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But what melody will lead my lover from his bed?

What melody will see him in my arms again?

(Beirut)

---

Vodka really is the water of life. Isn't that what they say that word means? _?????._Countless distilleries had perfected their recipes over generations, crafting the finest of liquors, perfect for top-notch cocktails and all variety of mixed drinks. I read somewhere about icebox-like tasting rooms kept at subzero temperatures to ensure a perfect tasting experience. I think they even had one of those tasting rooms in the basement of one of the ritzy hotels downtown.

Not that I gave a shit about any of that. All I knew was that the two-bit liquor shop around the corner from my apartment sold handles of 160-proof stuff for only a few bucks. 'Vodka' probably just meant 'potato water', anyway. Whatever. It got the job done.

"Are you getting all of this, Roger?" Karl prompted me again.

His voice sounded as if it came from a great distance even though he was only sitting at the end of the solid oak conference table.

"Every last syllable," I muttered, screwing the top back on my aluminum water-of-life bottle. Almost immediately, I changed my mind, taking another swig.

"Well, good, because this is very important information," the muskrat scowled. "It's a big honor that you've been selected to head up this project. A big honor that comes with a lot of responsibility,"

"See, that's where we part ways in the vision department," I replied tersely. "You see a 'big honor', but all I see is yet another big fucking list of responsibilities being shoveled onto the back of a public servant who is already stretched far too thin and paid far too little,"

"We can talk salaries later," Karl snapped, a note of agitation sharpening his already-abrasive default tone. "For now, we're focusing on the big picture. Scope, that sort of thing,"

I took another gulp, forcing Karl and the others gathered for the meeting to wait in silence.

"Sure," I shrugged, handing the baton off to someone else. Fuck if I wanted to say any more.

While the rest of the group--representatives from the various branches of MACRO, assorted muckety-mucks from the Ministry of Security and the Bureaux of Defense and Home Affairs--gabbed and prattled on about their idiotic collaborative project, I sat slumped back in my chair, staring balefully at the wall opposite me while sipping occasionally from the aluminum bottle. The dialogue formed a vaguely annoying static in the back of my brain. Occasionally, phrases like 'education and on-the-job coaching', 'proactive solution', and 'departmental breakout session' would break through the clouded jumble and lodge themselves in my forebrain.

The persistent murmuring grew and intensified into an insistent yammering that hammered against my temples. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to suppress the sounds, but to no avail.

Surrendering, I pushed back from the table and left the conference, clutching my bottle. The door clicked behind me and I stalked back down the hall towards my office. Maybe I could spend the rest of the afternoon staring out the window, or perhaps I could duck out early. It had been a few days since I'd left early, at least.

"What the fuck, Roger?"

I turned slowly, irritably, to see an equally irritated Morgan standing in the hall behind me, arms folded across her chest.

"What was that in there? You have to cut this shit," the pine marten continued, as if I actually wanted to listen to her. "You're being tapped for something really big, something really important, and you're behaving like a bratty toddler. Gods.

"This whole thing is going to really change how things are handled--here and elsewhere. And they're looking to be looking to you to execute a lot of it. So when they're in there, basically discussing your fate, it would probably behoove you to fucking listen in and pay attention. It would really make a diff--"

"--A difference? I really took you for someone with a few brains in your skull. But you don't get it, do you," I bristled, taking a step towards her. "These aren't regular people we're talking about--they're talking about. These are monsters. Gigantic. Fucking. Monsters.

"Sure, we've only had one or two isolated incidents since... San Javier," I said, barely managing to get the name of the city out. "But how long is that going to last? And what happens if and when they come at us full force? Do those fools at Home Affairs and Defense think that opening some auxiliary offices in other cities is going to do a thing to help? No. It won't. All it's going to do is create a bunch of godsdamn fodder for these... these monsters, a wonderful appetizer to the main course.

"You know what they need to be talking about? Nukes. Lots of fucking nukes. Nuke 'em the motherfucking second they show up here. Hell, maybe we can even get to 'em quick enough, send a whole motherfuckload of nukes back through the... Synchronicity or whatever the fuck they call it, and destroy them where they live. Blam!" I slammed my hand into the wall, causing Morgan to jump. "They're all gone. Problem solved,"

"You know that isn't a realistic solution in the slightest," Morgan snapped. Her attention turned toward the aluminum bottle dangling from my hand. "What are you drinking?"

"Water," I replied, starting to turn away.

Unfortunately, I found Morgan's arm suddenly blocking my way. Was she made of elastic or something?

"I can smell it on your breath, fox. You need to stop drinking," Morgan insisted in hushed tones. "Look. I know that things are really hard, what with Reynard and everything. But you can't do this to yourself. It's irresponsible. It's destructive to you and it's destructive to your job. Hell, it's destructive to the running of this organization.

"I haven't a clue how Karl hasn't figured out that you haven't been sober at work a day the past couple of weeks. And even aside from that, you haven't exactly been a model employee.

"It's tough working when you have shit going on. But at the end of the day, you just have to,"

I gawped at the pine marten, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Holy. Shit. I'm inspired as fuck, Morgan. You really got me back on the wagon. I have seen the error of my ways! Hallelujah, I'm saved!" I threw my arms skyward. The aluminum bottle slipped through my fingers and glanced off the wall, thumping along the floor until it rolled to a halt.

Morgan cast me one snippy look as she brushed past me, mincing towards her office. She kicked the bottle down the hall away from me. I groaned loudly, chasing after my bottle. Nothing had spilled when I picked it back up. Thank the gods.

*****

I folded my hands in my lap, staring at them as if I'd never seen them before. Had those weird little white hairs along my thumb been there before? If I'd been my mom, I would have completely lost my shit. That woman was a complete shit-show, but if she cared about one thing, it was her godsdamned pelt. A lovely thing, black as night and silky as... a silk bathrobe? Sure. When she wasn't yelling at me or getting yelled at by Dad, it was oddly comforting to run my fingers through that fur. I supposed my inheritance of that coat was her only gift to me. For whatever it was worth.

"What did you want to talk about today, Ciaran?" Dr. Attwood prompted me gently from his chair. "We can discuss anything you want,"

"I really ought to go," I said, drumming my knuckles against the arm of my chair, identical to the psychiatrist's. "I'm wasting your time. It's not like I'm suicidal or a schizophrenic or anything like that,"

"You don't have to be any of that, you know," Attwood arched a brow, tapping his pencil on the arm of his chair. "I wouldn't have allowed you to book an appointment if it were frivolous,"

"These are really comfortable chairs," I commented.

"Is this about Tabitha?" the badger prompted, his tone gentle but insistent.

I froze, nodding slowly for some reason.

"I miss her," I mumbled simply.

"And why do you miss her?"

I blinked at the stupidity of the question.

"Because... because she's been gone for what, two months now? Gone. Boom. Vanished. And I don't know where she is," I decided eventually. "She's amazing. And I love her. I think I might even want to marry her someday. But she's just... gone.

"And nobody seems to care. They all pretend to, but I don't think they really do. Every time I contact the police and ask if they've found anything, they always tell me they're 'pursuing all avenues' and pat me on the head and send me on my way. Well, not literally. You know what I mean.

"I even tried calling Warren--Roger's brother--to see if he knew anything. He's in some sort of creepy secret service agency or something, I think. He knows everything. Except 'everything' apparently doesn't include where my girlfriend is.

"She's ninety-plus feet tall. How does someone like that disappear? She can_be found and she _needs to be found and I want her to be found and I miss her so, so much," I concluded.

Attwood reached for the box of tissues on his desk, setting it on the side-table next to me. I took a few, not sure whether I would use them or not.

"I cried a lot the first couple of weeks after Tab went missing," I said idly. "I don't cry so much anymore. I can't. I don't know why. It's not like I don't miss her anymore or anything like that,"

"Nothing wrong with that. People adjust,"

"This is something nobody should have to adjust to,"

"Of course. But perhaps don't push yourself too hard about that sort of thing. You're handling it as best you can,"

I nodded glumly. He was right. "But I'm sorta... torn, all the same," I added. "I mean, things were a little tense before Tab just up and disappeared. A lot tense, really,"

I glanced up, as if for approval. The badger wordlessly prompted me to continue with a small nod of the head.

"We had a... fight right before she disappeared. I don't know if it counts as a fight, really. I_wasn't angry. I was just suggesting something. But Tabitha _way overreacted and basically bit my head off. I mean, she literally put me away in a dollhouse she made for me. Just like that. And then she threw it against the wall.

"I could have been hurt or even killed. I'm lucky I wasn't. Tab was pissed, but she hasn't done something like that--something that could hurt me, physically--in... forever. She's learned how to touch me and interact with me without, er, causing damage to me. You know? Well, I think something was seriously wrong to make her that reckless. And it's scary. What if she comes back from wherever she is the same, or worse?

"I'm being selfish, aren't I? I am. I should be more worried about the fact that Tab is missing. But here I am being a fucking selfish shit,"

"Why do you think you're being selfish? Are you not important?"

"Of course I'm important!" I spluttered, before backtracking hastily. "I mean, no more or less important than anyone else. Look, I don't buy that whole 'everything revolves around self-esteem' thing. I'm just saying that, maybe I should put my own needs on hold for the time being. Just for while she's gone. What do you think?"

"Doesn't matter what I think, but for what it's worth, it seems like you already spend plenty of time prioritizing the needs of others, too. Just find a balance, okay?" Attwood said. "What do you think you'll do when she comes back?"

"If she comes back," I corrected.

"For the time being, let's just assume 'when'," Attwood smiled warmly. "What are you going to do when she gets back?"

"Honestly? Well... we're probably going to have a lot of sex," I mumbled, the tips of my ears tingeing a deep red. "Or, I would kinda like that,"

Attwood chuckled deeply, shaking his head.

"I meant more in the relationship department... the emotional aspect of the relationship, that is," he clarified. "What are you going to tell her about how you've been feeling around her and her behaviour of late?"

"Oh," I shifted in my seat. "Er, sorry. Well, I dunno. I suppose I'll talk with her about how much she scared me before. She cares about me. She really does. I just think that sometimes, when she gets angry, she forgets about that.

"It's harder for us, I think. Because she's so big, ya know? Sometimes she forgets. But if I remind her of that, we can work it out okay, I'm pretty sure,"

When the session concluded, I headed out with a hint of a smile on my lips. Everything wasn't rainbows and sunshine. But perhaps rainbows and sunshine would be on the horizon.

*****

The door squeaked loudly as I entered Suit Yourself. It had been like that from the very first day they'd leased the place. I'd always complained to Reynard to get that fixed (WD-40 wasn't exactly a rare commodity), but he simply insisted that the squeak would save him the need to get one of those door-entry bell things.

I missed Reynard.

Edmond's head poked around the corner of the back room as he heard me enter. His ears perked up and he beamed as I entered. The smile fell slightly as I dropped my beloved aluminum bottle to the floor absent-mindedly, leaning against the wall with arms folded across my chest.

"Is something wrong?" Edmond asked.

"Of course there is," I snapped.

Edmond blinked. "I'm really sorry,"

I hesitated a moment, noting the genuine hurt in the red panda's eyes. My expression softened a little.

"I shouldn't have snapped like that," I conceded gruffly, stooping to gather the bottle. "Sorry,"

Pursing my lips, I stuffed the bottle into a drawer of Reynard's desk behind the cash register. I could get more later if I really wanted to.

I started perusing through Reynard's desk drawers. I'd done it a hundred times before in the past weeks and knew their contents by heart. But it was comforting, in a hollow sort of way.

"Did you come by to pick up the check?" Edmond asked, walking up from the back room. The cloth measuring tape was draped around his neck, as it always was. It was slightly frayed around the edges.

"I should get you a new one of those," I said, gesturing at the tape measure.

Edmond glanced down, thumbing the ragged end. He shrugged. "I kinda like it how it is,"

"Suit yourself," I shrugged.

"Well, that is the name of the store, after all," chimed in a silky voice from the back room.

Andy strode in, spitting a couple of pins out of his mouth. He tossed a swatch of silvery-grey cloth onto the countertop, fixing me with one of those bazillion-dollar smiles of his.

"Ah, yes. Payday means good ol' Roger swings by," he murmured.

"Hey!" Edmond snapped, shooting the jackal a dirty look. "We just want to make sure things can work out all right for Roger. Give him a hand,"

In the weeks following Reynard's accident, Edmond had ensured I still got my husband's paychecks. It really was awfully nice of him. A kind gesture. Not something he had to do.

"Well, here's a big ol' slab of bacon for you to bring home," Andy slapped a check onto the countertop. He patted me on the chest. "Well, as close to 'big' as you can get in the tailoring business, anyway,"

I mumbled a half-hearted 'thank-you' and made to leave, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned around to see Andy sitting on the countertop, that shit-eating grin plastered all over his face.

"Say. It looks like you could do with a drink,"

You must be fucking psychic. I'm already self-medicating, thanks.

"Mmf,"

"Well, as it so happens, my shift ends in less than ten minutes. And as it so happens, I'm going to the Snakehole Lounge afterwards. And as it so happens, you're coming with me,"

"Seems like an awful lot of happenstance you got there, Andy. I have other things to take care of, thanks," I shook my head.

Andy tsked loudly, shaking his head. "Come on. You need someone who'll lend an ear. And, in case you haven't noticed, I've got a lot of ear to lend,"

I sighed, but shook my head. He had a point, if only in the literal sense. Jackals and their massive ears... Gave even fennec foxes a run for their money.

"Fine," I conceded. "One drink,"

Andy grinned and swung his legs over the other side of the counter, crossing over to a rather droopy-looking manikin in the corner.

Great. Now I had a creepy "date" for the evening. Except it wasn't a date. I was married. And it wouldn't be for the evening. It would be for an hour. Hour and a half, tops.

Casting about in desperation, I latched onto Edmond, who was sorting bobbins of various colors into their proper drawers.

"Hey, Ed!" I grinned, perhaps a little too cheerily. "What do you have on the docket for tonight? Fancy joining Andy and I?"

Edmond smiled apologetically but shook his head. "I'm sorry, but it's date night with Becca. We're going to some new sushi place tonight,"

"Ah, the old ball and chain. Gonna turn her into Giganta tonight?" Andy teased, thrusting into the manikin.

Edmond blushed violently and refused to comment on the matter. Andy smirked triumphantly.

Knotting the tie of the manikin he'd just violated, the jackal tossed his scissors onto the counter.

"Alright. I'm off. You good for locking up, Ed? Of course you are. Thanks, bro," the jackal clapped his hands together imperiously. "C'mon, Rodge. Let's paint the town red,"

If you manage do that with one pint, sure. Fine. Whatever.

*****

I pushed back from my desk, rocketing backwards across the carpeted floor of our small office room on my rolling chair. Several seconds later, I slammed violently into the side of Guillam's desk, knocking a few papers to the floor and jostling his computer.

"You're getting too good at that," the cross fox shook his head, leaning over to gather his papers up off the carpet. "Maybe it's time for you to find a new office hobby. As long as it isn't attaching the wastebasket to the wall and using it as a basketball hoop like you did before,"

"You're just jealous I have killer calves and you don't even though you're the one with a gym membership," I scoffed, setting my partner's paperweight aright. "Maybe I should quit here and start a new wheelie-chair based training regimen fitness empire,"

Guillam rolled his eyes prodigiously. He was good at that sort of thing.

"So what's up?" he asked. "You don't usually come flying across here like some sort of scarlet doom-rocket unless something important is happening. Or if you just want to irritate me. So actually, never mind. Guess all is normal,"

"Wellllll... I managed to get us reassigned. We got new digs, baby!" I grinned, dangling a case file tantalizingly in front of my partner's face.

"But what about the Raskatov case? We were making fucking strides on that thing," Guillam jerked his head at the stack of papers I'd just put back on his desk. He was never one to give up on something once he'd started. Persistent son of a bitch.

"Raskatov's transferred over to Sandra and Dean. Let them piece together the scaps with that stupid trainwreck. We got fresh meat! Well... hopefully not meat. Fresh person,"

"Somehow, that sounds even worse," Guillam shook his head wryly. "So, what's the situation?"

He made another grab at the file, but I was too quick.

"Missing persons case. Tabitha Crane. You met her, right?"

"I might have," the cross fox shrugged. "Then again, it isn't exactly hard to miss her around town. But do we even do missing persons? Is that even our thing?"

"I don't think so. But what the fuck even is our 'thing', anyway?" I asked, passing Guillam the file. "But no matter. I petitioned the big guy to open up an investigation into her disappearance. Managed to convince him that ninety-foot ferret girls are a special exception to the missing persons rule. We're heading the whole shebang. So read up," I tapped the folder.

"There really isn't that much here," Guillam commented, thumbing through the meager three or four papers the manila folder had to offer.

"And you fucking love it," I pointed out, rocking back and forth in the chair.

Guillam couldn't hold back his grin. He fucking loved the chase. If you shut him in a room with one piece of a jigsaw puzzle, it was only a matter of time until he would emerge later with the whole damn thing figured out somehow.

"So what do you say we get started? I've already booked us a conference room for the next couple of days," I was grinning manically.

"Oh, gods. You didn't already go all crazy and set up one of those giant fucking corkboard collage things you seem to love making, did you?" Guillam groaned.

"You can help me work on it," I grinned, practically dragging him down the hall towards the conference room I'd booked solid for the coming weeks. The game was afoot. Or whatever.

*****

Of all the places in the world to get a drink after work, why would anyone go to a nightclub? Especially one with the sheer number of flashing lights and other strobe-y, zippy doo-dads that the Snakehole Lounge boasted. I thought I would go blind. And probably deaf while I was at it. I don't know how anyone could have a conversation over the steady WUBWUBWUBWUBWUB of the bass.

Not that any of that seemed to bother Andy. He was in his fucking element, grinning as he sauntered nonchalantly over to the disgustingly shiny chrome-accented bar. We took a pair of barstools at the far end of the bar, in a patch of relative darkness.

Andy seemed to be a regular at the Snakehole. He ordered us drinks (Manhattan for him, whiskey neat for me) and dismissed all insistences that I open my own tab with a wave of the hand.

"You'll be drinking on my terms tonight," the jackal grinned.

"Uh huh," I replied flatly.

He swiveled so he was leaning against the bar, propping his chin up on his knuckles. I stared at him expectantly, brow arched.

So? _ I wanted to say, _What the fuck did you drag me here for?

"So, what's been going on?" Andy said. "You look like stuff's been troubling you,"

Wow, right to the chase, eh? I raised my brows and knocked back the whiskey. "Just work stuff,"

"Care to elaborate?" the jackal replied.

"Er, not really," I said, working to avoid Andy's inquisitive gaze.

"Aw, c'mon! Gimme something_to play with," Andy pouted out his lower lip. "Tailoring shop talk _really sucks. Even a dull day at your place must be a hundred times more interesting by comparison,"

Andy motioned for the bartender to replenish our drinks. I moved to stop him from refilling my glass, but hesitated and ultimately decided against it. One more wouldn't hurt. Whiskey didn't hit me all that hard, after all. Andy grinned his approval.

"That's the spirit," he said, leaning a bit closer.

Taking the cue, I pressed on. "Well, I've just been dealing with a lot. Reynard and all, you know. Gods, I miss him so much.

"And work hasn't exactly relented recently. Not that it ever does. They just keep piling shit on top of shit. But Rey made the tough times easier, you know? No matter how hard things got, I always knew he would be there in the evening. We'd make dinner, we'd talk, we'd laugh...

"Even when I was in danger, it was always Rey that kept me going. He gave me motivation to fight through that stuff. Make it through the day.

"So work's been piling on, I guess. But now I don't have my safety net. Fuck Karl,"

"What's going on with this Karl guy?" Andy asked.

It was going to take another whiskey for me to continue. I stared at the dark amber liquid, swirling it slowly around my glass while Andy waited patiently.

"You've seen all the stuff on the news, right? The monsters attacking other cities? Nothing too large-scale--terrible pun there--only a few attacks here and there, but still. Big nasty things hurting innocent people.

"Well, the Bureaux of Defense and Home Affairs want to do something about that. And apparently that 'something' involves opening up satellite branches of MACRO in large urban centers around the country.

"Except all the people who are going to be employed by these little satellites are going to need training. And guess who gets to spearhead the planning of that little motherfucking endeavor? Yours truly,"

I gestured grandiosely at myself, swilling whisky everywhere. I giggled a little at my klutziness and Andy reached out to dab a wet spot on my lapel, grinning.

"You have a really nice smile. I always notice it when I stop by," I commented, resting my cheek on my hand. "Anyone ever told you that?"

"Oh, once or twice," Andy grinned winningly. "Yours isn't too bad, either,"

I giggled, the tips of my ears tingeing red. My hand drifted forward almost unconsciously, resting on top of Andy's.

"You know, you're kinda handsome, too," I added softly, looking down. "I mean, not as cute as Reynard, of course. But still pretty damn cute,"

"I'll take that as a compliment," the jackal rumbled deeply, a smirk crawling across his face.

All of a sudden, I felt deeply uncomfortable. I managed to tear myself away from Andy's gaze. "Er, I gotta... I'll be right back," I mumbled.

"I'll get us another round," Andy smiled as I pushed away from the bar, diving off towards the restrooms.

*****

Here it was: the moment of truth. Or the evening of truth. Or whatever.

I sat alone on a stool in the Snakehole Lounge, staring nonplussed at my blurred reflection in the shiny, metallic surface of the bar.

"So, what's it going to be?" came the gravelly voice of the bartender, cutting through the throbbing rumble of the music.

"I'll have one drink, please," I responded brightly.

The burly gator arched one horned brow, staring at me in incredulity. "What _kind_of drink? Can I see some ID, kid?"

"The guy up at the entrance already checked it," I waved my hand.

Trying to remember some of the drink names Morgan had taught me during our earlier excursions to the bar, I racked my brains. Suddenly, clarity:

"I'll have a mantini, please. Grungy,"

This time, the barkeep outright laughed. He leaned against the back wall of the bar, bracing himself against the rack and mopping his brow with a bar towel.

"How much have you had to drink tonight? I think we should--"

"--I'll have what he's having," I muttered gruffly, jerking my head to the left.

"Coming right up, boz," came the sardonic reply.

As the bartender busied himself preparing my drink, I glanced around the bar. Why was I even here to begin with? Well, I wanted to be normal, to fit in. And according to Morgan, this is what normal people did. They went out in the evenings, they met nice girls, and they spent the night with them.

My prospects that evening didn't seem all that hot, in any sense of the term. Aside from a reasonably attractive dovess sitting at the opposite end of the bar, things were looking pretty scant.

There were a couple of what looked to be old-timers around the place, along with a fox talking to a jackal at the far end of the bar.

But the fox looked pretty famili--hey, wasn't that Roger? What was he doing talking to that, er, tall, dark, and handsome stranger?

"Want to open a tab?" the bartender asked, plunking a glass of Something in front of me.

I handed over my card--opening a bank account had been top on Morgan's priority list for me--nodding. Taking a sip of the drink (whatever it was, it had a cloyingly sweet aftertaste: minus five manly points), I decided that whatever--whoever--Roger did was none of my business.

Rather, it would be my job to try and help that pretty dovess near me decide what she would be spending the rest of her evening doing. Me, hopefully. Heh. Yeah. That's the spirit, right?

Embracing my new macho attitude, I grabbed my drink and sauntered over to the dovess.

"I couldn't help but notice you at the sitting there all by yourself," I commented, sliding into the space beside her.

The dovess looked me up and down. "What are you?"

I could feel my throat glowing momentarily in embarrassment. "I'm, er, I'm a dragon," I replied simply, shrugging my shoulders.

"Weirdest komodo I've ever seen,"

"No, not a komodo dragon. Just a regular old dragon. You know, kidnap the princess, flames and all that shit," I said, taking another swig. I grinned cheesily. "And as it so happens, I need a princess tonight,"

The dovess rolled her eyes and wordlessly pushed back from the bar. Fuck.

I retreated to my seat, finishing my drink in a few gulps. Glancing up, I noticed the jackal heading out the door, pulling Roger playfully by the wrist. So even Roger would be getting some tail tonight. Well, metaphorically, at least--it didn't look like the jackal even had a tail to speak of, or fur, for that matter. Fucking weird.

"Can I get you another?"

I whipped my head around, finding the gator staring expectantly at me.

"Er, no, thanks. I'll just close out my tab,"

I signed the receipt, tipped the barkeep, and slunk out of the bar, defeated.

Morgan had helped me to find a decent enough studio in Uptown. It wasn't anything to write home about, but for my salary, it was probably the best I could afford in this city of insane property values.

Sitting on the edge of my bed, I stared aimlessly out the window. Most nights, you could see the lights of the Saaduuts Needle not too far away.

Everything in this place fit. It all had a purpose and a meaning and a place. Everything belonged. Everything except me. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make it work. Square peg, round hole.

Who was I kidding? Why did I fake it? Why did I pretend that I could go to work like a normal 'person', relax afterwards at the bar like a normal 'person', meet a pretty girl like a normal 'person'? It was all a colossal fucking joke.

My phone was in my hand. Maybe I should call Morgan. She always knew what to do. Things made sense when she explained them to me, when she told me how to act and what to say. I needed my chaperone.

Frowning, I tossed the phone aside, sending it sliding across the bedside table. No. That was pathetic. I was behaving like a helpless child.

I curled up on the bed, kicking my shoes off and pulling the cover over myself. Maybe I could give it another shot tomorrow. Or maybe I just belonged by myself.