I was lost.

                  The warehouse, I’d decided, was not a good place for a party. Not only was the building huge, it had a ridiculous ratio of working light bulbs to dark corridors. A thick cloud of smoke clenched the air, which forced its way into my lungs with every breath, fighting back with the incessant urge to cough. And then, to top it all off, there was the way everything seemed to topple sideways every few seconds.

                  But I had a feeling that may have just been me.

                  I needed to get my bearings. Archie and I had been separated what felt like a very long time ago, just before I’d set out on a hunt for the toilet. It was really a miracle in itself that I’d found that; a string of people queuing cross-legged had led me in the right direction. Now, I was stumbling back the way I came – or at least what resembled it – in an attempt to find my best friend once more.

                  Every corridor was packed, with people pressing in on me from all sides. All of a sudden, I felt a coldness on my back, followed by the sound of dripping; somebody had spilled their drink on me. I peeled the fabric away from my skin as the liquid seeped unpleasantly through my shirt.

                  Spinning round to see where it had come from, I came up short. Nobody in the vicinity looked suspicious, nor had an empty cup in their hand. Either the culprit had scarpered with lightning speed, or I was drunk enough to be missing the really obvious. I couldn’t put a confident blame on either option.

                  My footsteps were clumsy as I continued up the hallway, crossing over one another, and I ended up completely misjudging the position of the left turn. I changed direction too early, my shoulder clipping the wall corner, and somehow went crashing into the brick on the other side. Sheer luck had me pulling my head back in time, narrowly avoiding a scrape on the end of my nose.

                  The place was spinning again, teetering haphazardly to the side, and I knew I was past the sensible drinking limit. It had been kind of difficult to keep track; all the time we’d spent with Hannah, she took it upon herself to keep refilling my cup each time it got anywhere close to empty, and it was too dark to notice how much vodka she was pouring into each measure. My chance to stop was long gone. The alcohol was in my system, and there was nothing I could do about it.

                  Still, I’d done enough stumbling around. Any more only ran the risk of injury, and it wasn’t like the corridors were leading me anyplace useful anyway. Gripping the wall, I twisted until I felt the brick scratching against my back, using it to steady myself. I lowered myself to the floor with the only grace I could muster and let my head fall back against the wall.

                  All I had to do was wait for the dizziness to pass, and I’d be okay. I couldn’t have drunk that much; for the most part, I felt fine, if a little disorientated. Taking a deep breath, I stretched my legs out in front of me and tried to calm down.

                  Which might’ve been possible, had someone not walked straight into my legs a minute later, jolting us both.

                  I opened my eyes instantly, wincing as pain shot through my leg, and instinctively yanked it back. The other person lost their balance but recovered at the last minute, arms flailing just enough to stop them falling forward. We both let out a cry of surprise – or pain – at the same time, which could only just be heard over the thumping bass.

                  “Whoa, sorry.” The person’s voice was strangely familiar as they turned to face me. Suddenly, they froze. “Callie?”

                  “Mitchell?” I blinked a couple of times, to make sure my vision wasn’t failing me, but the familiar face didn’t go anywhere. “What are you doing here?”

                  “I got dragged here by my friend,” he said, running a hand through his hair. It looked neater than usual, like it had actually seen a brush in the last twenty-four hours, but that didn’t detract from the fact it was weeks overdue for a ruthless cut. “Apparently it’s the place to be, but I don’t really see it. What about you?”

                  “I’m looking for somebody.”

                  I was vaguely aware of how stupid that must’ve sounded, considering how I was lounging in a corridor and making no effort to move, but couldn’t quite bring myself to the point of caring. Mitchell raised his eyebrows, looking skeptically down at me.

                  “Who are you looking for?”

                  The name was somewhere in my head… if only it wasn’t buried under a thousand other nonsensical thoughts. After a few seconds of racking my brain, I had to give up. “I can’t remember.”

                  “Well,” said Mitchell, looking mildly amused, “did you at least manage to find them?”

                  Think, Callie, think. “Er… yes. I’m pretty sure I did.”

                  He was peering at me strangely, though I couldn’t really blame him. I must’ve looked a sight, slumped in the corridor, coming out with words I was sure I wouldn’t remember the following day. Whatever I did recall tomorrow would probably only be regretted, so maybe it was better not to think about it.

                  “Are you okay?” I heard him ask, as the focus momentarily deteriorated from my vision. “Do you want to stand up?”

                  I noticed then his outstretched hand in front of my face, a silent offer of help in itself. Taking a few seconds to catch up with myself, I reached up to take it.

                  Then, I was being hauled upwards, Mitchell bracing himself as he yanked my weight from the floor into a more upright position. For a second, I thought I had it; my feet landed vaguely where they were supposed to, and my back was no longer pressed against rough brick. That, however, only lasted a moment. Just as I assumed my balance had remained intact, the room spun again, and I realised too late that I was falling forward. As I crashed into something solid, I felt Mitchell’s hands on my waist.

                  “Hey, hey.” His grip was steady, clinging on a little too tightly, like he was afraid to let me go. It was only when I froze on the spot, bent slightly forward, that I realised I was holding onto him, too. I drew my hands back abruptly, as if his skin was white hot. “Steady on.”

                  “I’m okay,” I said.

                  He didn’t look convinced. “Somebody’s had one too many to drink, huh?”

                  “I’m fine,” I insisted, hoping the conviction in my head was making it into my tone. Then again, it wasn’t like I could tell. The last thing I wanted was Mitchell thinking I couldn’t take care of myself; after our overly frequent encounters over the last two weeks, I was itching to shake off the weak, unstable persona I was sure I’d left behind on each occasion. Every time we were brought together, it felt like he dragged the weakness out of me, leaving it all unnervingly exposed.

                  “You sure?” he asked. “Who did you come here with?”

                  He really wasn’t going to let it go. For some reason, it sparked an inner irritation, likely fuelled by the alcohol in my bloodstream. “I’m fine,” I repeated, swaying on my feet. If only I could stay still long enough to make a convincing argument.

                  I noticed then his arms were in an odd position, poised to stop me keeling over. “Callie, I really don’t think you’re okay.”

                  My vision blurred again, cracking like broken glass, and I tipped forward. In an attempt to balance, I stuck my arms out, but this only served to make things worse; the unexpected momentum sent me further over. I tried to take a step, but one foot ended up crossed over the other, and I fell.

                  Mitchell’s reaction was reflexive; he lurched forwards, arms snaking around my waist and pulling me back into an upright position. I wasn’t quite sure how he’d managed it, but he had, and the action left us standing way too close.

                  Twisting me around to face him, our eyes locked. “Callie,” he said, without an ounce of humour. “I think you need to get home. You don’t look well.”

                  I could’ve argued, but an ominous feeling of nausea had been induced by my trip, and it didn’t exactly go hand-in-hand with my dizziness. Still, it wasn’t as simple as he made out. “I can’t,” I told him. “I came with Archie. I need to find Archie. He’s got a car.”

                  “That’s okay,” he said gently. “My car’s parked out the back. I don’t mind giving you a lift.”

                  His hair was flopping into his eyes, falling right across his forehead in a way that must’ve been just as irritating as it was to look at. I kind of wanted to say something about it, but it also felt like there were a lot of things I wanted to say to Mitchell, even if none of them were springing to mind. Instead, my lips moved of their own accord, settling for: “Why do you keep doing this?”

                  “Doing what?”

                  “This,” I said, gesturing towards the both of us, as if that was an explanation in itself. It made sense in my head, but apparently translating that into a form Mitchell could understand was a whole other feat. “Bumping into me all the time. Showing up at my house. Haven’t you had enough of me already?”

                  I was expecting him to recoil; the bitter challenge in my voice should have at least had some effect, but he showed no sign of it. Instead, after a few seconds of a blank expression, he smiled wryly. “I don’t think anybody could ever get enough of you, Callie.”

                  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                  There was something behind it: something I could see hidden beneath the half-smile, concealed neatly from view. And yet Mitchell just shook his head, changing the subject. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

                  His arm pulled a little on my waist, trying to coax me in the right direction, but for once I decided to stand my ground. “No,” I said, twisting round to face him. “I want you to explain.”

                  “And I want you to sober up, so you can concentrate on not puking in my car,” he shot back, only half-joking.

                  “Mitchell.”

                  “Callie.”

                  “Stop acting like this,” I said. Though I was trying my best to sound serious, even I could hear the drunken infliction across each word, which was greatly inhibiting the effect.

                  “I’m not acting like anything.” He shrugged, as if to emphasise his point. “I’m sober, and you’re extremely drunk. Now let me do you a favour and give you a lift home. I promise you’ll regret doing anything else in the morning.”

                  He did have a point. Being way closer to his usual state of mind than me already set him at a major advantage. Pressing him further wouldn’t lead to much, and then there was the rising feeling of nausea with every second spent in the smoky corridor.

                  Maybe getting home didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all.

                  I let one of Mitchell’s hands find my palm, curling his fingers around it in a firm grip. With a small tug, he indicated for me to follow; thankfully, he seemed to know where he was going in the halls that had long since turned into a maze.

                  Like he said, his car was tucked neatly into one of the spaces outside the warehouse, sandwiched between two heavy-duty trucks. We headed over, first towards the passenger seat so he could open the door and escort me in. I assumed he was being overbearing, but as I wobbled on my shaky legs climbing inside, I had to admit I was kind of glad for the assistance.

                  Once we were both seated and belted, Mitchell slotted his key into the ignition and glanced over. “You gonna be okay? Because I was serious when I said I have a no puking policy in this car.”

                  I managed a weak smile, though I wasn’t about to go making any guarantees. “I think so.”

                  The engine roared to life and he started backing out of the space, his gaze lingering on me for a second as he looked over his shoulder. “You know, you should probably text your friend,” he pointed out. “Archie, did you say? Just to let him know you’re okay.”

                  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah.”

                  I couldn’t seem to steady my hands as I fumbled through my bag. The phone was buried at the bottom, and when turned on the screen flashed up with several unread messages.

                  Staring down at my lap didn’t exactly help with the sick feeling in my stomach, nor did trying to focus on miniscule words on the screen to send Archie’s way. As we rounded a particularly sharp bend, my stomach lurched, and I looked up in panic.

                  “Mitchell,” I said, one hand gripping the edge of the seat. “You need to pull over. Now.”

                  “I…” He shot a glance in my direction before noticing the distinct green tinge on my face, realising the urgency of the situation. “Er, okay. Hold on.”

                  In a split-second decision that didn’t help the stomach situation, he swerved the car to the left, cutting over the edge of the road and straddling the curb. I was already fumbling with my belt when we came to a stop, but the button wouldn’t work under my shaky fingers. Thankfully, Mitchell leaned over to do it for me, and I managed to escape the car in the nick of time.

                  The nick of time being, of course, quickly enough to empty my stomach at the side of the road, a safe distance away from the interior of Mitchell’s car.

                  I had to hand it to him: he kept his distance. It made the whole thing a little less awkward, having him hover far enough away to pretend he couldn’t see me retching onto the grass. There weren’t many things running through my mind as the vodka burned its way back up my throat, but one of them was a silent appreciation that he hadn’t tried to get closer.

                  The violent convulsion of my insides eased up eventually, which was met with real relief. Every muscle in my body was now trembling, and I stood up slowly.

                  When I turned around, Mitchell was already heading over, shrugging off the jacket from his shoulders. A few steps later and it was being draped over my shoulders. “Here.”

                  “Are you sure?” I asked, eyeing up the T-shirt he wore underneath. The fabric looked much too thin, especially for the freezing January air, and having more than my fair share of layers made me feel kind of selfish.

                  Mitchell, however, seemed completely unfazed. He nodded, even bending to pull the zip of the coat up toward my chin. “’Course,” he said, like there was no question about it. “I think you need it more than me, anyway. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

                  “Could we just… stay out here for a bit?” I asked gingerly. The cold air seemed to be sobering me up, and I wasn’t sure I could yet face the confinement of the car. “Before we get back in?”

                  I expected exasperation, because I was pretty much asking him to freeze for no real reason. From anybody else, that would’ve been reasonable. However, Mitchell seemed to be full of surprises; there came no strange look, nor sign of protest. Instead, he nodded like I’d asked for the most normal thing in the word, and looped an arm around my shoulder.

                  For a bizarre moment, I thought he was trying to make a badly-timed move on me. I soon came to my senses once he steered me to the edge of the road, lowering us both down onto the edge of the pavement to sit side-by-side. He didn’t even position himself a little too close, like I expected; our arms were barely brushing, and looking over put our faces at a safe distance.

                  We sat in silence for a long while. The road was mostly empty, owing to the strange hour of the night, but when a car roared past it hardly went unnoticed. Our breaths came out like exhaust fumes of our own, white clouds intermingling with the frigid air. I was content to just stay there. The stillness made it easier to take myself out of the moment, pretend I was somewhere else, put the whole thing out of my mind until it almost felt like it wasn’t happening.

                  But then Mitchell spoke.

                  “So what’s all this about?”

                  Having not expected any words in the first place, I was already surprised, but there was something more to those. “What?”

                  “All this,” he said, as if that clarified anything. “The party. All the alcohol. I didn’t think this type of thing was your scene.”

                  My initial instinct was to defend myself; it felt like a challenge, and one I didn’t want to shy away from. Not in front of Mitchell, who’d developed a habit of making me feel uneasy, though not always in a bad way. He was confusing in every sense. But before any retaliation could escape me, I settled for something else. Something simpler. “I don’t know.”

                  Looking over, I noticed he was peering at me, studying my expression with an intensity that put me on edge. His eyes felt like they were scanning for a patch of weakness, something that would allow him to delve deeper. Though he didn’t say anything, the insistence was there all the same, allowing space for me to continue.

                  “Why are you so interested?” I found myself snapping, a little too harshly. Maybe I should’ve been more careful with my words, but Mitchell was drawing something out of me, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. “We’re not friends.”

                  The words felt justified at first, but once I saw him wince, I realised I’d overstepped a line.

                  “Sorry,” I cut in, before he could say anything. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

                  “No, it’s fine. Point taken.” He shrugged, looking a little too unconcerned. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just always think sharing’s better than keeping it to yourself, you know?”

                  He said it like I did know, like the concept was familiar – even though I’d spent the last six weeks of my life doing the exact opposite. I didn’t say anything.

                  There was a reason behind it all, of course; my sudden party spirit hadn’t been completely out of the blue. Still, that didn’t mean I had to tell everything to Mitchell. How were you even supposed to explain that you’d taken on the responsibility of completing your dead sister’s bucket list, and that the first item had been to get drunk out of your mind?

                  You weren’t. Surely that was why I was having so much difficulty finding the words; everything in me was fighting against it. The bucket list was a private affair, and that was the way I intended it to stay.

                  And yet, all of a sudden, it came out.

                  “It’s not me,” I said. “It’s my sister.”

                  The words seemed to startle Mitchell slightly; he must’ve been expecting silence. I realised only once I saw his strange look that I may have sounded a little crazy, taking this as my cue to elaborate. “Not like that,” I clarified. “I’m not going mad, or anything.”

                  He laughed a little then, which was a relief to hear. At least he hadn’t run a mile already. “Glad to hear it. I don’t know if I could deal with a drunk and mad Callie. Just one of those is enough.”

                  “No, I’m still sane. Ish.”

                  “Ish?”

                  I shrugged. “It’s not that easy to tell,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure where I was going with it all. “God knows if I’m even doing the right thing.”

                  He cleared his throat. “Well. You know, if you’re looking for a second opinion on that whole dilemma, there’s somebody sat next to you right now.”

                  When I looked over, he was smiling tentatively: a facial expression that maybe should’ve looked out of place, but didn’t. The offer couldn’t have been plainer; he was coaxing me into telling, almost like he actually wanted to hear about all the messed up things going on inside my head.

                  “It’s really not something you want to hear. Trust me.”

                  “Oh, come on. Don’t give me that. I’m not going to back out of my offer because it might get a little rough. Like I said, I’m all for sharing. You want to tell me, I’m all ears.”

                  And there it was. I assumed I didn’t want to, but there was a tiny voice in my head, buried at the back of it all, that held me back from complete certainty. Something had changed, though whether it was down to a real revelation or just a lot of alcohol, I couldn’t be sure.

                  “Those papers you dropped off last week,” I began slowly. “I looked through them.”

                  He didn’t say anything, just continuing to look, as patient as ever.

                  “It was mostly rubbish. Not a lot of exciting stuff. But there was one thing, right at the back…” I trailed off, trying to say present as my mind threatened to throw me back into the moment I’d first seen Reese’s glittering purple writing. “A bucket list. Ten things she wanted to do, and she hadn’t been able to get started on any of them…”

                  “What kind of things?” he asked – not pressing, just curious.

                  I managed a wry smile. “Well, you’re looking at one of them. Get drunk out of your mind.”

                  “Ah.”

                  “Yeah.” I paused, and silence lapsed between us for several seconds. “I thought I was doing the noble thing, going at it myself. It’s what she would’ve wanted, I think. But now, after tonight… well, I’m wondering if it’s such a good idea after all.”

                  Mitchell didn’t say anything, and I wondered then if I’d gone too far. Risking a sideways glance, I saw he’d refocused his gaze straight ahead, looking across the road. “You think I’m completely crazy, don’t you?”

                  He looked over in surprise. “No. God, no. Why would I think that?”

                  “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I feel crazy. I don’t know what I was thinking. This was obviously a bad idea.”

                  “It’s definitely not crazy.” The certainty in his tone had me looking over again, letting our eyes meet somewhere in the middle. “In fact, it’s probably one of the least crazy things I’ve ever heard.”

                  I raised my eyebrows. “Okay. Now you’re just exaggerating.”

                  “No, I’m serious.” And he looked it, too. “Come on, Callie. What you’ve done tonight… well, if you ask me – which you have done – I think it’s proof that you are normal. Not sane-ish. Sane, full stop.”

                  “And how did you figure that one out?”

                  “Look, I know I don’t speak from experience, or anything close. To me, though, it sounds completely normal. You find your twin sister’s bucket list: one she was obviously pretty set on finishing. It’s only natural to want to give something back. And what better way than to do it yourself?”

                  For a moment, all I could do was stare, a little fazed. “Why does it sound so much saner when you say it?”

                  The corner of his lip twitched; though it wasn’t quite a smile, it was something nonetheless. “Maybe because you’ve been trapped in your own head for too long.”

                  And there it was. I hadn’t been expecting it, or anything of the sort, but somehow Mitchell had managed to nail it in a single sentence. I had always known the month spent in the comfort of my bedroom was never going to do me any good, but it seemed like there was now solid proof. Spending so much time away from outside opinion – away from calm, level tones that weren’t skewed by debilitating grief – had altered my way of thinking. I just needed someone else to tell me so.

                  I could do nothing but stare.

                  “So, I’ve got a proposition,” he started, realising I wasn’t about to say a word anytime soon. “Feel free to shoot me down at any point, of course, but it’s just an idea.”

                  I blinked. “What?”

                  “What’s next on the list?”

                  “Um…” I stuck my hand into my back pocket, pulling out the folded-up paper and handing it over with surprisingly little hesitation. Mitchell unfurled it slowly and let his eyes skim the ten purple items with genuine interest.

                  “Wow,” he breathed eventually. “This is some list.”

                  “Yeah,” I said. “But what do you expect? It’s Reese.”

                  “It definitely is.” His agreement was quiet, barely louder than a whisper. Somewhere amongst it all, he seemed to have lost himself in thought, leaving us both in silence. I wondered what he was thinking about, but before I could debate the merits of asking, he snapped out of it. “So, here’s my proposition: I want to help you.”

                  “What?”

                  “This list.” He gestured towards it. “Well, it obviously means a lot to you. I get what you’re trying to do, and I think it’d mean a lot to your sister. And well, just looking at this thing… I’m not sure it’s something you’re best off attempting alone. You’re free to shoot me down here, but it’s an offer. I want to help you.”

                  I was suddenly thankful for our perch on the curb; had we been standing, I wasn’t sure I would’ve fared as well with the shock. It was probably the last thing I’d ever expected to come of the conversation, sat at the edge of a road at a ridiculous hour of the morning, Mitchell’s car abandoned several feet away. I hadn’t anticipated any step, and yet they’d all come anyway, culminating in this one ending that I was barely able to process.

                  Mitchell wanted in on the list. He wanted to help.

                  Mitchell, the same guy I’d – rather unsuccessfully – spent the last two weeks trying to avoid. The guy who seemed to fall outside of every expectation. The one who’d only properly walked into my life as Reese walked out.

                  Everything about it was odd. Odd to the point of wondering whether it was just a fabrication of my alcohol-affected mind, even though I could sense the reality of everything around me.

                  Still, that was nothing compared to what happened next.

                  I looked at Mitchell, with his overgrown hair, pale complexion, and the way he had just started shivering in the absence of his jacket. A second later, I nodded. “Yes,” I said, with a surprising note of certainty to my tone. “I want help.”

                  “And there you go.” He leaned over, passing the list back into my own hand. “I think you may have just completed number two.”

                  I frowned, peering down at the sheet of paper in confusion, before realising what he was talking about.

                  The second item on the list: accept help when really necessary.

***

                  The last leg of the journey home was much smoother than the first; my stomach felt a lot more settled, and there were no emergency stops at the side of the road. On top of that, though, was another thing, which proved impossible to overlook.

                  Things between Mitchell and I had suddenly shifted, and in a much better direction. The conversation seemed easier, losing its previously stilted quality, leaving room for a relaxed air to fall over the rest of the car. A silent agreement had clicked into place between us, and it was perhaps that link that pulled us an inch closer. It felt like all the distance we needed.

                  When he pulled up in front of my house, shutting off the car engine, we both looked over at the same time.

                  There were a lot of things I could’ve said, the possibilities stretching on forever, and yet none of them sprung to mind. So I settled for the simplest, hoping it would convey more.

                  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “For tonight. For everything.”

                  “You don’t need to thank me.”

                  I shot him a flat look. “Yes, I do. Don’t act like this is something people do for me everyday. Agreeing to take on a girl’s dead sister’s bucket list is a big deal.”

                  “Okay.” His amusement stretched as far as a small smile. “Then let me say this: you’re welcome.”

                  That was as far as it went, but somehow it was enough. I took a deep breath as I unclipped my belt and climbed out of the passenger’s seat, fumbling in my bag for the keys that had thankfully remained safe inside the zipped pocket. Once I unlocked the front door, silently slipping into the dark hallway, I turned to see Mitchell’s car retreating down the road again.

                  My head was reeling as I climbed the stairs, clinging to the banister a little too tightly. The majority of the alcohol was working its way out of my system, but I was still feeling a little unsteady, and I didn’t want to wake up the entire house by crashing down the stairs. There were definitely better ways to end the night.

                  Of course, the entire evening had been strange, an effect facilitated by Mitchell’s mere presence. As I crossed the landing and headed for my closed bedroom door, I assumed the worst was over. There was surely no possible way things could take any more of an unexpected turn than they had already – at least not when I was set to jump straight into bed.

                  And yet once my fingers enclosed the handle, pushing open the door, nothing could’ve ever prepared me for the sight I was faced with.

                  Perched on the end of her own bed, legs crossed and wearing a smirk I hadn’t seen for over a month, was Reese.

                  “Well,” she said, in a remarkably level tone, “it’s about time.”

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Hi, guys! Bet you weren't expecting an upload this soon, huh? I may not be doing NaNo officially (I'm not aiming for 50,000 words), but I'm making an effort to write every day in November, regardless of the amount. And that's why I now have a chapter done so quickly!

Also, I'm now really excited for this story. I'm finally getting into the paranormal aspect, which is completely new to me. I'm interested to see how this works out.

If you enjoyed it, be sure to drop me a comment below. Love you guys :)