His brain is throbbing, if that's even a thing. His lungs ache as though they've both been badly bruised, and his eyes are searing beneath his tightly shut lids. He reckons that he's kept his jaw clenched this firmly throughout his entire sleep, because when he relaxes it, a tight pain emerges from the area, tense and sore. The pleasure and the serotonin that waved its way into his nerves, that hit his bloodstream directly like a shock of adrenaline last night are all gone; he only feels the pain principle now.

But it's his first night that he hasn't dreamt of her.

And Gray supposes that he has to count this is as somewhat of a win.

Click click click.

Click click CLICK.

There's an incessant sound beside him, a noise, like the attempt at someone trying to get something done but failing miserably. The pulling of a car door handle when it's obviously locked, the yanking of an object wedged somewhere that's not getting unstuck anytime soon, the use of a lighter when you legitimately don't know how to operate one, something along those lines.

Click click click CLICKCLICKCLICK.

It's exactly that: a lighter.

Then a scoff of exasperation, an insistent attempt at continuing to do it further. Click CLICK CLICK.

A girl's voice accompanies the noise, irritated and huffy. "Fuck's sake," she mutters.

… Shit.

What if he never opens his eyes again? Keeps everything pristine and dark in his head so that he doesn't have to face the world around him for the rest of his days.

A new, clearly well thought-out mechanism that won't make him have to confront his many mistakes.

Click click click.

Okay, now that's getting old.

The girl scoffs in irritation again. "Ugh!"

Gray drags a hand over his face roughly, feeling the stubble of his five o'clock shadow against the already-roughened follicles of his skin, pale eyes weakly opening.

To the girl, shamelessly naked beside him.

The satin covers of the bed are draped over her perfectly, covering one smooth thigh while the other is bent at the knee and brought in close to her body. There's a bare shoulder, and then the other one covered by the top of the sheet, almost as though it's been meticulously placed and perfected this way. The side of her left breast falls perfectly against her body; supple, unblemished, and pretty much pristine like the rest of her.

Gray watches her fiddle with the lighter some more, a cigarette between her lips dwindling, until the corner of her chocolate eye catches him.

His face burns when he realizes that beneath these sheets, he's as complacently naked as her.

Obviously.

And then he remembers the entirety of their late night.

Or, uh, early morning.

She arches her brow at him with a smirk, as though she's totally unbothered, her thumb continuing to click that damn little lighter, click click click. There's a bedazzled image of a tiara in the centre of it, with tiny, pink-studded kiss prints floating and embedded all around the perimeter.

Click click click.

Now he's getting annoyed because his head is still throbbing, but she wordlessly hands the lighter to him with that same little arrogant smirk over her mouth.

And he just stares at her, not looking away at all, despite his face being completely red. His thumb robotically presses down to light the cigarette for her as she leans so close into him. He can smell her; not sweet at all, not like… no, she smells expensive. Like imported soaps and hard to find flowers, lavish shit like that.

She smiles and takes a drag, before bursting out into a heavy cough. She screws her eyes shut tightly, reaching over her nightstand blindly to hand him the pack of cigarettes as she tries to clear her throat.

And he just takes one too like it's what he's supposed to do.

"Sorry," the girl says, after a few attempts at clearing her throat. She gathers herself quickly, offering him up a very coy smile. "I usually always just have other people doing it for me."

And Gray says nothing; just sits up a bit, ignites his cigarette and takes his own drag. He hands that stupid magenta lighter back to her, completely on autopilot.

The girl keeps looking at him expectantly with a tilt of her head. All curious, but at the same time with this sort of cocky demeanor which tells him that she thinks she's got all of the answers for everything.

And shit, here's the part where he's going to have to break it to her. Not that he cares about hurting this chick's feelings or anything, but his whole I'd-rather-be-alone-plan clearly isn't in action yet.

Gray can still feel her eyes locked on him. He guesses that she's expectantly waiting for him to make some kind of move on her, but he's too busy thinking of his great-escape plan to even give her the time of day right now. The cigarette creases between her fingers, like she's irritated by every ticking second of him ignoring her. He's wondering if she's ever existed in a reality where she isn't the centre of all attention, but she quickly just scooches closer to him.

"You must have been reallyyy tired," the girl says, and then she cuddles in closer to him and shit, yikes; he realizes that he should have made a dash for it the second that he gained consciousness. "It's like, six o'clock."

What time did they go to bed?!

Yeah, yeah he's way overdue leaving. Crap, it's the next goddamn evening.

It feels like someone's taking drumsticks and practicing a set over his head with them. His temples hurt; his knuckles are still raw, and his whole body feels spent and weak.

Not ill… just empty.

And before he can come up with some sort of an excuse to her, scan the floor for his clothes or make a spontaneous naked-mad dash for the door, she's the one to hop out of her bed, smiling at him all sweetly and opening a drawer by her nightstand. Jesus, her ass is perfect.

Focus, dipshit.

"Did you have fun with me last night, bad boy?" The girl flashes him a white grin, turning her entire body forward to face him. Every movement that she does is deliberate, slow and sexy. Not like Claire tripping over everything without an ounce of refinement to her; this girl walks with confidence, like she knows that she's better than everyone around her. "That was so hot."

He doesn't say anything, not willing to feed into either of their egos. Yeah, alright… it was hot. Was it the best sex he's ever had? Like, it was fine. It was good, good in the moment obviously. She's extremely pretty and toned and all that, a little… fake around her mouth and smile lines if he's being honest, but shit, still incredibly sexy. She wanted it rough, and he gave it to her exactly like that.

Maybe a bit too rough… but they're both pretty unapologetic about the whole thing. Clearly.

He doesn't even know this girl, let alone her name.

"Has that ever stopped you before?"

He can't help but find himself internally cringing at these words that she had used against him. It'll almost be a full year to the date of that fateful night.

"I mean, even the fact that you snapped that way at the guy—it didn't scare me at all," she says, droning on, even though he's been tuning her out for the last five minutes. She's just rambling as if he cares to even hear any of it.

Christ, he's actually an asshole.

"And I've seen a lot, don't worry. I'm very experienced in like, every department ever sooo..."

Yeah, what the hell has she seen besides someone jacking her order at a Starbucks.

Plus, hold the phone… Worry? Yeah, he's not worried of what she thinks about him at all. Only one who should worry is that motherfucker from last night if he ever even looks the wrong way at a girl again.

The rage that Gray felt was unexplainable; hard to even process. It was like the thief's fingers were wound around Claire's wrist all over again. He had knocked the guy's tooth clean out of his mouth for laying a hand on her.

He could still hear her pleading in the back of his mind. Her voice was haunting, and it forced him to relive all of that.

It's likely that he'll never even hear her again.

"Like, one time, these guys were literally fighting over me. I mean, I don't blame them, but…" The girl pauses, trying to be nonchalant. "No big deal or anything, though."

He rolls his eyes at this dumb comment, but either she doesn't see it, or it doesn't seem to bother her.

"Yeah," she continues. "It was crazy. I mean, it was a time when I was such a good girl so like, you can imagine my surprise." She takes a very slow drag from her cigarette again, as though she's practiced and perfected this technique based on those dramatic scenes from the movies. "I'm not like that anymore though. I mean, it's how I have to come across sometimes, but I'm totally not." She gives him a seductive once-over. "As I'm sure you've gathered…"

Jesus, she's still talking, eh?

… Yeah, you really are a dick.

"Did you ever get kicked out of school for fighting?" she asks, humming around her room. She's not even getting anything; she's just pretending to look for something, showing off her body to him like she expects him to just jump out of the bed and lunge for her.

"Something like that," Gray mumbles, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from her. Focus on the cigarette, damn it.

"Aw, he speaks. That's cute." She looks over at him in amusement. He can't help but be annoyed and wonder when the last time someone referred to him as cute was.

"'Cause like, I got kicked out of school too, but I totally won't tell you why." There's this mischievous glint in her eyes as she offers him another smile, and good thing she won't tell him why because he really doesn't give a single shit. Oversharing builds connections and that's an absolute no thanks to that.

He wants to pretend like he didn't just sleep with a stranger and get the hell out of here.

… Oh, Jesus Christ, he ended up using protection, right?!

In a panicked state, he scans the room to see if there's a wrapper or at least some kind of evidence that he was slightly careful last night during his drunken state.

She sets her hand over her hip, tilting her head at him with a frown. "What are you doing?"

"Did we use protection?"

She seems amused at this. "Huh?"

"Did we use a—"

"Yeah, chillax." She ruffles through the crumpled sheets, producing a discarded and forgotten yellow Durex wrapper.

He heaves a sigh of relief.

She scoffs. "You're too much. I already told you I'm on the pill, so you didn't even need to use one."

Yeah, let's just put all of my trust and faith into a stranger who could ruin my life for the next eighteen years.

"Uh, where're my clothes?" Gray says instead, after another quick inspection of the room determines that they're nowhere to be found.

She pauses at the drawer, and yeah, it's her room, but the fact that she's just showcasing herself off like this, completely naked in front of him—

Because you guys had sex.

Okay… but still. He's trying to keep himself covered as best as possible. He feels so embarrassed right now and he can't even explain why.

She takes the barely touched cigarette out from between her lips like she's already done with it, dumping it on an empty, pink-marbled ashtray.

"They're in the wash," she tells him after clearing her throat again.

He stares at her.

Yeah, yeah, he way overstayed his welcome.

"You washed my clothes," Gray repeats back, like this is unbelievable.

The girl looks at him like he's crazy. "Um, no?" She cocks a thin eyebrow. "I had someone do it for me. He's actually my grandmother's butler, obvi."

What is going on—? Jesus Christ it's time to leave.

He's just now noticing a transparent travel bag with an assortment of men's soaps tucked away on one of her chestnut dressers. She hooks her fingers around the fabric handle, walking back over to him and placing it on the nightstand beside him.

Then she climbs onto the bed to get on top and straddle him.

And his cigarette nearly falls out of his mouth.

"I like your tattoos," she says, tracing over his bicep with the tip of her very long, very manicured nails. He can recall the way they dug into his back the previous night, but anyway. "They're so… ethnic."

Ethnic?

"What is that?" she asks, drafting over his inked skin. She tilts her head and tries to look up at him cutely. "Russian?"

… Russian?

He tries ignoring her, like he pretends that he hasn't heard her, but she's staring at him, awaiting a response.

And he just keeps staring right back.

"It's Greek," he finally mumbles, hoping that this will get her to stop talking. He's trying to focus his discombobulated mind on everything else that's going on, but he can't because she's straddling him so closely—he can feel every part of her.

"Oooh, I was super close. I've been to Greece with my parents; I mean it's nice, not my fave place in Europe, but whatever." She pauses with her lips pursed. "I like their spanakopita though."

"Oh," is all he can say. Does he care? Did he ask? No? Christ, he needs to leave. "Uh, listen—"

"But you know what I like more than your tattoos?"

Oh, Jesus.

"The fact that you have a huge dick." And then she leans in to kiss him and the cigarette between his fingers crumples. He feels his ears burning red and yikes, he cannot do this without the alcohol, no sir.

"My ex acted like a huge dick," she explains. "But you're definitely bigger than him, so don't stress."

Stress is all that he's feeling right now.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, letting it remain in his mouth because his hands are shaking and they feel like they don't belong to him anymore. He's convinced she's making him uncomfortable on purpose. "… Alright, so, I need to uh—"

"Yeah, there's some shampoos and stuff for you." She gestures toward the bag. "Like, take a shower or whatever. I have to go out and do some shit… I mean, unless you want me to join you in there." And then she takes the cigarette out from between his lips and kisses him again, before bringing it to her own mouth with a grin.

Yeah, okay—someone's not taking the hint.

And why'd she snub her cigarette and take his like what the hell.

"Listen—"

"The master bathroom is down the hall of my room to the right. I mean like, it's so easy to get lost, but go ahead and look around. And if you see an old lady, that's my senile grandmother, but she can barely see anymore, and her hearing is totally shot, so—"

"K—Just." He furrows his brow. For God's sake. It's like she's desperately trying to have him listen to the screenplay of her privileged life. "I need my clothes and I need to leave."

She blinks a few times. "Where are you going? You literally just got here."

Not literally.

"Look I… this was a mistake," Gray tells her firmly. "I don't… I don't do this anymore."

She grins. "Umm, you don't what? Have sex?"

"No. I mean… well, yeah, no—"

"You're sooo funny," she tells him, her hand on his chest. "And you're super hot. Not just your skin." She winks and he feels himself burn from beneath her touch. "Are you a model or something? I was thinking about it and like, I'm pretty sure we'd be considered the best-looking people here. FYI."

He's drawing a goddamn blank—what does he say to any of this?

"Yeah, I gotta go," Gray mumbles. "You were, um… it was… great, but I need to leave."

She frowns. "Ew, why?"

"Because I told you I don't do this."

"That's so hurting," the girl says with another eyeroll. "Like, you're obviously super lonely." She absentmindedly doodles circles into his pectorals as though she hasn't heard him. "I can tell it's been awhile, huh?"

… Is it that obvious?

She arches her perfectly drawn-on eyebrows at his blank expression when he's not budging. "You're really just gonna leave, huh? After we made love?"

Gray can't help it; this makes him snort. Whatever all women are smoking, send some of that shit my way. "Yeah, we fully did not."

She blinks for a few moments, her face void of any understanding, like he's just spoken another language to her, before she breaks out into another smirk. "You're hilarious, Gray."

Like, he's pretty sure that he remembers her telling him to choke her at one point—where's the intimacy in that?

"Do you even remember my name?"

Yikes.

He's not going to entertain this any longer.

"It's Lumina," she tells him pointedly, when he doesn't say anything. "But you already knew that."

He did not.

"Look, I… I don't have time for this shit," Gray tells her, already getting impatient. His hangover is killer right now and he feels the asshole-side of him coming out. "I have to—"

"Get drunk, get high, repeat?" She purses her lips. "You can do that with me, y'know."

"Yeah, no. I'm good, thanks."

"Look, you clearly don't have anywhere else to go right?"

Why he's offended, he can't tell you. "No, I do."

"You don't," she says. "And you're running low on cash. I checked your wallet, you're basically broke. Well, broke in my books—"

"What gave you the friggin' right to go through my wallet?" Gray snaps.

"You're so random," she tells him, getting up off of him lazily. She grabs some kind of cream from her nightstand, unscrewing it slowly and dipping her fourth finger into it, tapping the glob of white under her eyes gently. Just in front of him, naked and chilling.

A spoiled goddamn princess, clearly.

"So, I know why I'm here," she says, placing the cream down. "But why are you here?" When she speaks, it's as if she's trying to be sultry, but it sounds like she's just lost her annunciation at the end of her sentences each time. Is she going for a sexy-while-being-permanently-fried kind of vibe, or…?

"I'm just here to be alone."

"Yeah, clearly not!" Lumina glances him up and down in the bed. He feels himself turn red again as he tries to lower himself deeper into the covers to hide his lower body further. She smiles to herself smugly. "We had sooo much fun last night."

He runs his hands through his thick hair. Where the hell's his hat, too? "Can you just—"

"Okay, so, like I said, you don't have anywhere to go," Lumina states. "You don't wanna stay at the inn, like… just no. Ew. Ugh, seriously. Hang here for a bit, I don't mind." She gestures around. "I'm lonely too, and I like the company."

"Yeah, I prefer to be alone."

She ignores him, rummaging through a drawer and producing a silky cream robe. Tortuously, she slowly slides it on, the way that chick wears it in Scarface. Open and exposed with no purpose to even being worn on her body like this. She walks over to another drawer, plucking the nude-fabric of some lacy, expensive-looking underwear. It matches the satiny material of her robe.

Claire had a robe… that night he burst in before passing out, he remembers it against her skin.

Her underwear too… in his hands. In Trent's hands first, but ending up in his nonetheless.

Never saw it on her.

… Didn't expect to.

Lumina's still rambling on across the bed from where he is. How many drugs does it take to destroy the braincells that makes you remember all of this shit?

"You're here for the same reasons I'm here," she says, and it's the only part that he's actually caught on from everything else she's been saying.

He scoffs. He and this pampered rich girl aren't even on the same vicinity level of sameness. "Which is?"

"To have a good time." She turns away from him, slides the underwear over her legs, and rummages through her drawer some more, producing a thin little baggie between her fingers. There's tiny white clumped particles altogether, a very fine powder contained in this little Ziploc. It could be flour or cornstarch for all anyone knows.

But it isn't; he's not stupid.

She turns the packaging downward, drawing out a thin little line atop her dresser. Then she plucks a one-hundred-dollar bill out of the pocket of her robe, rolling it like a narrow little straw.

And she just does the line; just like that. He hasn't seen someone do it so casually in front of him since he was in the eleventh grade. But one second the white line is laid out in front of her; the next; it's gone up her nostril cavity.

Her head lifts, and she blinks a few times, before shrugging into her robe again, slinking back on the lip of the bed.

"I have everything to have a good time," she tells him, and it's a confident statement of sorts, altered by the buzz of her substance.

Gray stares at her. It was only his birthday not too long ago when he touched that shit again; why does this make him feel so unsettled?

What's the difference if you're the one doing it versus her? Like he has any right to pass judgement.

"We can go through the works," says Lumina. "You do your thing, I do my thing. And then, we do it all over again tonight."

"It'll be fun," she adds, when he doesn't answer. When he stays staring because what the hell is he supposed to say to a proposition like this, with a girl he just met? "I just wanna have some fun. And you can stay here. Like, I don't care. Your own room or mine… I don't really mind." She smiles. "I've got the space and… and it's been soo long since I got that fucked."

In what sense of the word?

Gray swallows hard, his eyes inadvertently darting around the room. Everything looks luxurious, from her imported sheets, to her crystallized chandelier, to the intricate designs grafted into the walls, to the massive size of her full king-sized bed. Jesus, she snorted a line of coke with a c-note; he only had his goddamn keys to use for a bump last time.

Is this what it's like to have more money than God; you just always get your way and do whatever the hell you damn well want?

He doesn't fit in here with her. If he thought that he stuck out like a sore thumb in Mineral Town, it's nothing compared to the unbelonging he feels right now.

"You don't even know me," is what he settles on.

"Mhm, and?" Lumina really is a sight to behold, just in front of him, totally… flawless. Every part of her looks as though it's been perfected, chiselled this way or whatever. She's got like zero hair on her body… at all, with pretty, unblemished skin to accompany that, legs that go on for days, and light brown locks which have been chopped short to reveal the sharp angle of her chin. Despite the kind of night they had yesterday, she's woken up perfect.

"I can learn to get to know you," she adds.

Like that's a compelling argument for me.

"No, I... I don't… no emotional connection, none of that." Gray scowls. "I don't do that shit, I told you."

"'Kay, fine. We can just have fun... like, whatevs." She shrugs, a proposal of this regard no big thing for her. Clearly. "This could be chill, what's your deal?"

"I don't do this," he repeats.

Lumina turns her head, looking at him as though she feels like she's been wrong about him all along. But then her eyes start moving really quickly, darting from his piercing, to his tattoos, to his whole face, and she just gets up, walks over to the side of the bed where he's at, and seats herself at the bottom by his ankles. Her knee starts jiggling when she puts her hand on his leg, and despite it being over the covers, her touch is hot.

"Listen… I've been so bored stuck here in this shitty town. And then I meet you, we hook up, and then you just leave?" She pouts. "Most people don't say no to me."

He hates how warm he's getting; what is wrong with him? This can't be the same guy who slept around his entire high school existence. He finds himself growing agitated with not only her, but himself. "Yeah, I can tell you're a princess."

"And you're like, grumpy-rude, yet reality T.V. handsome. And you have all your teeth."

He can't even wrap his head around the shit that she's stringing together in order to make these goddamn sentences. She's talking faster now too, trying to fit every word in a miniscule frame of time.

"What the hell do you get out of this?" he asks.

"Someone to do all this with, duh. Like I said, I'm super bored."

"No one's forcing you here. You clearly have funds to go where you want, so go."

"Yeah, I wish. My parents suck, so I'm stuck here." Lumina removes her hand from his leg and walks over to her jewelry box atop her dresser. She puts on a pair of dangly crystallized earrings with a matching sparkly layered choker, along with one of those extravagant Piaget Swarovski watches. "You could be stuck here with me, if you want."

Gray stays silent.

She perches her hand atop her hip, before rummaging through the dresser near the foot of her bed, grabbing a handful of clothes. "Whatever, I don't chase people so I'm sure not gonna chase you. My offer still stands. I'll be at the Blue Bar tonight, so meet me there if you feel like it." She looks up from her stash of clothing with a grin. "I have a surprise."

Yeah, none of this is happening. He's getting the hell out of there.

… Maybe after a hot shower. That does sound nice, though.

But even after Lumina exits her room, his eyes remain locked on the little bag that's been non-discreetly left out for him.


She's sunken into the couch; they're all in front of the T.V. along with Maggie, but it's on and muted. Daytime television re-runs of The View are playing; the five-female team talkshow hosts make deliberate movements that are dramatic and big, though stay silenced by her lack-of-volume. Their mouths are moving rapidly, and nothing is thankfully coming out.

It feels exactly like that right now. Karen's hands are frantic as Ann hurls questions at her, but she's put them both on mute, too.

When her fiancé steps in, he stares at them like he didn't expect Claire to have invited guests over, but he quickly just removes his coat. The snow is only now starting to melt, calling for a very chilly spring.

She's lucky that he's paying for everything, because she hasn't really been working much.

"What's wrong?" Trent asks, harsh tone snapping her out of her trance. "It's like a funeral in here."

Her hand grips the television remote so hard that it sounds like she's cracked the plastic. Her other hand clutches a tissue in case her tears start to spill over.

"Poor choice of words," Ann mutters beside her, shaking her head.

He turns, addressing only Claire. "What happened?"

Karen frowns, twirling a lock of her highlighted hair and wrapping it around her finger over and over again. Her other hand reaches out to rub Claire's arm, touch clammy against her frozen skin.

Trent stays motionless at the doorway.

"Did he say anything?" Karen finally asks.

"No," Claire says quietly. She watches the topic of today come up on The View: the guide to a long-lasting relationship. "No, not at all. I can't believe… like, all this time—"

Ann frowns. "You never noticed?"

The guilt clogs her throat. How does she begin to explain that she didn't even have the slightest clue?

"No—We were staying away from each other."

Trent takes a couple of steps toward them, though he timidly maintains his distance away. "What is this about?" he mumbles.

Ann stares at him, her eyes glassy. "Gray's missing."

The silence that ensues after this lasts for a solid four minutes, enough for a few commercials to pass on by.

"Oh," is all that he says. He stays still where he is, though she watches his shoulders lower, as if to say that's it? That's what you had me worried for?

Karen makes a face. "What did the old man say?"

Not much, and then too many things to grasp all at once.

How could she just not have noticed?

"Claire?"

She shakes her head, still unable to think straight. Maggie pushes her paw onto Claire's lap. "He asked if he ever… did anything while he was here."

Trent's gaze cuts into her sharply. "Did what, Claire?"

"Can you not have terrible bedside matter for three seconds?" Ann snaps.

How do I even begin putting this into words? "Like… had anything. Used anything."

Trent waves her off. "He's probably on some kind of a drug binge. This is on par with his character. Why do you care?"

Ann shakes her head. "That's messed up… a drug binge? Really?"

"Look," Karen says, trying to cut through their agitation. "I don't think Gray's in any danger—"

"You don't know the things we said to each other," Claire tells her softly. "He wasn't in a good headspace."

Her fiancé scoffs. "Is he ever? He's fucked."

"Stop," Ann admonishes, when Claire inhales sharply.

"Oh, well. He's obviously just avoiding the pressing charges."

Claire thinks about Saibara's words. The worst is that he tried to tell her weeks ago, but she wouldn't even hear him out.

No, the real worst part is the fact that she didn't notice at all; not even a little bit.

"He's missing?" she had choked out.

"I shouldn't say missing." Saibara rubbed at his bearded chin. It seemed that he was aging with each agonizing minute that passed on by. She'd never seen him this worn; he looked older than she'd care to recognize. "He did what he wanted."

"Which is—?!"

"He got lost."

It was so nonchalant too; a bomb dropped in the most plainest of ways.

"… You don't seem too concerned," she said, her voice hurling an unfair accusation.

"Claire, what do you want from me?" It's the first time that the old man had used his harsh tone with her. Reserved for his grandson and everyone else who pissed him off, but not her.

He had every right to use it against her, though. Why should she be spared?

Claire began to stammer, thrown off by all of this completely. "I—I... I just thought—"

"He runs away from his problems, you know this."

His words launched at her gut. Of course, she knew this.

They knew each other better than anyone else.

"Does Harris know? Have they heard from him at all? Have you reported this?!"

"Claire," Saibara said slowly. She was being stupid and she knew it. "He doesn't wanna be found. Don't you get it?"

"But… but he's too young to have—"

"He's nineteen; old enough to take off on his own accord." He shook his head. "This isn't a missing persons case. He left."

"But it is, because we don't know where he went!"

"You don't think he wanted that?"

Claire sank slowly into the seat behind her. The chair let out a moan, as the weight of his words were settling in and weighing down on her body.

"This what he wanted," said Saibara, trying to convince himself of the fact. "… This is what he wanted. I'm sure he'll come back… eventually, but for now—"

"He hasn't even reached out to you," Claire whispered, and something about this broke her heart further.

Why? You hadn't reached out to him either.

She told herself that it was because she had nothing to say to him.

But that was obviously the farthest thing from the truth.

Saibara didn't say or do anything about it because he was finally letting his grandson do whatever he wanted without fighting him over it.

And what he wanted involved leaving Mineral Town.

His grandfather nodded in confirmation. "I think that's a part of what he wanted, too."

"He'll be back, Claire," Trent tells her, and it's not even reassuring. It's like a promise. "You'll see. When whatever money he has runs out, when the dope is gone, he'll be back."

"And what if he's not?" Ann shoots him a glare, and Claire is so grateful that it's her asking, so that she doesn't have to be the one to say these exact words aloud to Trent.

Her fiancé shrugs. "Then he's not." The tissue in Claire's fist gets crumpled further as he turns to her. "None of us need this sort of negativity in our lives."

Ann swears. "Maybe if you weren't gonna press charges, he wouldn't of felt the need to leave."

"Ann," Karen scolds.

"You wanted me to just let it go?" Trent demands. "After the trauma he caused?"

"And what about the trauma you caused?" she snaps back.

"I just hope he's okay," Claire says quietly, half to herself, half to everyone around her. Even if I am mad.

She tells herself that this… this isn't a big deal. Gray always used to threaten to leave; it's just now, he had the best excuse to do so.

He's fine and he can take care of himself.

She thinks of him collapsed against her bathtub, the air thick with the shower's steam fogging up the air. Her t-shirt wet from his tears.

When he told her the time that he'd almost died.

He's not fine.

And he clearly can't take care of himself.

Is this all her fault? What has she done?

Besides his deceased mother, she's the only person on this earth who knew this one thing about him. She physically saw the turmoil that it had caused him to hold onto all of this pain.

If anyone else knew his secret, would they harbour the same kind of worry and guilt that she feels right now?

Trent shrugs again. "That's the Christian in you. He'll come crawling back. He's pathetic. You know he will. And that's when you kick him to the curb for good. Like I said, we don't need that negativity in our lives."

The room is still, and she knows that everyone can practically reach out and feel a piece of the tension. Ann looks as defiant as ever, maybe because she's feeling partially at fault for not knowing Gray's whereabouts either.

But Claire is the one to blame here.

Karen glances at the three of them uneasily. "C'mon, Ann. Let's leave these two lovebirds."

Ann shoots Trent a burning glower like she's decided that he's the reason for this entire mess.

But it's all on Claire.

"Hope everything is well with you, Ann," says Trent. He nods, "Karen", as the two make their way outside.

She doesn't know if Ann purposely slams the door, but she can hear Karen giving her shit about it on the way out.

"Claire," Trent says, shooing Maggie off of his spot on the couch. His brows are knotted, accompanying a continent of bruises still speckled around his face. They're fading to a yellow hue, and despite his eyes, nose, jaw and everything in between slowly healing, the entire picture of it is making him look sickly.

She catatonically takes Maggie into her arms while she blocks out the snarling from her. Everything feels vacant around her.

She is vacant.

"What's the problem?"

Stroking her dog's soft fur, Claire begins to try and regulate these next words. Anyway she puts it, she feels like a piece of shit. "I just… I know everything happened. Like, believe me, I know. But… I don't want anything bad to happen to him. I don't wish harm on anyone… and I'm worried that… well, I'd hate for him to think… that..."

I'd hate to be the reason.

She lets her voice trail off. Why can't she tell her fiancé that the fear biting in the back of her mind is an image of Gray not breathing right now? And her being the damn contributing factor in that?

She thinks about her hand whipping across his face, purposely shoving it back into her pocket quickly so that he wouldn't see her ring.

What has she done?

"Oh, please. Where else does he have to go? You know he'll be back." Trent mutters lowly, "The junkie that he is."

She wants to tell him not to call him that.

But after she called him every name in the book? Dear God.

"Did you wound his heart in return?"

She told him that he was a screw-up like his dad, that he should leave, get lost.

That she wanted him gone.

And he followed suit.

An ache stabs its way at her heart.

"What if he doesn't?" Claire whispers.

"Better for you," says Trent. "Remember everything he did to me? And then to you?"

How could she forget?

… Doesn't mean that he deserves anything bad coming his way.

Did I make him feel like he doesn't deserve to be alive?

Is this all on me?

Trent takes her chin between his fingers, forcing her vision on him rather than at the floor in front of her.

"Listen," he tells her. "I know I've been a tad hot-headed lately, but I got you something."

He removes a paper from the pocket of his trousers, unfolding it until it opens up like a map in front of her. He hands it to her, and she recognizes it as a flyer from Best Buy. She frowns as her eyes begin to widen.

"A dishwasher, top of the line," he says. "It's coming Thursday. I know you needed one, and I'm tired of seeing you break your back over a few plates."

The appliance looks like it's straight out of the damn future. It's smoky colour and intricate design promises the handling of tough jobs and tough grease, but she nearly winces at the price strewn about the page.

She knows that the adult in her is supposed to get excited about these things. She should be appreciative and kissing her fiancé's feet right now.

But she's just so worried.

"That was so sweet of you," Claire whispers with a sniffle, trying to muster up genuine gratitude.

Trent is looking at her like this gift was supposed to wipe the sadness from her face, erase all of her worries completely. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at her.

She nods to acknowledge him, mustering up a very pathetic smile. "Really, thank you very much. You didn't have to do this."

"Well, it's more time you get to spend caring for me," he says playfully.

"Ha," she says, but she isn't laughing.


"Harris, I'm thrilled you're here. I want all the details."

Harris sheepishly takes off his hat, frowning. "I don't know, Anna. This stuff's private."

"Well, you'll tell me, won't you?" Mary watches her mother bat her eyes like a schoolgirl. "I won't tell a soul."

She almost gives away her position behind her desk with a scoff. It's not like she's hiding out and spying… she's merely listening in on an open conversation that her mom isn't bothering to conceal. She's right there for them to see; it's just that they don't see. Neither her mother nor the neighbourhood watchman notice her, and she's totally fine with that. The library is dead otherwise now, and she's got her nose in her book, careful not to disrupt anything so that she can hear everything.

She's unfortunately her mother's daughter, after all.

Harris shrugs. "Apparently, the kid maintains they knew each other before."

Anna frowns. "What? Knew who before?"

"Knew the doctor before he got placed here. According to him, the doc misdiagnosed his mother."

"How?"

Harris leans his burly body against the shelf. "Says he did his residency at the hospital his mom first went to when she was sick."

"That woman looked horrible by the time she came here," murmurs Anna. She's clutching a trashy romance novel against her chest forlornly, looking off into the rows of books. "I mean, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she did. And then when she fully lost all of her hair… good God, it was awful."

Mary makes a face. The hair loss from the cancer was the worst part? Not the pain, or the trauma, or the fact that Gray's mother really hadn't stood a chance to beating this whole thing, even with Hardy's treatment? No, losing the hair and looking less than ideal. Dear Lord.

"Yeah… anyway, the thing is, the doctor did his residency back in Texas. Hardy knew him, says they consulted a bunch. Guy's brilliant."

"So, he was never registered under the hospital that Gray's mother was at?"

"No. Trent says he wasn't, and Hardy backed him up on that statement. He was just in Dallas, and then he got located here."

Anna smirks. "How pathetic. Who lies about that? You know, I knew there was something up with him, that little criminal."

That little criminal who helps keeps your husband in business.

"Yeah," agrees Harris. "The kid needs help. Only, he ran away."

"Well, good riddance." Her mother shrugs, fluffing up the ends of her hair in the process. "One less problem in this town."

"His… well, y'know I told his grandfather that it's not a missing persons if he's over eighteen. And I think the old man knew that but… he didn't even look surprised. About the whole thing, y'know? This was a long time coming." Harris pauses. "Only…"

"Only?"

Only what?

"Well, Claire came to me, asking if I happened to know where he went. And I mean… it's like the kid dropped off the face of the earth. Plus, I told her if anyone knew where he'd have gone, it'd be her. Like if he went back home or something. And that seemed to really… I don't know, cut into her. 'Cause she told me he wouldn't go home, as in, he said so himself, and if that's the case, then she's got no clue where he is either."

"Hmph," says Anna, clearly still miffed that Claire told her to shut up in church.

That was pretty good, though.

"So, then she asked if we'd try looking for him, 'cause she said she was scared. After he knocks the shit out of her fiancé like that, she's worried about him… but anyway. I mean, I told her, 'Claire, Gray's more than 6 foot and like, 200 pounds of muscle—he's fine, he can handle himself just fine.' And it's not like she could say to me, 'well, this isn't like him, though', because—"

Because this is exactly like him.

"So, I just told her, we're not actively looking for an adult if he's made the choice to leave. And again, it's not like he was kidnapped or taken in the night or anything—he left on his own accord. I mean, why would he stay here? Just so he could get charged?"

"She was probably having her cake and eating it too," Anna points out.

Mary closes her book fully now, not bothering to pretend to be occupied any further. "Jesus, mother."

Anna looks back at her, apparently not at all surprised that she's been listening in. "Oh, Mary, let's not pretend like that's absurd. I told you how she was dressed that night. And living with another man, unmarried? A man who wasn't even her partner? It's ridiculous."

Mary ignores her, turning her attention to Officer Harris. "Did you even bother calling the hospital in Chicago to ask?"

He frowns. "Huh?"

"Did you call the hospital in Chicago to ask about Doctor Trent?" she repeats.

"Mary!" snaps Anna, positively blazing. Her shrill voice echoes around the entire otherwise-silent library, radiating off the metal shelves of books. "That's none of your business! This is a private conversation."

Mary rolls her eyes. "Yeah, one that you aren't even supposed to be a part of, Mother."

She can't remember the last time that she talked back like this. Anna huffs. "Apologize right now—"

"It's alright," says Harris lightly. He walks over to Mary, with her mother remaining where she is, feet firmly planted into the floor and sulking behind. "I'm sure you want to know, given that you must be worried about him, too."

He places his hand on the desk, dipping his head and raising his eyebrows suggestively at her, almost in secret.

Oh, please. As if Gray is any kind of boyfriend material for her to want to be with.

A bet was a bet to try and get him, get someone, and that was that. She narrowed it down to Gray because when he moved here, he was the only person who didn't know her as some dweeb growing up. They were both single, and he was conventionally attractive, and it just made sense. Being nice didn't get her noticed, being the neutral librarian was just meh, being forward was way too much for someone like her, and then being a bitch did the exact opposite of what she was trying to achieve. Her cousin was the only girl on the planet who could be a complete asshole to men, and they'd say thank you for it. It's because she's pretty, not effortlessly or anything, but she is objectively pretty.

It was obvious her cousin would win. She could have easily lied about it all, but how pathetic would that be?

"Ah-huh," Mary pretends to agree wearily.

"I did call the hospital in Chicago, just to see if they ever had anyone in the department with his last name. Or throughout any of the departments, for that matter."

"And?"

"Of course, they didn't."

"Obviously, Mary," her mother scoffs. "Why would Doctor Trent lie?"

But why would Gray lie about it all too?

She's just not convinced. There's more to all of this, and she knows it.

"With that last name?" Mary clarifies.

"Of course… I mean, it's a common one, but no. They didn't."

"Unless that's not his last name at all," she mutters, completely under her breath.

Anna appears right behind Harris, her voice piping up. She obviously needs more material to run to her friends about. "So, then what did Claire say?"

"Hm? Oh, I just told her not to lose sleep over this, y'know. Hold onto Trent, hold onto what matters, and try not to worry, 'cause…"

Mary just stops listening, the thought of it settling in.

Unless that's not Trent's last name at all.


When's the last time he's been in a shower as nice as this? Never mind the mansion itself, the bathroom is what's impressing him right now.

There was the time he hooked up with that chick from that private school who lived in the Gold Coast area of Chicago, and she had her own private bathroom, with a pool in her backyard to boot as well, but that doesn't even remotely compare to this. He feels like he's in a parallel dimension or something. The soaps and shampoos that she's given him are the kind that they don't even sell at the drugstore. It smells like pricey cologne, not just any of the generic shit from Walgreens.

He's been letting the steaming water run over his body for the last thirty minutes now, shutting his eyes and relishing in the feeling. He doesn't even move; just lets himself stand there, wasting her hot water as he weighs out his options.

He's got nowhere to stay.

Maybe he could pitch a tent like his cousin, but he knows he won't even entertain that idea.

He doesn't like this girl.

He doesn't like anyone. Let's just get that straightened out.

He's been away from home—sorry, from Mineral Town—for weeks now.

He won't go back to Chicago, not now. Where would he even stay? With Kai's family, so that they could run and tell his grandfather where he is? Plus, as if he could afford the high rent on his own.

Just needs to forget about it all.

Only for a little while.

… When's the last time he actually had fun?

If he uses a technical answer, it'd be one of those nights in the city where he got so sloshed that he forget his name and the taste of her on his tongue.

But that wasn't fun. That was sad and pitiful; just manifests who he is now.

If he's being honest, it was that snowball fight with her right before the Starry Night Festival.

Before everything changed.

He didn't need drugs or booze for that, because she was fun right down to her core. Her happiness was infectious and he loved that about her.

But she's not here anymore.

And it's going to be like this from now on.

So, instead, he thinks about—

Wait.

Why the hell is he even thinking?!

There's a gorgeous girl waiting for him at the Blue Bar, and he's here completely wasting her entire water bill, trying to process what to do next. It shouldn't even take him a second thought; she's got it—the funds to get lost.

It's not like he's asking. She offered—no, insisted.

But he doesn't even like her, not even kind of.

So?

He already made it clear no strings attached, and she didn't seem to have a problem with that.

Why does it feel so wrong though? Across the ocean—

Across the ocean she's getting some while it's been too long since he'd gotten any.

So, screw it.

Gray enters the Blue Bar having just done a bump of her stash, that's all he needed. And he did need it; he didn't want it, he needed it right now, same way he needed it on his birthday. His brain isn't functioning properly until he takes it, and once it's in his system, he feels like he can run a goddamn marathon. He's sure she wouldn't mind either; it was a test. Lumina kept it out for him for a reason. He walked into her room, and whoever put his neatly folded clothes away put it right beside where she'd left it.

Like a strategy.

It's busy right now, people are drunk and chattering but he hardly takes note to any of it. The customers around him feel like a buzzing blur, colours and shapes that he can't even begin to register in his brain. He twitches when someone brushes up against his back as they walk past, and then he stays still, his eyes finding hers instantly.

She's perched on a stool, bright drink in hand, wearing a checkered skirt that looks like it's been purposely cut to be short as hell. He can see it up her thighs, the fabric a ghost over her soft skin.

The white top that she's wearing has been knotted against her sternum, unbuttoned a bit at the top so that he can see the delicate skin of her neck. Her lips are shiny in the lights of the bar, glittery and full.

She turns her head over her shoulder, and for a split second, she's not haughty or arrogant; she's surprised to see him there. But her demeanour quickly shifts, and she turns her gaze away like a tease.

He walks over to the ledge of the bar, leaning his frame against it as Griffin argues with a homeless guy.

"You showed up," Lumina muses.

"I thought about what you said."

"And? You kept me waiting, you know."

"Yeah. I was in your shower for like, an hour."

"Rad, huh?" She smiles again. "What if I told you I changed my mind?"

"What if I told you I changed mine?"

She gives him the side eye, and all of her movements deliver so much tension between them both. There's the way that she's looking at him, her hand flat against the bar and moving closer to his arm, her oh-so-confident air dwindling in and out when the proximity between them closes. "Ah huh?"

And she's leaning in close to him. Jesus Christ, for a second there, he realizes that he really does want to be alone.

But he wants to feel this emptied numbness more.

And if it comes with sex, then that's alright by him.

She backs away for a second like she's toying with him, takes something tiny out of her breast pocket, and puts it in her mouth so that it causes her to talk a little funny.

"Are you here to have a good time?" she whispers, closing whatever gap there was between them both. Her eyes look up at him as his heart begins to drum hard. There's people around them; he knows it. He hears their drinks slamming and their loud chatter and their music of exactly what a washed-up bar would be playing, but it's almost like it's all a distant memory in his mind. Because right now it's just them two there, and the rest of the world is staying off.

Gray doesn't bother answering her. He needs this buzz, needs this feeling, needs to paradoxically be empty with nothing and full with something all at the same time. It's a lot to process, to experience, and his nerves are running wild as his body goes senseless. There's this overwhelming, innate need for loneliness and someone all at once. But she's leaned into him, and he's leaned into her, and their lips have crashed right there in front of everyone because nothing else matters anymore.

Lumina relaxes into him immediately, and he follows suit. That's what this is; the minty taste of her, the fact that her fingers are wound in his damp hair—he's losing himself in her and allowing this inordinate sensation to kick in.

And when she deepens the kiss, he feels something against his tongue, like a pill, like a million little particles getting tacked on to his own, absolving and dissolving their way into his system, his blood and pores and everything just accepting it.

She breaks away and grins at him for a moment, turns to Griffin and requests a bottle of Grey Goose vodka to go.

His head is already spinning as the pill slowly melts further and further into his tongue. The pull of her hand against his, leading him back outside where he just was, where it's cold and unforgiving, but now it's not so bad when her warm hand is gripping his own.

"C'mon," she tells him.

"Let's have some fun."


A/N: Hi everyone ❤️ I know it's been a long time since I've written these past few months, and I truly apologize for that. I didn't think that I was going to need to take a break at all, but it honestly got so busy, and there were just some things to deal with in my personal life, but I'm back :-) I appreciate the messages asking if everything was okay with me during that time, seriously, it means a lot to me ❤️ Thank you for being patient and allowing me to take the time that I needed ❤️ I've had a lot of anxiety over this chapter, and every time that I thought that it was ready to submit, I went back and changed or scrapped everything about it due to self-doubt/ worries about if it would be received well. But I finally sat down and outlined the direction it was going in, and it made me recognize just how special writing is and has always been to me, and how much it's helped me. This one's a long one lol, but I hope that you guys enjoy, and thank you ✨💕 ️

Anyway, hopefully Mary's character will begin to make more sense as we see more of her (as well as her cousin hehe) in these upcoming chapters. I feel like Mary's always striving for the truth, while her mother is blissfully okay with convincing herself of her own little theories or fantasies in her head. And then, because Lumina comes across as very prim and proper in the games, I thought about exploring a wild side that she gets to exhibit when she's off living with her grandmother, like a no-rules, do-what-I-want-and-then-some kinda attitude. I view her as a very Emma Roberts character to be honest lol. But she definitely has some secrets to her, as well as an influence on Mary for being the "cooler" cousin, so we shall see 👀 Either way, Gray is here for her to enable and enact some self-destructive behaviour with. Oki I'm done hehe, thanks for reading my rambles everyone ❤️ Would love to hear any kind of feedback that you guys have! 😊