not in the pile that I'm going to show him and contemplate whether they're worth using for the wedding.

The first picture that appears is a picture of me during one of the visits to Chicago. I was around 18 and Patty went to visit my dad with me. For some reason, I am asleep in the photo, and I will never understand why women like to take pictures of guys when they're sleeping.

The next picture is a polaroid, still from Chicago, but both Patty and I are in it. It's a picture they can't really use for the wedding. Unless we were the ones getting married because, in the pic, we are naturally kissing. It's a nice picture, though. And that was the time when we were inseparable. She would go everywhere with me and I'd go everywhere with her, and in roughly that time we introduced each other to our parents as boyfriend or girlfriend.

I show him the polaroid, but I also keep it at a safe distance. Devon wouldn't think twice before reaching out and biting it down, drooling all over it. And this is a nice picture! I... I'm kinda fond of it because it reminds me that even though Patty and I had kind of a troublesome relationship, very impulsive, we really were into each other.

"See that? Give it 12 years or so, and you'll be doing that to a girl as well! Or a boy, y'know, whatever will float your boat."

Devon doesn't give a shit about at the moment. He just stares at it, then grabs the top of the small box and throws it across the coffee table. Intelligent behaviour.

There's a couple of pictures with only Patty in it, but that was still the time of red camera eyes, so I put those aside. When I find a picture of her with Daniel, who is looking for happy and uncomfortable sitting next to her, I... I feel quite uneasy about offering that picture to May. Yes, it's a picture of them, and yes, they're the ones getting married, but... she liked me back then. She wasn't laughing and smiling because Danny was next to her, but because I probably said something stupid so she wouldn't have a resting bitch face on pictures as she usually does when she doesn't purposefully smile.

Then there's a group picture. Dad, Deidre, May, Daniel, Patty and I. Not to be used, because Patty's head is leaning on my shoulder, and my hand isn't exactly around her hips, but bordering her ass, but it's a picture that is in a way sad. I could have lived in Chicago at any time. I could have been with Patty. This picture could have practically been my life.

Does Annabelle think of that when she looks at the engagement photo she has in her living room? Is it still downturned, so she doesn't have to look at it? Has she maybe throwing it away, or is it standing upright again?

Patty. Focus on a picture of Patty.

I browse through the photographs. There's a lot of blurry ones and those I give to Devon. He has all the right to tear that one apart.

There is only one picture of Patty from Chicago, and it was taken on a train station. She is not smiling at me or kissing me or anything. I don't even know who took this picture, but in the photo, Patty has her eyes closed as she's savouring the smell of coffee. She looks lovely here, and the most like Patty that she is when one is alone with her.

Other pictures are mostly of us in a restaurant or making disturbing silly faces, but sooner or later, pictures of us hugging and kissing pop up. Sometimes we're in front of a monument, other times we're at home, then again we're at a park on a bench.

I guess one picture of her sipping coffee will do as far as Chicago is concerned.

The rest of the photos that were taken in Chicago, as pleasant and as nostalgic as they are, I put aside. It's worth checking them out some other time.

I give Devon another picture, one that is particularly colourful, and he is absolutely fascinated by it. He grabs it in a way that crumbles the edges, but it's a photo I'm not worried about. It holds no special memories, so Devon can play with it all he wants.

Again, I quickly go over another chunk to eliminate certain pictures. But those are pictures from Maine when Patty's parents decided to take me along. It wasn't summer, so we were all more or less dressed - I count Patty and myself out of it. If there was an opportunity for us to be alone, we'd get dirty really fast. All our vacations apparently have different moods.

I found a picture of us sitting by a fireplace and lighting a fire. She is lighting the paper on fire, which she then tucked under the light branches, and I'm right behind her, carrying logs we would add later on.

And of course, a photo of me fixing the wiring of an old TV. That was still the time of big televisions and no signal. It was a given that pictures of me tinkering something would eventually turn up. I think the only reason why Patty's parents let me be is that I fixed most of the machinery in their household, which they still own today, so I must have fixed it very well.

Vacation in Maine was fun. Less fun than Chicago because her parents were with us most of the time, so that's why every opportunity meant so much to us. There's also a lot of less affectionate photographs of us - it was one of her parents who was taking pictures, I could hardly grab their daughter for her ass right in front of them.

No matter that, at least there are pictures of Patty. It's a treasury of photos for their wedding because I rarely intervene in them.

I found three good pictures with just her in it. What's even better is that they're all diverse. In one she is smiling, in another one, she is sitting on a branch of a tree, and in the third one, she is simply smiling at the camera as she is standing in a pile of leaves.

I guess Maine was the kind of vacation that told me I wasn't just carnally interested in her. I think that was the time I realised that I really like her in all sorts of different ways. That was a vacation of us playing cards, watching movies, walking in nature, and not just banging.

I try to intrigue Devon with a different picture, but he is not interested in that one. The one in his hands that can barely be recognisable as a photograph, is way better apparently.

Of course, I stumble upon high school pictures. There's me sitting on a lawn, wearing shades and smoking a cigarette, and then Patty with her ponytail and a skirt next to me. We look like a bad Grease recreation.

I find photographs we took in a museum we went to with school, the fooling around in the cafeteria, hanging out in squats, or in a park, Patty wearing my jacket... Just a lot of memories of us being kids believing we would change the world. Nothing special, nothing new or unique. Just a bunch of kids.

Devon finds a photograph of a milestone that I still have for some reason and is ready to fight for it. If I try to move it away from him, he whimpers and stretches after it. Ready to throw a tantrum, he begins to inhale, building up the cry.

"If you cry, I won't give it to you, Devon. No means no."

He turns back towards me and repeats: "No."

"Yes, no means no."

"No."

"Are you gonna cry?"

"No?"

"Right. There you go, then." I hand it to him, and when he gets it in his hands, he throws it away. He looks back at me in despair like it was some unfair force that took it from him. "You threw it. I'm not picking it up."

Devon furrows his brows, then quickly reaches up to harshly pinch my cheek.

"Ow! Devon! Don't ever do that!"

His expression doesn't change. What he wants is that photo he threw, and I'm just stubborn enough not to give it to him. And he has to learn that I'm not a fucking dog that is gonna pick up and bring him everything he throws.

"I'll put you down because you don't deserve to be cuddled right now! And if you want a picture, you're gonna go get it yourself!"

He is so not happy about this. It's the ultimate betrayal for him.

Yeah, well, you also shat in my lap, so there's that.

He doesn't cry, though. He just decides not to look at me, so I guess he's trying to make me feel guilty. Too bad, 'cause I'm not going to. He crawls after the photograph and then busies himself with it, however, this entertainment doesn't last long. Sooner or later he comes crawling back on his knees - literally - and without inspecting me, he climbs back in my lap.

"Are you gonna pinch me again?" I ask him as I steady him in my lap so we are both comfortable.

"No," he says, but I doubt he understands the meaning of that just yet. I think he's just repeating the word, but conveniently, that's exactly the word I want to hear right now.

I'm not going to lie. The last chunk fat chunk of photographs I decide to check out brings back memories that are still quite alive. I get a kind of tingling feeling mixed with regret when I find pictures of Patty and myself lying on the beach of Laurel Lake. She is tucked right under my arm, leaning her head on my chest, and I'm kissing her hair.

Oh, boy...

That was... It's always going to be a special place, I think. It was the only time when Patty and I went on vacation just the two of us. I just got my driver's license, and the first thing we did, was sat in the car and drove to a secluded, romantic spot.

We were camping, and it was in the middle of summer. We would do stupid shit like skinny dipping in the lake in the middle of a night, then freezing and trying to keep each other warm by cuddling.

I know I won't find pictures that could be used for their wedding, but I can't look away.

It was a perfect summer.

I would push her in the lake if she were standing close to water. We would have a little campfire every night. Sometimes we'd sing in the evenings, and sometimes we'd just talk. Sometimes I'd drive her mad or the other way around.

We were not worrying about the future, what would happen with me going to college next year, what would happen to us consequently.

Some of the days, we wouldn't even sit by the lake or go around for a swim. Sometimes we'd just drive around blasting music. At that time I was obsessed with The KKK Took My Baby Away and I'd always come to tickle her or I'd lift and spin her around.

God, that summer...

The lake completely enchanted us. Sure, I'd splash her, because I was her boyfriend and couldn't help myself. She would try to bring me underwater but failed dramatically. But we would also be very gentle, and we'd stay in the lake until we were both shaking from the cold. Who even cared about the tent and the comfortable, soft sleeping bags in it, when we had the lakeshore.

Jeez, when I think back on it, I was obsessed with her. She really was someone special to me, and I can say with ease that I really loved her then. No wonder I needed two years to get over her...

As hard as things were between us sometimes, as toxic as they could get, our relationship sure was passionate and exciting in all different ways. If we could do something out of nothing, was make it thrilling. Probably the reason why she was the longest relationship I've ever had. All the other ones in college were quite short-lived, like the one with Violet.

A bunch of pictures of us pile around me, and it's hard to put them back in the box. Especially the one we had to experiment for - Patty is lying on me in her bikini, holding my face and kissing me deeply. It takes one look at this picture, and I can not just remember it vividly, but like I'm back there again, experiencing it right at that moment.

Laurel Lake will always be our place.

Except for that picture, I put all the other ones back in the box. Even the one Devon's holding. He whimpers and whines, but he holds back when he thinks about pinching me, so at least I taught him something.

I've found four pictures of young Patty. If they're gonna have a slideshow of their entire relationship, someone else will provide the rest, so I think the four photographs will suffice. It was harder looking for them than I imagined it to be...

I don't know if this is possible, but... as I look at one of the best and happiest memories of Patty and me, I remember it with the same kind of familiarity and fondness, as when I recall the ballet night with Annabelle...

A/N: Any thoughts on Patty and Nathan? Or Annabelle and Mason? Or how they're all connected in Nathan's mind? 

Thank you for being so patient with me! My health has improved and my back is good again! I'll be busy with exams in June, but I think I should be able to update. In the worst case, I'll post chapters every 3 weeks, instead of every 2 weeks, but if I opt for that, I'll let you guys know all about it!

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~Blackie