"Jump, I've got you." And he held his arms out, almost across the gap between us. I teetered on the railing, my heart in my throat.

"I can't." I said, my voice shaking. The drop from under the balcony looked fatally deep, even if Simmons was three feet away from me. As I hesitated, the pounding on the door increased in volume. There were more of them at the other side, and it wouldn't be long before the door was broken down.

"We don't have any time!" He looked back at the others, all of them ready to leave the two of them and escape. He sighed, and gave them a pleading look. Simmons was already pushing it, he knew that. He turned back to me, arms still outstretched. "Look at me."

I stared at his face, dirty and bruised.

"I promise, I won't let you get hurt. Not while you're with me."

I wanted to laugh. "Am I supposed to believe that?"

He looked exasperated. "I don't care! All I know is if you don't jump, I'm never going to see you again." -he cut me off before I could say how nice of an idea that actually was- "And you might die, so there's that."

He must have seen the fear on my face, or saw my legs shaking. "Grif, please. You have to trust me."

The door splintered in the room behind me, and my feet left the rail. I was falling for only a second, before I felt his arms around me, holding me for dear life.

"There." He chuckled under his breath. "Didn't I say I would catch you?"

We rain like wild dogs out of the next apartment. We broke out of the next building and slid down its side while I told God that if he left me live, I'd never eat another pack of hot dogs in one sitting ever again. The dirt and rust from fire escapes and brick dug into the palms of our hands, but before long we had hit the sidewalk.

And as I traveled with the group, I realized that I didn't know where we were going anymore. I would kick myself later for falling asleep during the meetings. But I couldn't think past running as fast as it took to get away. There was an insistent pressure in my head that told me that if I stopped, I'd never see any of the group again.

I wouldn't be able to see Simmons or Donut ever again. And whatever kept my feet pounding on the concrete knew that I couldn't let that happen. "There! The car!" One of them pointed to a getaway car, and Simmons stopped.

He stopped me, guilt painted all over his face.

"You don't have to go with us." He looked apologetic, scared. He pointed towards an alley. "If you go down there and jump the fence, they won't go after you. It's us that they want. He swallowed. "I'm sorry about all of this."

"Oh, come the fuck on!" I dove into the car and we drove out of the city. I grabbed his arm tightly. "In case you weren't sure, Donut's my friend too." I looked up at him with determination filled eyes. "And you promised that you wouldn't let anyone hurt me. You can't go back on that."

Police cars screamed behind us, giving chase across a broken road, and he smiled.

I swear, if Donut isn't already dead, I'm going to kill him for this.

Franklin Delano Donut and Dexter Grif were the generic brand of roommates you could find at any apartment capitalizing on a community college. They got along well enough, and tended to bond over their mutual hatred of said community college. It was a comfortable friendship, but Grif always had his concerns. Especially when things just get worse around them, which had been happening since three months ago.

And it's not to say that Grif hated Simmons. But when so many people have nearly broken down the door demanding drug money, you start trusting people a little less and reinforcing your windows more.

Yeah, Donut didn't associate himself with the best bunches of people. But on most days, nothing happened. So the day their neighbor mentioned a funny looking new friend Grif's blood froze.

"You sure you don't have dementia yet, old man?"

His neighbor huffed in a gruff, southern accent. "Boy, one of these days your sharp tongue is gonna get you into serious trouble. Hopefully by me. Anyways, he didn't look like the rest of the people you seem to attract. Seemed cleaned up, like a wuss or businessman or something."

"And I'm sure he's just as sweet as he looks," Grif snarked, "I'll probably get home and none of the furniture will be broken and we'll share a jug of chocolate milk!" He grimaced. "I'm gonna get back to the apartment."

"Very well, soldier. If you need me, I'll be enacting a plan to finally destroy the East Building from the bottom up," he shouted, "They've turned my cable off for the last time!"

Before someone could tell him that he hadn't paid his cable bill, the old man had already ran out the West Building's front door. Grif balanced the bags of groceries over his shoulder and made the long trek to fourth floor.

The 17th door opened with a loud creak as Grif pushed on it, but it didn't fall over, which was a good sign. And no furniture was broken. Even better. He walked into the kitchen, only to freeze at the doorway.

"Hey Grif! How's the Sarge doin?" Donut was chipper as ever, but Grif was busy staring at the redhead that sat next to him at the table. He looked at what actually seemed like a harmless guy, but the suspicion still creeped up on him.

Grif shook out the tension in his back, and shrugged. "Well, he might actually get a SWAT team after him this time."

Donut smirked. "Oh? I'll start making an alibi for him now, then." Donut glanced over at the redhead, and grinned suddenly. "Grif, have you met Richard? He's a friend of a friend, and I thought it would be nice to have him over for lunch!"

The other man spoke up, "I actually like being called Simmons..."

Donut smirked again. "That's a shame, I prefer Dick."

Grif snorted. "You sure do." Donut threw an empty soda bottle at him as they started laughing.

Simmons was a bit red, but smiling nonetheless. Grif relaxed more, and decided that he probably didn't have to worry this time around. The night went on the same way, with laughter and video games and eventual drinking. Towards the end of the night, Grif excused himself to go to the bathroom, and bumped into Simmons.

"Hey cherry-bomb, how's it going?" He slurred. Simmons pulled Grif into the kitchen. He looked sober for the most part.

"You know your friend's in danger, right?"

Grif couldn't think straight enough to understand what he meant. He mulled the question over for a second, before sluggishly shrugging his shoulders. "He can handle himself, man. Plus, last time someone tried messing with us they got an angry vet with a shotgun to the face. It's not like we're helpless." Grif paused to burp, and Simmons nearly gagged. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Simmons looked even more wound-up, and then tried to hide it. "I hope that's true."

"Hey, you give me like two minutes, we'll set up some Halo and shots and then we'll just take it easy."

"Heh, you're really good at taking it easy."

"It's a gift," Grif patted Simmons shoulder as he was walking past him, "Come on, cutie."

"Excuse me?!" Simmons sputtered, which made Grif guffaw as he tripped into the bathroom.

The rest of the night blurred by, but it was cathartic to finally chill at home, after months of stress. In the back of his mind, Grif wondered if that meant it was over, or that it was gonna get better.

Grif wouldn't understand how wrong he was until the next morning, facing an apartment door that was busted off of its hinges.