You'd been staring at your phone screen for at least twenty minutes, yet nothing in the picture seemed to make sense. It wasn't an event that you remembered happening, even though the version of you immortalised in the file seemed to be the happiest you'd ever seen yourself, and it brought a knot in your chest the longer you looked at the beam on your face.

The picture was taken late at night, a few hours after Greg had visited (something you remembered thanks to a timestamp on a separate image). Dressed in your pyjamas, you had a controller in hand, and were beaming at the camera with the satisfaction of someone who had just won an online match.

'Was I...?' Brows furrowed, you powered on your console, entered the only online game you had and checked the logs that went back to when you first started playing. Sure enough, about a dozen or so matches took place on the night the picture was taken—and, much to your surprise, you had won most of them despite it being in a game mode that you very rarely played.

There was more then just a picture. Not even fifteen minutes later, a video had been taken, and when you hesitantly pressed 'play', it took all of your strength to keep watching.

'—you camping little shit,' the you in the video cursed, eyes fixed on the TV screen as your fingers expertly moved the sticks on the controller in your hands.

The person behind the camera laughed quietly. 'Just go up behind them.'

'I'm trying, but they're too high up for—are you recording me?'

'Maybe,' the recorder said.

'EJ, you're meant to be helping me,' you whined, sticking out your tongue even though you could only glance out of the corner of your eyes.

'I am helping,' EJ retorted, 'but you didn't like my help.'

'I take it back, I did like your help, now please help me win this match?'

EJ gave an exaggerated sigh, then said, 'If you insist. You may just have to sneak about and go up behind them. Go to the left, while they're all busy scrapping in the middle.' He continued to give instructions, getting more and more excited as the match got closer to the end. The camera had moved so it was facing the TV screen.

In the last few seconds, the player you were so desperately trying to kill killed you at the same time as you killed them, earning a thrilled cheer.

'Take that, you arse!' you crowed, 'EJ you're an absolute godsend.'

The camera went black, and a soft grunt was heard. The world came back into view a few seconds later, showing you squeezing the life out of a man wearing a dark blue mask.

'Attempted murder in action, culprit is (Y/N) (L/N),' EJ rasped out, a dull grey hand finding its place on your back. 'Video evidence located on their phone.'

'Shut up, Mr Dramatic,' you laughed out before the video stopped, leaving the real you sat in silence, staring at a blur of colours.

Your chest felt empty, as if someone had carved out the flesh and bone and left you with a gaping hole for everyone to see. The recording of your laugh drilled into your skull as though a tiny little gnome was throwing a rock around the inside of your head, holding your memories hostage as it cackled maniacally at your misery.

Your back tingled as the scene of you and the strange, glitching man hugging replayed in your mind's eye. Both the ghost his touch and the sound of his voice seemed familiar to you, yet could you figure out who this 'EJ' was? Could you hell. It was impossible—like trying to find a needle in an ever-growing haystack.

Ignoring the burning sensation that was steadily growing behind your eyes, you pretty much threw your phone away as you stood up, marching over to the front door. You picked up a basket that was tucked away on a coat rack, pulling a pair of plastic gloves over your shaking hands.

The forest was silent as you stumbled through the frangible leaves that littered the ground, unsure of where you were going, but certain in what you were looking for. You needed familiarity, something that could calm your racing heart and remind you of days long gone. You needed to be able to forget about the picture, the video, and the look of adoration that had bedecked your face when you looked at the masked man.

It was easy to find what you were looking for. A dead hedgehog by the base of a tree caught the attention of your frantic gaze, and once it was safely tucked into the basket you carried on your arm, you turned on your heels and nigh-on sprinted back to your house, a hand firmly placed on the hedgehog's corpse. It had been so long since you had comfortably held your equipment in your gloved hands, and you were so worked up that you weren't sure if anything else would aid you in your quest for calm.

You had never dissected a hedgehog before—something you realised once the poor creature was on the table—but, taking a deep breath, you made an incision along its stomach, gazing down at the organs and blood vessels and other little details that had long and fancy names. It had a heart, two lungs, one stomach, one liver, two kidneys, a bladder, both intestines, and its reproductive organs. There was nothing unusual about it whatsoever—it was completely normal.

Pushing aside the ribs, you gently snipped the lungs out of their cage and pulled it out, placing them down in a small metal bowl. You did the same with each organ, placing it in a way that somewhat resembled how they were organised inside the hedgehog's tiny body. The only thing that was missing was the brain, yet you made no attempt at removing it from the skull.

Pushing aside the ribs, you gently snipped the lungs out of their cage and pulled it out, placing them down in a small metal bowl. You did the same with each organ, placing it in a way that somewhat resembled how they were organised inside the hedgehog's tiny body. The only thing that was missing was the brain, yet you made no attempt at removing it from the skull.

You couldn't see.

The concrete dams had broken, and the tears were flowing freely down your face, choked sobs escaping your throat against your will. You barely managed to take off your bloodstained gloves before your hand covered your mouth as you slowly sank to the floor.

It was too much for you to handle. Not knowing who you were with that night was the final straw, and it was no longer an option to deny how vulnerable and alone it made you feel every time you had to enter your head to search for a specific memory. It was like the gnome had given up and handed the stolen memories to God, who was dangling them just out of reach, crowing in sadistic delight when you jumped, arm outstretched, but just barely grazing them.

Were you ever going to feel that specific strain of happiness again? Would there ever be someone who could fill the void left behind? You weren't sure if you could move through life alone when you could barely remember the past few months.

The universe seemed determined to give you hope, because as soon as that thought crossed your mind, your phone rang.

Taking a deep yet trembling breath, you took your phone out of your pocket and answered it with a soft, 'Hello?'

'Hey,' Jack replied. 'I haven't interrupted you, have I?'

'No, why?'

'You just sound a bit out of breath, that's all.'

You wiped your eyes, chuckling to yourself. 'I'm fine, don't worry about me. I just found something on my phone, and it kinda frazzled me, that's all. I'm fine, though. Honestly.'

'Are you sure? I don't mind coming over if you want a distraction or some company.'

'I don't know what I want anymore,' you said, trying to relax as you felt another wave of tears threaten to overwhelm you, making your voice stutter and shake. 'I can't remember things. I don't drink, but there's whole events that I have no memory of. And it hurts so bad, cause I looked so happy.'

'What did you find on your phone?' Under the caring and gentle tone, there was a hint of panic in his words. You weren't sure if it was because of your cries, or the reason for them.

'Promise you won't laugh.'

'I promise.'

The words came tumbling out in a jumbled mess that was barely coherent and intelligible. You told him everything: how you felt that you knew the masked stranger, the look in your eyes when you had hugged him, and how empty you felt. You told him each and every piece of information and feeling that you could through the soft weeps that racked your core. You told him that as a teenager, you had spent night after night fantasising about a life spent with someone by your side, even though you never truly believed it would happen.

'When will I get that?' You sniffed, wiping your eyes and nose. 'When is it my turn to be happy?'

Jack was quiet, and you could faintly hear his fingers tapping against something solid. Then, he spoke: 'I know they always say not to depend on other people for happiness, but there's something special about the happiness from a relationship. I think you'll get that sooner then you think, and to not give up. This emptiness isn't permanent. I promise.'

'I hope whoever I'm destined to be with hurries the fuck up,' you said, a laugh tickling your throat. 'I'm getting tired over here.'

'Don't worry—he will.'

'You sound so sure.'

'Good things come to those who wait. Besides—'

The doorbell suddenly ringing made a small, sharp scream slip past your lips, heart throbbing.

'Oh shit,' you gasped, 'holy fucking shit.' Getting to your feet, you peered through the curtains and out at the car parked outside. 'Oh, it's just my partner.'

'You haven't broken up with them yet?'

'No, I get too nervous. I need to think of the right words to say, y'know? I better get going. I'm so sorry for venting on you like that.'

'Don't worry about it. I'm always here for you, alright? Don't forget that.'

'I won't. Thank you, Jack. I'll text you later.'