(( Author's Note: This is really short and kind of slow but I promise we're getting somewhere! ))

I sit quietly in the living room for a while. The bluntness and sudden crash of lips upon my face was enough to slow me down, if only for a few moments. Of course I'd been kissed before. This was no shock. This was no surprise. I wipe the last of the shimmering, glossy residue from my jaw. It smells like candy, and it sticks in a thin layer to my fingertips.

I frown and pull myself from the couch. There was little time to dwell on things that didn't matter… like Cassidy. Saving her only complicated things for the game. I couldn't let the shadow get any more leverage over me. His knowledge of Pewds was enough, and I didn't want to hand him any more bargaining chips.

Oh, yeah. Jerry. I had forgotten that I'd left him on pause. I stand slowly and head to my room down the hall. I pass Geoff's closed door—it sounds like a dance club in there. A dim light flickers from under the door, and I hear him talking quietly inside. I try not to eavesdrop, but I can't help but hear the quiet words, "Hey, Mallory, you love this song." There's no audible reply, and Geoff speaks again, "I know—great band."

With Geoff distracted by his phone call, I'd have plenty of privacy to sort out my latest …accident. I pass by quietly and shut the door behind me as I enter my room. There's a creak as I do so, like a tiny scream. I close it and lock it.

The black and white pause screen flickers ominously in the growing darkness of the room. My desk chair looms like an open mouth, ready to take me in. As much as I'd like to protest, I sit. I couldn't erase what I'd done. For all I know, the real Jerry was already gone.

I remove the bag from Jerry's battered body. The canvas had absorbed a lot of his blood, but still some is left pooling on the concrete beneath. I cast a glance around; it looks like an abandoned warehouse. Dried pools of oil stain the cement, and I decide that the blood won't stand out too much.

I re-tie the noose around Jerry's neck. I'm not sure what possessed me to string Jerry up here, but moving him while the sun was still up was a bad idea. Better, I decide, to finish what I had started. Satisfied with my typing job, I start hauling the body back towards the ceiling. It's heavy, but I persevere.

It's moments later before Jerry's body is dangling in the rafters. Red globs rain on me, staining the shoulder of my discolored hoodie. I slip his license in my pocket as I stare up at the slowly swinging corpse. Maybe he deserved it. I'm sure Melody would think so.

x

I sit back in my chair and my eyes graze the clock. I stare in surprise as I realize the time. 3:31? In the morning? I scramble to my feet, but I feel exhaustion dragging me back down. Wasn't it much earlier? The sun was just up… My head spins, and I struggle to remember. The quiet hum of swing music rumbles from outside my locked door.

I look at the screen with tired, puffy eyes. The upload confirmation screen. I squint into the brightness and rest a hand on my forehead. Why couldn't I remember any of that? There's a knock at my door.

"Breakfast?" Comes Geoff's voice. The music flows around him to announce his presence. I squint confusedly at the door, as if thinking I'd imagined it. I hear him turn the handle only to be met with a dull click. The music fades as he moves away from my door with silent defeat.

"It's 3:30," I manage to mutter, delayed. He doesn't seem to hear me, or maybe he doesn't care. Who could think to eat now? My conscience is full enough. Yet the smell of bacon slipping in through the cracks is tantalizing. I summon up the energy to walk to the kitchen. Maybe one piece of bacon couldn't hurt.

I stumble over the hardwood floors, into the over-stimulating world of swing and sizzling meat. I find myself leaning up against the doorframe. Geoff, not having changed his clothes since yesterday, stands at the stove with a spatula in hand. A small stack of pancakes sits to his right. There are three places set at the table.

"Geoff," I say, but he doesn't respond. I call louder, "Geoff!" He pulls an earphone from his ear and gives me a questioning look. I can't help but think that the earphones are redundant, as music plays from the stereo on the counter.

"Good morning," says Geoff.

"It's barely morning," I manage to grumble. It's not his fault that I was awake, but I didn't want to admit it. He gestures towards the table. A moment of confusion and surprise runs over his face, and he removes a plate from the table. "Were you planning on eating for two?" I tease.

"Very funny," Geoff says as he returns the plate to the cabinet sheepishly. He rounds on me with a teasing look. "I was hoping Miss Cassidy would—"

"No," I manage to say. Geoff shrugs with a smirk and attends to his pancakes. I sit down, half-expecting Cassidy to phase through the wall. I stare at the back of Geoff's head, and I wish I could explain to him why I didn't want her in this house. But I don't.

My eyes wander around the kitchen. Everything was as it should be, except for a note stuck to the fridge with a magnet. A yellow letter C. "Hey, Geoff… What's that on the fridge?"

Geoff's eyes leave the stove after a moment. He pulls the note from under the magnet with his free hand. The C magnet stares back at me. Geoff reads, "What a good guardian you have." I swallow nervously, wishing I had food in front of me to occupy my mouth with.

He stops, and looks at me sideways. "This yours?" Geoff says hopefully. The room might as well have been silent, because I couldn't hear a thing.

"No," I say simply. I watch Geoff's eyebrows furrow. I can see the wheels turning in his head: Cassidy?

I frown. I don't think this is Cassidy's, although that could not be clear to Geoff. Regardless of its writer, the note made one thing very clear. They thought of me as vulnerable, and perhaps I was if this made its way into my kitchen. My eyes fall on Geoff, swimming in his own conclusions.

"Did Cassidy leave anything?" Geoff says.

"I don't think so." I play dumb. I know it wasn't her. "That's such a strange thing to say."

"Almost rude," mutters Geoff. "I'm not your keeper… not that you need one." I agree silently as he turns back to the stove. While his thoughts turn quickly to the pancakes and bacon, I haven't forgotten something.

"Did you happen to install that security system?" I ask as Geoff comes to the table with plates full of food. I pull a pancake onto my plate and thank him.

He looks at me like I just bit him. "What do you mean? You helped me install it yesterday."

I frown at him. I don't remember. "Oh, yeah. Of course," I try to sound convincing. I throw in a tired yawn for good measure. "Still half asleep, sorry."

Geoff seems to let it go, but I still see some flicker of concern in his eyes. I begin to speak, but he cuts me off, "Where are you going all the time, Cry?"

The confrontation in his voice startles me. I've been going out? I… don't remember. Fear sinks into my chest. I don't remember. He doesn't look mad, but his face is serious. I don't want to answer Geoff. He's not my keeper. "Just… out for air."

"I think we both know that's bullshit," he breaks eye contact and starts cutting into his pancake. I feel like I'm talking to my mom… I stare at my plate, no longer hungry. There's a moment of uncomfortable silence, and I let the music fill in the space. He starts to speak again, "If it's drugs—"

"It's not-." My voice raises in my throat as fear grips me. Why don't I remember? Why don't I know? "I don't-."

"Hey, don't get defensive. I wasn't accusing," Geoff stays calm. He keeps eating as if we're discussing the weather. I wish we were. "We've all done things. You can confide in me." Something about those words broke me. Yes, Geoff. We have all done things. But could you really understand what I'd done?

"Damn it, Geoff, I don't remember," I admit. There's an edge to my voice that I didn't intend, but it seems to glide over Geoff's skin. He looks up with a soft concern. "I might as well have been sleeping through my own life. I'm missing some things."

He seems to consider this and swallows his last forkful of pancake. "That explains the security system." I don't meet his eyes. "Is this a common thing for you?"

It's happened a few times. I miss an hour here and there, a few minutes slip through my fingers. Just little enough to be chocked up to absentmindedness. But recently… "More and more frequently," I say.

"And," Geoff studies me from across the table, and I feel like I'm on Dr. Phil, "have you ever done anything you wouldn't have done if you were aware?"

I wrestle with an answer. No feels like a lie, but yes feel like a cry for help. And that didn't seem to be within the rules. I swallow. "I… maybe." Geoff gives me a skeptical look. "I can't tell you." That didn't seem within the rules, either.

Geoff raises an eyebrow, and his voice lowers as if someone was listening. I swallow nervously. Someone could be. "Are you mixed up with some bad people?"

I shrink under the question. I want to sleep. I don't want to play fix-me-up therapy with a guy with a soul patch. Still, I look back at him across the table. An ally couldn't hurt me, could he? "Yes," I mouth the word I'm too terrified to say. Maybe it was impulse. Maybe I wanted help.

He nods silently and keeps eating. Every couple minutes he looks up at me. I pick up my fork and I start my now-cold pancake. "Hey, Geoff," I say to change the subject, "Who's Mallory?"

There's hesitation and Geoff doesn't meet my eyes. "Who?" He brings a mug of coffee to his mouth to drown his speaking. I blink in surprise.

"You were on the phone with someone last night. It sounded like you say that name," I explain. His reaction made me curious. I had shared something, maybe I could get something out of Geoff. He stays quiet, however, and I think I've hit a dead end.

"She's my fiancée," Geoff mumbles distantly, "She was my fiancée."

"Oh—" I don't have time to apologize; he's speaking again.

"Mal died in a motorcycle accident two years ago," he says. Oh, oh. Oh. I want to speak, but Geoff gives me no time. "I still… talk to her," he admits. "Sometimes it's like she never left."

I wasn't the only one in need of some Dr. Phil time. I don't know what to say to him… that's not something I'm familiar with. I make an attempt, "You must have been really close."

Geoff nods. I take my cue to shut up. We clean our plates and I'm left to clean up the kitchen alone with my thoughts.

Was it really wise of me to trust Geoff with my issues, no matter how vaguely? I wash leftover syrup off a plate and tip a cup into the sink. He seems to have his own set of issues to haunt him, why should I burden him with mine? They burdened me enough. And by the sounds of it— I hear Geoff blaring his music down the hall— Geoff had plenty to drown out as well.