Alcohol and driving are not a good combo, but today, I hope I die.

I'm drunk, that's for sure, and it's making everything worse. Miss Alcohol-Numbs-Me must've been murdered by my ridiculous avalanche of emotions for Annabelle.

It's so many things at the same time. I'm angry, I'm desperate, dizzy, sick, exhausted and just overall broken.

I'm... I don't know. I'm just not okay.

As much as I try not to think about Annabelle or whatever went down between us, it's always in a corner of my mind.

Waiting in the traffic light and listening to a song on a radio, I still end up wondering about the same thing.

Completely random and totally out of nowhere, I slap myself as hard as I can, and it turns out slapping oneself isn't exactly easy. But given that I give half of my face a red mark, I'd say I hate myself enough to truly hurt myself.

Just what the fuck is wrong with me. Why the fuck did I tell her 'yeah, you just bang with me, but I bang with everyone'.

Who the fuck in their right mind would actually think of something so fucked up ever? No one. Absolutely fucking no one.

She's still mad at me because she likes me as well. Despite everything I've told her, she still let herself like me. Did she expect I had a sudden change of heart because I like to see her around and kiss her every now and then? The way I see life has not changed and it won't.

I've had first hand experience with looking at my parents. Neither of them was happy. Then my mother opened a private business Jo's Whorehouse - fuck for free - and we all know how the rest of the story goes.

And Annabelle was aware of that. If you know something is hopeless, why would you let yourself go for it anyway? Clearly, it's going to end in pain.

I guess, we can both be blamed for that. I went to stalk her ex, for Christ's sake. I got extremely jealous when she went on a date. What I can deduce from this is that I'm just as bad, or even worse.

Yeah, I'm a hypocrite.

I'm surprised at my own strength and determination to get home that make me not plank in the middle of the hallway and wait to die of starvation. 

In college, Austin and I were discussing painful and agonising deaths one time. While I claimed, I wouldn't like to burn to death and turn into a steak, Austin said he wouldn't want to die of hunger.

Now, things have quite changed how I see everything. I'd rather burn to death for several minutes, I'd rather drown and have my lungs full of water, I'd rather starve for a week, than have to live with this agony every single day. 'Cause this pain doesn't make me feel more alive, but like a functioning and breathing corpse.

One thing that I remember from the psychology class I went to in college to stalk Violet, is that while women are more likely to self-harm, men are more likely to commit suicide.

And I get it. That goddamn slap only worked for a brief moment. And killing yourself is a long-term solution to all problems.

As I'm unlocking the door of my apartment, I stop for a second and begin to wonder if it is possible to stab myself in the neck with a key. Technically, keys are a bit dull, so would it just give me a weird looking bruise? Would it even pierce the skin? And if yes, would I just so happen to hit the artery?

Before I decide to put the theory to the test, I unlock the door and walk in.

The lights are on, the sound is blaring from the TV - another girl is getting a rose on The Bachelor - and I hear Devon mumbling something sleepily.

"Just like that, little one," a female voice whispers, and Devon's mumbles slowly get quieter.

There's a spike in my heart that jumps rapidly at the sound of a woman's voice. I'm momentarily set aflame when my first thought is Annabelle. However... it doesn't last.

The woman here is not Annabelle. The hair is not red. The physique is not Annabelle-ish. The sound is a bit too high.

The woman here is Molly's babysitter. She has her hair dyed with black. She has a slight pear body shape. And her voice... as I've said... too high to be Annabelle's.

"Mr Price, you're back,' she says quietly as not to wake up Devon, but naturally, it's all in vain.

Devon's eyes, a bit bloodshot, are suddenly open and he turns his head towards me. He throws something near a tantrum, stretching his arms towards me and screaming so hard his face turns all red.

Same. Honestly, same.

"Yeah... I'm home."

It doesn't feel like home, though. Home meant coming back here to find Annabelle... This woman here (her name is Alicia, I think?) is not Annabelle.

Why can't she be Annabelle... Oh, right. 'Cause I practically sent her running.

"I didn't expect you back so soon," she gapes and hands me Devon, who stops crying once he's cuddled in my arms. Man... Could someone else hug me and make it all go away too?

What do I tell her? I can at least try to appear stable, even though I don't feel like doing that. I've been faking the 'being okay' façade for so long, I'll create my own Wikipedia page, set my occupation as an actor and list that as the role of a lifetime.

"I decided to come home sooner. Devon's been stressed lately." 'Cause he was crying for three hours, while I couldn't pick myself up after Annabelle.

Alicia nods, but not knowing me as well as Annabelle knew me, she doesn't nitpick. "I could see that, yeah. I couldn't calm him down so he could fall asleep. But it looks like that's not such a big problem, he just missed you."

I look at him in my arms, and I get a sight of Devon lightly drooling on my arm, while he's trying really damn hard to keep his eyes open, yet they keep closing.

At least one of us will actually sleep tonight.

***

How do I know I may have fallen in love with Annabelle? This question has been pestering me for a while now, and it's better to think about that than if she's found some rebound guy by now. Neither of them is a particulatly easy or light topic, but one is definitely healthier than the other one.

Yes, the things I feel when I think about her or recall the memories I have of her is a strong indicator that maybe I see her as more than just Devon's babysitter. But one thing about me - I amp my feelings up. And I'm completely unaware of it most of the time.

It's stupid to think I only amped it all up and there's nothing I feel for Annabelle at this point. Maybe it's only my reaction that is so off.

Yeah, clearly, this sucks. It was an argument that clearly didn't end well.

Let's be brutally honest here - Annabelle and I... (it kinda has a nice ring to it) would be a disaster. It could be fun at the beginning, but my attitude towards all this intimate and commitment thing would eventually tear us apart. I'll have to say this a couple of times more to believe it, but it's better to be a bit in pain now, than be toxic later.

Let's exclude that I was cuddling a pillow the entire night, tossing around my bed, waking up every half an hour gasping and feeling disoriented, and that I ended up bringing Devon to my bed, so we could both fall asleep.

In the morning, I couldn't get up. I've had a bunch of meetings scheduled with Flora, Austin, Lenart, Owen, Blaire, Marina, and a bunch of other people.

Being busy and not thinking about Annabelle sounds ideal to me. It does. But the thought of having to drag myself from bed, spend the day with people who'll be wondering why am I not my old flirty self, is what chains me down and convinces me to stay at home.

I called in sick, which I technically am. I should be locked up in a mental facility, that's for sure.

It's then when I realise how hard it is for me to stay at home and be with myself. It seems I can't stand myself at all. But when I think about Devon and how shaken up he still is, I believe it's for the best I stay with him and at least try to fix him, if I can't exactly fix myself.

My biggest achievement of that day is getting mail. I run into a bunch of neighbours, all of whom I despise, so people like Rob, Veronica, Mrs Indell from the 2nd floor, and Eve and Philip - the pretentious couple who force their kids into all kinds of sports and other hobbies.

Why can't I meet people that I like? Like Molly? And my thoughts immediately shift to Annabelle. I consciously push the stinging feeling away and remind myself it's not that kind of 'like' that I had in mind.

I'm in the middle of feeding Devon and listening to whatever they're reporting on on the TV, someone knocks on the door.

The sad, yet hopeful part of my heart expects Annabelle, but I know and feel with my whole being that I don't know when will I see her again, if I ever will.

It turns out it's just Molly. So, finally, someone I like.

Annabelle.

God, no, not like that.

"Hi," she smiles and makes my morning at least a little bit better. "Do you need someone to babysit Devon today as well?"

"Hi, Molly," I smile back and lowkey realise thaz if she weren't with Rob, I'd snatch her in a heartbeat. "I'm not going to work today. I called in sick."

She immediately shows concern and she stretches her neck a bit to catch a glimpse of Devon in the back. "What's wrong? Rob has some aspirins if you need any."

"Oh, no, I'm all good. I'm having a bit of a stomachache, nothing serious."

Molly waves at Devon with the tips of her fingers and gives him a huge exaggerated smile that people use for kids. Then she turns to me, still worried about it. "When is Devon's previous babysitter coming back? I know you told me she's busy or something like that."

Molly... As nice as she is, and as much as I like her, she hits right in the sorest spot of them all.

"Y-you mean Annab-belle? Ah, I don't know, I haven't sp-spoken to her yet."

She eyes me suspiciously and she knows that something is up. I'm not surprised, I'm not even trying to hide it anymore. I'm too tired of it.

"Well... If anything happens, you can always drop Devon at my place. Alicia told me he's a cuddler."

"Okay. Thanks, Molly," I utter out. As much as I like her, I can't be around people today.

I think she senses that because she looks a bit awkward and taken aback.

I'm sorry, Molly. I simply can't.

"You sure everything is okay?" She squints at me, and when I see her weak smile slowly fade, I nearly break down and tell her all about it.

My pride doesn't allow it, however, and my fear of having to share personal feelings with someone contributes to that. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just this stomachache. But as I've said, nothing a bowl of soup can't fix."

I doubt I convince her, but she probably sees me as a lost cause. How are you gonna help someone that doesn't want to be helped?

Molly eventually gives me a good-bye wave and then one to Devon before she backs down the hallway toward the elevator.

I jump back into the comfort of my home. I wish I could say I jump. I more like lump into it. And it's not even comfort, it's just a place where I can breathe, exist and occasionally scream without anyone directly bothering me.

Devon is waiting to be picked from his feeding chair. Soup is trickling down his face, but he looks absolutely pleased with it. He's that kid that grabs the spoon that feeds him, grabs the contents and smacks them on his forehead.

Ey, at this point... whatever floats the kid's boat.

***

I fell asleep. It feels weird to say it, even weirded to do it. It was nightmareless and stress-free and I almost forgot how invigorating a nap which helps you escape the harsh realities of the world can be.

I think the TV in the background helped. A sound to block off the paths my mind wants to take, a frequency to disturb the radio broadcast my mind is trying to play on me.

Devon, all the while, hasn't left my side. He's been in the living room the entire time, but he barely disturbed me.

Strangely, he prefers to do things on his own. When I woke up, he made it his mission to roll the carpet together, and when he couldn't do that, he decided to lick it. Shockingly, the carpet did not budge anyway.

He has a couple of plushies and chewies here with him, and he plays by constantly mumbling something to them. Every now and then he'd get pissed off and throw one of the toys someplace, but then he'd crawl to it and bring it back to the other toys.

Being a baby must be so easy. Your biggest problem is when a toy doesn't talk back. You eat, sleep, shit, puke, and people gawk at you happily. I'd love to be a baby again and switch places with Devon. He could handle the Annabelle problem for me while I'd be busy eating dirt.

Weirdly, I expected this day to go worse. I do feel like shit, but I'm not entirely and completely lost. It, at the same time, feels good to be at home and to imagine being anywhere else.

For a brief moment, I consider going to Chicago to be with Deidre and my dad, but after a quick consideration, I think I'd prefer company of someone who did not completely fuck me over.

I'm still trying to piece myself together from this afternoon nap, but instead of doing it in peace, I have to answer an annoying knock on the door.

It's late in the afternoon. Who in God's name would want to see me now?

My ankle and neck cracking, I get to the door and open it without checking through the peephole. Amazingly, I like to forget that I have it and that I can avoid social interaction like that.

"Mr Price, good afternoon. I've come to check on the child."

Oh... no...

I wish I could smile to greet him, but I'm so empty inside I can't get a single fuck to give that would try and make this acquantaince a bit more comfortable. "Mr Ritchie. You're back."

He smuggles himself in, but it's true that I don't even try to defend my territory. "Of course, I'm back. Have you forgotten about the home studies already?"

"No. I just haven't seen you in a while." Not that I'm complaining.

Mr Ritchie looks around the room and sees Devon on the ground, rolling around on his back, hitting a couch every now and then.

This guy hates me, but at the same time he decides to approve the home study. I can see how all of this is gonna go wrong.

"I believe the last time I was here, your girlfriend was here as well. Not appropriately dressed as I recall." He shoots me a dead stare, judging me down to hell.

I try to gasp for air incognito. I forgot Annabelle pretended to be with me... She believed in me in the weirdest way, probably the only person besides Deidre who was surprised, but supportive of my decision to adopt.

I still can't believe that I adopted. What genius put that idea in my mind? I've only handled it well because... Because I had Annabelle...

I try to suppress the pain coursing through me. If I didn't tell anything to Molly, and if I regret talking to Austin in the first place, then breaking down in front of Mr Ritchie is out of the question.

"Yes, she was here." But now she probably won't step a foot near this neighbourhood because of me.

"How is that relationship going, Mr Price?" Mr Ritchie asks and observes Devon who is quietly playing on very calmly. Mr Ritchie doesn't give me an opportunity to answer that, he immediately goes towards the living room and looks at what's on TV. "The Bachelor?"

Just take the kid away. Take everything from me.

I'm caught completely dumb, and I don't think there is a single excuse that would justify that show.

"I-uh... I'm going through something right now." So, yeah, whatever happened to that 'not falling apart in front of this dude'.

Mr Ritchie slowly turns back to look at me. I see him eye me warily up and down, but suddenly he nods and plops down on the couch opposite of me. "That's impressive. You're not afraid to show your feminine side."

Sure?

Before I get the chance to say anything, which I don't know what would it be, he simply goes on, and poses an observation. "I remember this child to be a bit more... lively. Is that a part of the raising approach of your choice?"

I look at Devon, suddenly seeing this a bit differently. I mean, maybe he just wants to play alone, where's the harm in that. I always wanted to play alone, but May would follow me everywhere and demand I play with her, until I chopped off her ponytail with scissors - then she stopped.

"My approach? I want this kid to have fun. He's just a kid, I mean."

Oh, Mr Ritchie doesn't like that response. He lowers his glasses, and as he looks at me from above his frames, I imagine his bowtie looking at me the same way. It nearly cracks me up. Then I think about how Annabelle would laugh at that too, and my heart crashes down into the rocks.

"To have fun? Is that all there is in your agenda?"

"No, clearly not." Of course, I want Devon to have fun, right after he passes his classes and doesn't let anyone treat him like dirt. "But he's a baby. He should have all the fun he can have while he can."

His bowtie retracts back. Again, I think about how Annabelle would laugh at that. Aaaand here comes the momentary squeeze my heart's been experiencing over and over again.

"I could not agree with you more. Sometimes you do impress me, Mr Price."

Yeah, am I right?

What does this dude want from me? One second he's accusing me of being a shitty parent, then he glints at me with his glasses and compliments the job I've done so far. I'd like to say that I can barely live from the avalanche of feelings and regret and fear and who the fuck knows what else, and then use that as an excuse to blame him for coming at me so hard, but all I've done so far has been hiding the reality from this dude.

"How is the child adjusting to your new relationship?"

Oh.

Oh...

Whenever I get at least a little bit better, something swoops in and hits my heart all over again.

This... is fucking lovely.

I nervously press my lips together to try and hide the hard bite I give myself - using physical pain to deal with an emotional one, 'cause that's always healthy - and force out a smile that, I believe, twitches a bit. "He's doing fine."

He doesn't buy it. He stares at me for the longest of time, but, in the end, doesn't decide to simply drop it. "That is all you have to say? You haven't observed anything else in the child's behaviour?"

"As I've said... he adjusted just fine." I can barely breathe at this point.

Hell yeah, I noticed what Devon was like around Annabelle. Giggly, playful, even annoying, asking for more food, everything that a healthy baby should be.

I look at Devon from the side, and when my phone vibrates against the coffee table's glass uncomfortably, he flinches, and looks back at me in panic.

This is not good.

As much as I may hate the current situation I'm in, I still let Mr Ritchie in on the truth, even thought it's a little bit concealed. "He's relaxed around her, and he likes it when she plays with him. Basically, he loves her."

And I do too, in the most inconvenient way possible.

He listens intently, and based on the frequency of his squints, that is how he listens to me. "I remember her reaction to the child was a positive one. Has that changed?"

The only negative reaction she has is on me.

"No, not at all. She cares about Devon, as you've noted the last time, if I remember correctly."

Can you leave now, I have a self-pity appointment in fifteen minutes.

Mr Ritchie nods. "You do, yes. I'd like to speak to her as well. I do need to ask her some questions as well. Would you mind reminding me what's her name?"

I tense up all over, and all my mental power is diverted to holding back any kind of a sudden outburst. "Sure. Annabelle Lois Taylor."

Clearly not her Superman.

I don't think I ever told her my superman joke. She would've loved it. Or I have, but I can't remember. Or I think I have due to all the imaginary conversations I've had with her. Now, the Annabelle that talks to me is only the one either in my imagination or in my memories, but the memories are clouded and I can mostly just hear her crying in anger.

Mr Ritchie checks some of the papers, then goes on asking about Devon's room, his diet, his biorhythm, all kinds of things that matter. He continues to ask me do I intend to put him in the kindergarten, or do I have any plans as far as his education is concerned.

All of these things are fairly easy for me to answer. I never thought I'd see the day, but I'm happy Mr Ritchie tagged along. He is still trying to catch any glimpse of a mistake, or nitpicks my answers, but I'm only blessed the pain that's been a loud and constant companion now got a bit quieter. I think Mr Ritchie finds it intriguing, he even comments on it on one occasion.

During all this time, Devon doesn't seem to be bothered by anything except loud noises. After I'm done showing Mr Ritchie more of Devon's decorated room and ensure him all the safety protocols have been taken in this facility to secure the lives of all, a sharp sound of an airplane blares off of TV, and Devon loses it completely.

The cry isn't just an 'I need a new diaper' cry or an 'I want snacks' cry. It's panic.

When Mr Ritchie and I come to the living room, Devon picks himself up and in a stumbly manner rushes towards me. I get him before he manages to crack his skull open right in front of the bowtie freak, and craddle him.

Devon continues to cry and refuses to stop covering his eyes, finding my wrinkly shirt as a perfect territory to hide his face in.

I caress his back, since it's usually the thing that works. I tell him the usual stuff, how it's all okay  and how I'm there and he has nothing to be afraid of, but in reality, I'd like to tell him that I miss her too and that I'm sorry.

Mr Ritchie observes all of that, he stands by one of the walls like a statue and doesn't move at all.

When Devon stops crying and he's only sniffling with moans of a broken baby, Mr Ritchie finally moves. He fixes his bowtie, but at least it's something.

"I think I'll be leaving now. The parent duty calls for you, I see and I'd like to leave you to it. I see the child has gotten quite attached to you, and you've been very cooperative today, more than usual, so I see this current home study as a successful one."

I don't have time to put Devon either on a couch or on the ground when Mr Ritchie is already nearly out the door.

I rush after him, Devon still clinging onto my shirt wet with his tears. "Wait, Mr Ritchie, I wanted to ask you something. Is it... Is it really necessary you talk to erm... her?"

Mr Ritchie, quite shorter than me, lifts up his nose like a dog that has found a new lead. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

Well... I'll keep in mind that this was going well, so when he decides I'm an unreliable and unfit for this kid, this thought will keep me up at night. That I almost made it. But then had to fuck it up. Like I typically do.

Annabelle, Annabelle, Annabelle.

"Mr Price," starts Mr Ritchie "I am here to ensure the child will grow up in a stable and safe environment. It's your duty as a parent to provide one. I believe you're more than capable of doing that, but as of right now, things are not looking particularly stable to me. If there are things you need to work out, I advise you to do so as soon as possible. Children show that very clearly and they bring it all into their adulthood. Adults too, even if they refuse to do so. As far as your request goes," he eyes me again and then I think I evem get his symapthy smile, "I'll think about it."

A/N: I have no excuse for being this late. But I hope you guys will still enjoy this chapter of Nathan's self-reflection on the entire thing, and we can't forget the legendary Mr Ritchie!

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