This year has clearly been unlike any other. I am sick of listing all the new things that have happened to me because I do that whenever I don't know what the fuck to do. Though, there are new things I should add to that list.

Talking to Austin, besides, you know, freaking falling for Annabelle, was... weird. That sounds as if I'm not used to talking to people or having friends. Let me rephrase. It's not that I'm not used to talking to Austin. I'm just not used to talking to him... about personal shit.

Maybe my problem is that I think I should handle things differently because pretty much everything else has changed. Just because I adopted and because I haven't been to a club in a while and because I may have developed serious feelings for another person doesn't mean I have changed. The way I feel about things and handle my problems is probably still the same - I just forgot who I am apparently. Kind of ironic given my confidence and my ego.

Yes, Annabelle is terrific, and I will always stand by those words. Yet at the end of the day she is no different from other women. She was not created to be my soulmate or the love of my life, I don't believe in these things merely because life is too complicated and complex for that. Hippies might be all for the idea of the universe being guided by true love, but reality is quite different. Because I happened to have stumbled upon Annabelle, doesn't mean that it was all meant to be. It was the circumstances that made me develop my feelings, so if it were not Annabelle, it would've been a Sarah, Anouk or Himari.

Like Austin has said, there were others I had feelings for, and I handled it. It sucked, like it sucks now, but at least I got back the confidence to deal with it. I'm sure that Molly won't have anything against watching over Devon in the evening as well.

***

The stars are finally aligning back in my direction. Molly doesn't exactly have time, but she gave me their babysitter's phone number and that lady happened to have a free evening.

I find it strange to be nervous. Evenings like this used to be my routing and I felt good about it, back then I was sure nothimg at a club or a bar could surprise me. Except shooting, but they moved onto schools noe, so I'm good. Nonetheless, all of it is still nervewrecking.

Out of the three clubs I would normally visit, I opted for none of them. When I looked up the clubs or clubbing bars or whatever, I was surprised at the result.

I never bothered to look for different ones. LuxEm and the other two that I'd visit were right up my alley because they were close and I liked them - one more than the other. Now, the mere thought of going to the familiar clubs was unsettling. They'd only serve as a reminder of my past life.

I freaking enjoyed that life. I adored it. It was so free, so in the moment, so me. It was also my life before Annabelle, so everything... everything is connected to her. And if I want to, not forget it, but move past it, I need to go somewhere new, somewhere where I can't be reminded of what happened after I was in this or that club for the last time.

Three clubs, Coconux, Blanché and Myracusse, are located nearly on the other side of Boston. By the looks of it, they're all a neat place and the reviews seem to support that. Honestly, I couldn't care less about reviews, but I need to waste my time till the evening somehow, otherwise I'll keep thinking about her. I just want to go to a new place, get drunk and forget about my life.

The newly-found clubs I've come cross do have names that are way more catchy than LuxEm or Andron. More imaginative, I suppose. Or it's even the names that are triggering memories that make me suddenly so sick in the stomach that I think I'm going to throw up.

Why does everything always lead me back to Annabelle...

I need a distraction. That's the only way how I'll be able to get through this until it goes away. At some point, these feelings will go away, I just need to keep ignoring the pain.

Who the fuck even came up with emotions? It's like communism - great in theory, a mess in practice.

Luckily, for every evil there's good, and while someone was coming up with feelings, a different person invented alcohol and another one opened a club. And I'm here to take all the advantage of this privilege.

***

I didn't miss clubbing. If I left this place right now, I still wouldn't miss it. It's sweaty, it's loud, it's humid, and the booze is pricey as fuck. I don't know if clubs have changed in this past year or is it I who aged for fifteen years in the span of a few months.

I am in Myracusse, by the way. I don't know why, I didn't create an algorhythm that helped me choose which club would be the biggest score. I was just mindlessly driving around Boston and my GPS went off when I was nearing one of the pinged locations. If by any chance I happen to meet the love of my life or even see Annabelle, I'll start believing in fate and religiously attending the mass every Sunday.

Myracusse is bigger than my usual go-tos, thankfully, that means it's also spacier and even though there's a crowd of people dancing and making out and doing all sorts of other things, I don't have to accidentally grind against anyone just to get to the bar.

I make my way through the club and tackle the last free seat at the bar. I can't believe they actually have chairs here.

There are two bartenders, but I can't see either nametag: a Latino guy with the cleanest fade I've ever seen, and a black woman with her long curly hair carefully braided. She's basically beyond gorgeous.

I try not to look at her the entire time I'm sitting there, and I've never been happier to have been approached by a guy.

When the Clean Fade stops by me, drying one of the glasses and asks me what I'd like to drink, I want to stretch over the bar and kiss him. And I'm very straight.

"I don't know. Whiskey should do it."

"Jameson? Redbreast? Jack? Chivas?" He continues naming the whiskeys this club has to offer, but I stop listening halfway.

I think he senses that, so he stops listing them, and gives me a moment. I don't need long because I don't really care. "I just want to get completely wasted, so I don't care which one it is."

He nods and is off to get me my drink. Meanwhile, I look around, desperately avoiding the Clean Fade's coworker.

When the glass of whiskey is passed to me, I realise how much I actually hate whiskey. I don't really drink it, I'd rather drink anything else. Why the fuck did I order it then?

Oh, right! Because I hate myself!

"One cosmopolitan, please!" A brunette who just showed up next to me screams over the entire bar. When I look at her, she pretends she didn't even see me.

It's the oldest trick in the book to get someone's attention, and, technically, it worked.

I look her up and down. The grey dress she's wearing suits her, though she looks hella white, like she hasn't seen the sun in ten years. But I'm not here to discriminate.

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask her when I see her standing in silver high heels, waiting for her cocktail to arrive.

She smiles widely, and happily takes the offer. 'Cause I don't care if I get drunk sitting down or standing up.

"That was very nice of you. I don't know many guys who'd do such a thing for a lady."

Trust me, you don't know many guys as desperate to numb themselves out as me.

"It's nothing. I can imagine it can't be easy to be in those heels the entire night."

"It's not. But I wear them to feel more confident about myself."

Please, stop talking.

I down my whiskey, nearly choking on it, nearly throwing up.

"If it makes you feel better, I don't see a reason why you wouldn't wear them."

She stretches out her hands to me, and I feel doomed. She's pretty and all, probably a very lovely person, but... God, I don't know if I have the will to talk to other people.

I take her hand anyway, and she introduced herself: "Simone."

"Nathan."

'You know what you are, Nathan?'

"Oh, the name suits you quite well."

... you know damn well that you're still just a stuttering little boy desperate for your mummy's attention!

Simone starts talking about herself, probably hoping I'd reveal a few details about myself as well. I'm not listening or planning to tell her what's been up with me, I'm just suffocating. How can I get better and move past it if my own name triggers indescribable pain in me, if it triggers memories that hurt more than if someone broke my kneecaps.

I can see it in Simone's eyes that she'd love it if I cooperated in this exchange of info. I don't want to be the biggest jerk in history and completely leave her hanging.

"So, uh, I'm an energy engineer. Solar cells and stuff like that."

She is quite impressed by it, but she might just as well fall in love with me when I mention Devon. She squeals and her perception of me changes immediately.

I don't know why... I mean, I'm at a club drinking my ass off, isn't that kind of a red flag if that same person has a kid?

She doesn't seem too bothered by that, so our conversation carries on. She's a dentist and she just recently moved to Boston from Quincy because of a new job opportunity. Overall, she seems like a genuinely nice person, and I like it how it's possible to actually talk to her.

I didn't use to like to talk to women before I slept with them, but now it's a relief that we can talk and not grind.

I really am getting old.

I order a couple of whiskeys, because for a brief moment I feel sick because of whiskey, not because of Annabelle, and it's the kind of pain I'm willing to accept, and Simone is on her second cosmopolitan that I've seen this evening. It's good to know that she's not here to get completely wasted, like I am.

"Do you dance, Nathan?" Simone asks me, for some reason loving to enunciate my name.

What do I tell her? Yes, I love to dance the sexy tango of self-loathing?

I quickly realise that it was not a question. It was her own way of saying that I better follow her to the dancefloor.

But my limbs feel heavy, even drugged, like I'm dragging them six feet behind me. Then I remember that if I start dancing, the alcohol is gonna hit me like a train, and there's a good chance that I won't remember a thing, so I follow her like a good puppy.

***

Simone was brunette, right? I'm pretty sure that she was sporting Elena Gilbert hair, straight dark mahogany hair.

But I can't see Simone anywhere, all I see is the blonde that I'm for some reason dancing with.

How...

I don't know where did she come from! She just appeared in my arms, but at least I know she's legal - she happily screamed about finishing her degree in something before she did like five tequilla shots. 

I have done a couple of shots of different liquores as well, so a blonde grinding against me, nearly climbing all over me is nothing to complain about. 

I don't know where did Simone go. We had a dance or two, drank a bit more, then she talked, we drank some more, went for a dance again, then suddenly she was gone. Maybe she told me that she either had to go to the bathroom or go home, I just don't happen to recall any of that.  

The tireless beat with invigorating sound effects encompassed the entire club, and it seems that whenever the rhyhtm picks up, the blonde squeezes deeper into my embrace. 

At some point, she turns around and buries her face into my neck, while swaying her hips in sync with the rhythm. Drunk as hell and done with everything, I lean into the energy she's giving off. It helps me relieve it all, it helps me let go of everything, and it's relieving not having to be in the absolute control of everything that is so clearly not under any type of control. 

The beat continues to climb steadily, but when the blonde looks up at me with her eyes practically closed, the time and the music stand still for the brief second that it takes for her to kiss me. 

To my surprise, I flinch a little bit as she leans closer to me. Normally, I'd be the one who'd encourage the kiss. However, I kiss her back anyway, and the first kiss, as clumsy as it is, seems to fit the lady in my arms. She throws her hands around my neck, continues to gently sway in the rhythm until she is consumed by the kissing and entirely stops.

The kissing becomes more and more demanding, clearly signifying where she wants this to go. Her hands that were first in the air and then around my neck, are exploring my entire back, my chest, my arms - she is everywhere. 

I'm not half mad at her eagerness, letting myself be completely overrun by her, and soon after, we slowly push each other through the crowd until we hit a wall. That's where this steamy club makeout really takes-off and the blonde is holding nothing back. There are a couple of moments where I suspect she's gonna take her dress off and demand from me to do her right there and then. And I'm pretty sure that my shirt only had two buttons left unbuttoned, but now it looks like there's at least four or five. 

Even my perception of the place and what's happening is getting a bit cloudy, which is exactly what I wanted - to let it go and let myself enjoy my life. 

The blonde raises one of her thighs up against mine out of tease and slowly puts it back down, never failing to leave a trace of touch on my own body. Needless to say, all these kisses, the entire makeout, it gets even more heated. Before I know nearly all of my sense block out all the music and all the people, keeping everything focused on the blonde. 

The colour of her hair, the softness of her touch, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her breath, the taste of tequilla on her lips, these are the things that occupy my senses. 

Until... 

The elongated pitch in the club's music punches my heart. Does it slow it down? Does it speed it up? I don't know, it just hurts. And I try to ignore it, so I squeeze the blonde a bit tighter, reminding myself that this, this is what I've always wanted my life to be. 

The pitch is there again and instead of the consistent beat, my mind interpretes it as La Sylphide. 

I pull away from her, breathing like I'm about to throw all of my lungs out. The blonde takes it as a compliment, as if this is so hot and so heated that I can't breath, so she pulls me right back without saying anything. 

It helps. She helps. In a few moments, the stupid La Sylphide is forgotten, the sudden pain just a memory I could've after all simply made up. 

The make-out takes off again, surprisingly even better than before. It's like this one moment made us need each other more than before. Kissing and biting her neck as she lets herself be spoilt by me sways me in my own personal paradise. 

The blonde moves her hands over my chest, behind my back and stops then on my arms where she gives my shoulders a light squeeze. I know what she's about to do before she does it - the shoulder things - and I get ready for a wave of arousal, since this shoulder thingy is all up my alley. And it looks like all women seem to dig my shoulders. 

Momentarily, I see an image of Annabelle from the day of Aidan's birthday party looking at my shoulders while biting her lip. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, squeeze it as tight as possible, trying to do everything in my power to push her image and her existence away. I inhale deeply with my nose buried in this woman's neck to help me think her away, but then...

"You marked me like... Like I'm your possession."

I feel my stomach twist and I'm sure I'm going to throw up all over this unfortunate woman who just wants to celebrate. I move away for a second, but she is so in the moment she doesn't want any of it to end, so she says: "No, I like that."

"...no considerate invitation, no 'I think I like you, Annabelle', nothing?"

I take a step back from the blonde, who is freaked out about my ghouslish behaviour. I'm staggering around the place, looking around the club, which is so foreign and so far away from me. It's a club, I was supposed to have fun and forget about my troubles, and I'm doing exactly the opposite. 

I look at the blonde who is screaming something over the music, but I can't hear her. I think she's asking me if I'm okay, but I don't even know how to answer that. I don't know if I'm okay, I don't know if I've ever been or ever will be okay. 

Austin. Austin. Austin. Austin said I should forget about her. Annabelle is just another girl. She's always been just another girl. No different than Simone or the woman that I'm looking at right now. She is no different, she has everything that any other woman has, she's not special in any way. I can forget about her. I will forget about her. I need to forget about her somehow. 

But the blonde... The longer I'm looking at her, the less breath I have in my lungs and the weaker my knees are. She is weirded out. She's freaking out. She has no idea what's happening. I don't know what's happening. 

"Sincere and good. That's what matters!"

I... God, I can't... 

I can't do this to her...

"I'm sorry..." I whisper into the vibrations of the loud clubbing music, and begin to retreat by bumping in at least a dozen people. 

I don't see the exit and I'm wandering around, falling a couple of times both from being drunk as fuck and from being unable of doing fucking anything! 

How she squealed happily and jumped into my arms in the backstage... "You came!"

I knock down a couple of glasses, empty, full, something in between, but I keep staggering. I barely register what's happening around me. 

Young couples are seen grinding and swaying and dancing all across the club. All of them careless and without a worry in the world, all of them like me half a year ago. 

"Do you want to know what a moron you are, Nathan?"

Her words resonate in my ears, find their way into the darkest and most secluded corner of my mind and create a nest. I don't want to hear any of it, but it's still there and it's still present, following me around the club like a Russian spy that won't let go of me. 

"What was your plan then?"

I don't know... I don't know... My plan... My plan is... My plan is that I need to overcome this somehow. I need to forget her. She's nothing, she's just... She's just a woman I started to like. It's... It's ruining my life. 

The club is full and sooner or later I stagger against someone as I'm trying to escape this sweaty hellhole. I can't even look at a different woman... As I recall back the blonde from earlier, I get an intense vertigo, the hand of my guilty conscience reaching out for my neck. 

"I would've said it back, Nathan."

She would've said it back... She would've... She was so sure about me, even after everything she had to go through with Mason, and I was the one to let her down again... 

God, she would've said it back. 

She would've said it back.

She would've said it back. 

"I would've said it back, Nathan."

She would've said it back.

I hit the door with my shoulder and fall out into the summer breeze going through Boston. A couple of youngsters are having a cigarette, talking, laughing or helping each other throw up. 

There's Austin and his words right behind me, right there following me like plague just as well. 

"If you have a problem with a girl, find another one, or four, to solve it ... Don't worry, Nathan. Annabelle is just another girl."

No, no, no, no, she's not. She is, but she's not. She is, but I don't... But now... Now, I don't want another girl. I want Annabelle...

I should've told her, I should've changed things, I should've swallowed that goddamn pride of mine when she was screaming at me right then and there. I should've done something... I should've stopped her. 

The poisonous words spat through gritted teeth; holding back tears and heaving breaths, "You know what you are, Nathan?" 

There's just one thing I should've said... I should've said: Yes, Annabelle... In love with you. 

A/N: Seemed appropriate to write the chapter in which things are just getting worse, since I'm in a second lockdown again :) Maybe it'll get better - at least for Nathan (one way or another)

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~ Blackie