Charlie Horse

by CHOOSELIFE

Second story in the Charlie series. This story picks up five months after Drake's family returns home from vacation. Just when Drake thought his life was perfect, everything goes to shit. His addiction spirals out of control and is worse than ever. His secret's out. His family knows. Can he clean his act up? Will his family ever forgive him? Will he ever forgive himself?

1. Numb

(Flashback - [September] - 2 months after the family returned from summer break)

"DAD!" Josh screamed at the top of his lungs. His heart was pounding against his chest, and he felt sick to his stomach. The sudden catastrophe caused him to feel light-headed, and for a moment, he just stood there in absolute bewilderment, gazing at the horrific sight before him. He staggered backwards, completely deaf to the sound of panicked footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs.

"What?! What is it?!"

Josh opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't form any words whatsoever. His nose twitched with repulsion, his throat was dry, and all that came out was a fit of coughs as he covered his mouth with disgust.

"Oh my God... OH MY GOD!"

Audrey was right behind her husband. When she laid eyes on the scene before her, she screeched, and tears poured down her cheeks. "NOOO!"

Walter attempted to hold her back, but she shoved him away and hurried across the room.

At that time, a curious Megan slipped out of her bedroom and stepped through the doorway of her brothers' room, but that's as far as she made it. "Oh my God..."

"Josh, call an ambulance!" Walter ordered with fear in his voice as he again struggled to keep his grip on his wife.

The young man was frozen in his place. All he could do was stare at what lay before him. His eyes filled with tears that immediately started to stream down his cheeks.

"JOSH!" Walter yelled louder, snapping his son out of his trance.

"Right, um-" In his panic, he suddenly couldn't perform the simplest functions. He fought to grab his cell phone from his pants pocket. As he tried to press the numbers, he realized that he was shaking madly. "Um..." His voice cracked, but he finally composed himself enough to dial 911. He put the phone to his ear.

Each ring felt as though it lasted forever. The noise filled his ears, further enhancing his dizzied state. All he could hear was Audrey's screams and Megan's sobs and Walter's unhelpful attempts at soothing the two and that endless fucking ringing!

"San Diego Police Department. What's your emergency?"

"We need an ambulance right now!" Josh couldn't help that he was yelling into the phone. "I think my brother tried to kill himself!"

---

(Current day - [December] 5 months after the family returned from summer break)

"Ah!" Drake hissed, pulling his hand away from his jaw as if it was a hot stove. He let go of his breath and swallowed to gain his composure. The young man clenched his teeth, then gently continued rubbing in the foundation to cover the enormous, fresh bruise on his skin.

He'd gotten over the humility of wearing make-up long ago. It's not like he ever really saw anyone he knew anyway. The only people Drake ever came into contact with were the cashiers at Walmart and his father, and he didn't give a shit about what any of them thought. He only cared about Charlie and what Charlie thought of him and how he was going to get Charlie next. That's it.

Drake dropped the small bottle of liquid foundation suddenly, then turned and speedily yanked the toilet lid up. He opened his mouth, and his vomit quietly slipped out and splashed against the liquid that was already there. He clutched his weak stomach as the bile forced its way up his esophagus and he puked up round two. He blinked as the nausea caused his eyes to water over, and when his eyes were open again, everything was suddenly different. His vision was blurry, his head was spinning, he felt absent from himself. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

The young man flushed the toilet when he was sure that he was finished, then he closed the lid and turned back to the sink. Drake picked up the foundation bottle, bending over cautiously and using the sink to steady himself. He cursed himself for not finishing earlier. Now that he was high, he wouldn't be truly sure if the make-up was spread out evenly. However, before he could make a move to fix anything, the bathroom door burst open, causing Drake to flinch and drop the bottle once again. He had no time to react before he was snatched away from the mirror and slung onto the floor.

"You're putting on your make-up, you little faggot?"

The boy clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes closed when his father socked him in the ribs. "Gmm!" He clutched the injured area. Since he was on his side, he used his free arm to scoot himself away. Unfortunately, he'd backed himself into the small space between the toilet and the tub, so now he was trapped.

"I know what that means. You only ever get dressed up for your precious drugs. You pathetic junkie."

"Mmm!" Drake tried to bend his knees up to his chest for protection, but he couldn't in such a small space.

"Unless you're getting dressed up for me."

Drake felt himself being dragged out of his hiding spot by his right leg and arm. He allowed it to happen. Protesting would only make things worse. He was put onto his feet, then forced to bend over the toilet. The young man rested his palms on the back of it for support, but he held his position. He hung his head as his pants were pulled down to his ankles, then waited as the sound of Martin unbuckling his own belt filled his ears. After his father's pants were down, the man spat on his hand and started to prepare himself, using his own saliva as some sort of lubricant.

Drake didn't put up a fight the entire time. He knew that it was pointless. If Martin wanted to beat the shit out of him, he would. If he wanted to rape his son, it was going to happen. Having lived here for almost the last three months, he'd become rather compliant of his father. The beatings had gotten worse. The sexual abuse had increased to almost daily sometimes. But Drake had learned to deal with all of this as long as he had Charlie.

He inhaled sharply when Martin entered him. Each thrust forced his body forwards a bit, almost causing him to ram his head against the wall.

"It would go in a lot easier if you'd just relax," Martin said. He suddenly pushed harder this time, and Drake had to place one of his palms against the wall to stop himself from hitting his skull. The man let go of a chuckle. "You like that, you little whore?"

What bothered Martin was that things never seemed to phase his son anymore. Sometimes he would say the most hurtful, vicious insults he could think of, and Drake wouldn't have any sort of reaction whatsoever. It was as if he was completely dead inside. He might as well have succeeded with his suicide attempt.

Drake closed his eyes and allowed Charlie to take him somewhere else. He pictured himself in Meelah's front yard, and the only things he could see were the bright stars above him, which were encircled by trees. He could feel the damp grass on his back and her hand intertwined in his own. Everything felt so real that he actually forgot where he was for a while. Taken in large doses, Charlie could cause vivid hallucinations, and that's what Drake loved about him most. It was the only way he ever saw Meelah anymore.

God, he missed her smile...her touch...the way she'd grin when she caught him staring at her in adoration. He should've known that it was too perfect to last. He always managed to fuck things up one way or another. Everything he touches turns to shit. No exceptions. That's why it's much easier being alone. When he isolated himself, there was no one he could feel guilty about fucking over. It was just himself and Charlie these days, and that's how he liked it.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!"

Drake was tugged out of his thoughts and found that his father was climaxing. It's almost over, he told himself.

"Oh, God! Ugghhhh! Aw, shit!"

Drake was repulsed when he felt Martin's warm release shoot through his backside. He felt the man leaning against him, and the weight seemed to get heavier and heavier.

"Oh, God..." Martin moaned through his pants for air.

Instead of immediately leaving like normal, however, he just rested there, forcing his son to hold up his weight. Drake felt uncomfortable in this position. All he wanted was to put on his shoes and start his long journey to Walmart, and this was using up a lot of precious Charlie time.

"Dad?" Drake said. "Can I have some money, please?"

Martin let go of a chuckle, and before the boy knew what was happening, he found himself on the floor. Drake remained there with a hung head. The best thing to do was to avoid all eye contact because anything could set his father off.

"I'm in the middle of getting off, and you're gonna ask me for money?"

"I thought you were done," he said almost inaudibly.

"I'm not done until I say I'm done! Got that?!"

"Yes, sir," Drake replied quietly, and although he didn't mean anything by it, Martin swore he detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

The man gripped his neck and suddenly yanked him up so that all of Drake's weight was on that spot. "Are you being smart with me?!"

Drake tried to stand up, but he couldn't from his position. He squeezed his eyes closed and gasped for air that wouldn't come.

"I should shove my foot up your ass!"

"Kkkk! Ghuuh!" The young man tightly gripped his father's shirt collar to alert him that he was out of air. Thankfully, he was tossed to the side after that. Drake clutched his neck as he took in a deep breath, his eyes widened from the panic. "Guuhhh! Huuh!"

Martin pulled up his pants, then buttoned them and fixed his belt. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The man opened it and found a five dollar bill. He dropped it, and it landed on the spot right below his son's belly button. "You know, this is what you would call being a prostitute. Whoring yourself out for money."

Drake was, for the most part, past the point where Martin's words made him feel anything at all. The only thing on his mind was Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

---

Drake wrapped his arms around his tiny, frail torso. He balled his hands into fists and hid them inside of his jacket sleeves, taking comfort in its warmth. It was the end of September, so on top of the drop in temperature, the Triple C's always made the young man feel cold, which was strange; Mindy and Meelah had both been the opposite. Drake was almost always sick and sniffling, just like he was doing now. He had poor health and hygiene. He hadn't showered in a couple of days, so he'd placed a beanie over his hair before walking out the door.

Drake tripped suddenly, but caught himself before he fell. He looked down at the ground with blurry vision and found that it had been his jeans that had almost caused him to fall because they'd started sagging without his knowledge. He pulled them up, then continued on his way. He needed to get more jeans in a smaller size. Or a belt. That would probably be cheaper. The one he had on wasn't small enough although he'd poked his own holes into it as his weight had shrunk.

He wasn't deathly skinny. It was just noticeable enough to show that he looked rather sick, and to those who had known him before, it would seem like a drastic change.

Drake walked slower as he approached a park to his left. It was empty now, but it hadn't always been. It used to be so full of life.

*FLASHBACK*

Meelah laughed as the stray Labrador Retriever she'd been playing with returned to her, then dropped the stick in front of her and nudged her hand. The girl picked it up, then tossed it and smiled as the dog ran off. Just seeing her so happy made Drake grin, and he loved when she got that little spark of joy in her eyes. When she turned back to him, she started to talk, but he cut her off by pushing his lips against hers.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered before pulling away.

Meelah held his left hand in hers because he still had the cast around his wrist and the splint on his finger on his right hand. "I'm really proud of you, you know. Tomorrow, you will have been clean for a month. You should go to NA with me and get your thirty day chip."

"Eh, you know how I feel about NA."

"But how do you know? You've never been," the girl stated. "Narcotics Anonymous is supposed to help you during recovery. You should start applying the steps."

"I think I'm doing fine on my own," Drake said. "I've only had a couple relapses since I started."

Meelah agreed. "You are. And you make it look so easy. I cried everyday when I first made the decision to get clean."

"I just love you. And I don't wanna lose you again."

"I'm not going anywhere." She smiled, then leaned closer and kissed him.

Drake was in heaven every time their lips met. Even though they'd spent every waking moment together over the last several weeks, he still wasn't used to the fact that he finally had her back. The boy rested his forehead against hers, but pulled his lips away. He brushed her hair away from her cheek with his thumb.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." He reconnected their lips, but was cut short when the dog raced back over and started nudging Meelah once again.

The girl smirked, then gave the dog her attention by rubbing his fur and talking in a high-pitched voice. "Someone's jealous, aren't they?!"

*END FLASHBACK*

Drake sighed at the memory, then continued on his way, stopping at the edge of the side walk so that he could cross the line of cars. This road wasn't too busy, so after a few vehicles passed, he made it to the other side with ease. Sometimes he wished that someone would speed down the street and plow into him. God, he was just so tired of being alive and going through the same shit every fucking day. Wake up. Find money. Get Charlie. That's all he ever did anymore, and it was starting to not be enough. These pills didn't feel anything like they used to. Sometimes he could hardly feel them hit at all. Triple C's was a bad drug to get stuck on because the pills were so fickle. Sometimes he takes three boxes and doesn't feel shit. Sometimes he takes one and gets a pretty good high. On top of that, its availability is awful. His mood and pretty much his entire life is in the hands of Walmart, and there were times that they were out of the cough medicine for weeks. Drake was never fun to be around when that happened. He would always beg his father to drive him a couple exits up to the next Walmart. Martin always declined at first, but seeing his son so weak always changed his mind. He'd always called the boy weak during beatings, but somehow seeing him crying and shaking and balled up on the floor from fear of Martin didn't seem so weak anymore when the man compared it to what Drake looked and acted like when pleading for a ride to get his fix. That was the definition of weak. Martin always granted his wish, though, because he knew that he was the same. The only thing he ever understood about his son was his addiction because he had his own to feed as well.

Across the street from the park was a small, run-down gas station. It was the type where the drunks hung out and played the gambling machines. They were supposed to receive cash vouchers for store merchandise whenever they win, but the workers would give them actual cash on the sly, which is illegal. More people tend to play, though, since they can spend their money wherever they want, and therefore, the machines bring in a good amount of business with these kinds of people.

Drake pushed open the door, which caused the bell that was hanging from the top of it to jingle. However, no one welcomed him. That's how he liked it. The workers were laid back and didn't give a shit, just like himself.

There was someone in line before him. The man had two Red Bulls and a cheap little "gift." It was a cloth rose in a glass tube, which of course wasn't a gift at all. The rose would later be extracted, and the tube would be used as a meth pipe. Of course, it would be illegal to sell meth pipes, so that's how gas stations got away with it. They just stick a fake rose inside and boom - a shitty way to tell your wife you're sorry about forgetting to pick her mother up from the airport. And hey, why not throw a little bit of meth in there while you're at it?

"Take it easy," the gas station clerk said to the customer, who then thanked him and walked out the door. "Hey, Drake." The man turned and grabbed a pack of L&M menthol 100's, then scanned them. "This is it today?"

"Yeah." Drake pulled his book bag off of his back and rummaged through in search for the Ziploc bag he'd filled with change.

"You doing alright today? You seem a little off."

"I'm fine, Ahmed."

Ahmed was a Muslim who had worked at this gas station for years. He was a pretty cool guy. He knew his customers well, and he was kind to Drake. He noticed that the young man always stopped and gazed at the park before coming inside, and he knew why, but he never said anything about it. He knew it was a sensitive subject, and Drake had never been the same since that night three and a half months ago. He used to look normal..bright...happy. Now he seemed exhausted all the time, he was clearly clouded by drugs, and he never smiled. Ahmed had seen this transformation in many of his customers, so he never pried or judged. However, there was something about Drake that made him different. To the boy's family, he was considered strung out, but to Ahmed, he wasn't as far gone as he looked. There was still potential in him, and Ahmed had every bit of confidence that he would straighten his life out someday. He just had to accept what had happened and learn to value himself as a person again.

"I just warmed up the hot dogs if you want to fix yourself one."

"Thanks."

Ahmed knew that Drake hated being pitied enough to be offered handouts, so he always approached the situation as if giving out free hot dogs was normal for him. It's just that Drake seemed rather malnourished. Sure, whatever drug he was using probably had a lot to do with it, but Ahmed noticed the bruises that the boy tried to cover up. Drake was the victim of a bad home situation, and Ahmed's heart was too big to just sit idly by and let this kid think he was alone. Drake probably wasn't aware, but he himself had a big heart, too.

*FLASHBACK*

Ding! Drake slipped through the door. He glanced over at the counter, where a large truck driver was standing in line. He was clearly filled with annoyance at the Muslim cashier, but Drake walked on past and went over to the grill. He hadn't eaten in a couple days thanks to his asshole father, who had locked him in the basement for the weekend. The second he was let out, he grabbed all the change out of his piggy bank and headed off to the gas station. He always saved every bit of change he got back because that's what got him through when he was tapped out.

Drake opened the drawer and grabbed out a warm hot dog bun, then he picked up the tongs and chose a wiener. God, he was so hungry that his mouth was already watering. He could probably eat three of these. If only he had the money... Drake moved over to the condiments and added spicy mustard. Charlie had numbed a lot of his taste buds, so regular mustard wouldn't have been all that noticeable. Next, he squirted a bit of relish on there for the sweet, juicy taste, then he wrapped it up and walked over to the counter.

"I came in here for a hot cup of joe. Now that's what I want, god damn it." The large man was still at the counter, and he was talking to the cashier rather rudely.

"Sir, you'll have to wait a couple minutes for a fresh pot of coff-"

"Isn't your job to make sure that you make a new pot of coffee when this one gets low? And look at this shit." He showed the man his cup. "It's full of coffee grounds. I'm on a tight schedule, and I'm gonna be late because you aren't competent enough to do your job."

"I have a fresh pot being made now. It will be ready in about five minutes."

"I don't think you're understanding me. I don't have five minutes. I'm already late as it is."

"And whose fault is that?"

The trucker squinted his eyes, then spoke in a hard voice. "Listen here, you little wise ass cunt. Why don't you take your terrorist ass back to your own country and fuck shit up there like the rest of you?"

Drake stepped in then because, although the comment hadn't been directed at him, this guy's ignorance still pissed him off. "Man, chill out. That's uncalled for."

The trucker turned to him. "You're gonna stand up for this guy? You're just as dumb as he is."

"Bro-"

"Don't 'bro' me." And that's when the guy put his hands on Drake and shoved him back as if to tell him to stay out of his business.

Drake felt his blood boiling. He hated being pushed around, and this time, it was someone he could stand up to. The young man snatched the trucker's cup of coffee away from him, then splashed it onto his face. The large man wailed with pain. Drake had expected it to be a lot colder than it actually was since that was this guy's complaint. It wasn't scalding hot, but it did burn a bit. However, Drake was too pissed to apologize.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!"

The cashier had seen that things were escalating pretty rapidly, so he had walked around to the other side of the counter, and just as the trucker wound his fist back, the Muslim stepped in and grabbed it. "I think you should leave."

The large man glared at Drake, then at the cashier and back again before yanking his wrist out of the worker's grip. "Don't think your manager won't be hearing from me."

"I own this store. Feel free to talk to me if you have any complaints."

The man scowled as he whipped around and stalked out the door.

"Fucking prick." Drake was still riled up.

The cashier turned to him. "Thanks for that. It was nice of you to step in."

Drake gave a curt nod, then averted his eyes humbly. When he did this, he noticed the coffee that was spilled on the ground.

The cashier saw what he was looking at and spoke up. "Don't worry about it. I'll get it."

"I can clean it up-"

The man held up his hand to silence him. "I will have no such thing. It is I who owe you." He held out his hand. "My name is Ahmed."

"Drake." He shook it. "I'm sorry about him-"

"No need to apologize. I know that all white people are not the same, just as we Muslims are not the same."

"Right," Drake nodded. "I can't believe people actually act like that in public to people they don't even know." He set his hot dog down onto the counter, then pulled out some change.

"No, no. It's on me."

Drake paused. "No, it's okay. I mean, I have the money." He was always embarrassed when he paid with a bunch of coins, especially when all he was getting was food. He knew he came off as pathetic.

Ahmed picked up the coins and placed them onto the boy's palm, then closed Drake's hand and held his gaze. "You did a good deed. I'm just returning the favor."

"Are you sure? I have the money," he said again to assure him that he wasn't some broke loser.

"I'm sure. Allah has blessed me and now I must bless you through Him."

"Gee, thanks." Although he sounded rather sarcastic, he was truly baffled that someone would do this for him. He just didn't know how to express it.

"We need more brave young men like you."

And with those words, Drake actually smiled with gratitude. He was used to being called weak, so this was a nice change, and he wasn't sure how to accept the compliment.

Ahmed picked up the wrapped hot dog, then put it into Drake's hand and patted his shoulder. "You feel free to come back anytime. Food's on me."

*END FLASHBACK*

Drake was the only guy who had bothered to learn the correct pronunciation of Ahmed's name, and that alone touched his heart. He was open-minded and absent of judgement. Drake was a special young man, and he wished all the best for him.

Drake counted out his quarters. "Is it okay if I grab a hot dog today?" He always asked even though Ahmed had repeatedly told him that he didn't need to.

"Of course."

When he finished paying the man for his cigarettes, he went over to the grill and started making himself lunch. Or was it still breakfast? With that thought, he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, but found that it was missing. He patted down his jeans, then realized that he'd left it at home. "Shit," he whispered. "Hey, Ahmed, do you have the time?"

"Ten 'til twelve. You have plans today?"

"Not really. What about you? What time do you get off?"

"Six."

"Shit. Don't you get here at, what, eight?"

"Seven-thirty."

"Damn."

"Jobs are a lot of fun," Ahmed said sarcastically. "You should get one."

"Ha!" Drake made his way back over to the man. "I wouldn't last one day." He leaned against the counter and took a bite of his hot dog.

"Have you ever had a job?"

"Not really. I mean, I babysat for my aunt, but as far as an actual job goes, no."

"Babysitting sounds fun. I love children."

"Yeah, I thought I'd hate it, but God, I absolutely adore those kids."

"Why'd you stop?" Ahmed questioned.

Drake paused and took a bite from his hot dog so that he could mull it over before replying. "I ended up in the hospital, and she found someone else while I recovered."

"What happened?"

Drake stuck with the story he gave everyone else. "I was jumped while walking home one night. Broke my nose, my wrist, my pinkie, pulled my arm out of socket, and fractured a rib." The boy showed him the scar on his wrist where they had inserted a metal plate. "The doctor told me I wouldn't be able to play guitar anymore."

"You play guitar?"

"I did. I picked up my guitar for the first time in months the other week. I can't even get to the notes without bothering my wrist."

"Look at this." Ahmed turned and pulled up the back of his shirt to show off the gunshot wound that was just to the right of his spine.

"Holy shit." Drake examined it closer because he'd never seen one in real life.

"It happened here actually. Someone robbed me."

"Damn."

It was good to hear some sort of interest and enthusiasm in the boy's voice because he rarely did anymore. "My doctor told me that I wouldn't be able to walk again, but here I am. I made a full recovery. Thanks to Allah." He pulled his shirt back down and looked at Drake again. "So don't you worry. I believe you'll make a full recovery, too."

"I hope so." When Drake was finished with his hot dog, he tossed the wrapping into the nearby trash can. "Alright, I'm gonna head out. See ya, Ahmed."

"See you later, Drake."

The bell dinged as Drake opened the door. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, then turned them upside-down and hit them against his palm a couple times to pack them. He took a few steps over to the trash can, then peeled off the paper. After he picked out a cigarette, he fished for his lighter and held his right hand over the end of the cigarette to block the flame. Next, he started his journey to get Triple C's. Once again, his eyes moved towards the park across the street. Every single day, he passed by this park on his way to Walmart, and every single day, he thought about her.

---

Drake had taken the long way around to the pharmacy because he was in no rush to get back home. He didn't go out often, other than his daily Walmart trip, so this was always his chance to get fresh air. As he made his way around the store, he stopped by the office supplies. He wasn't sure why; he didn't plan on buying a can of dust-off. It was just a habit to look. He just needed to know that it was there for emergencies, and it was.

*FLASHBACK*

Drake looked up at the night sky as he rested his head on his arm, and he let go of his breath. Nighttime was always the hardest. Darkness just brought out the drug cravings in Drake. He'd spent so many nights alone in his dark room fucked out of his mind that the nighttime had become a Charlie trigger. At the same time, though, he liked the night better. It was much quieter. There was no one left at the park besides himself, Meelah, and an empty picnic basket. Drake looked over at the girl. She'd been rather quiet for the past ten minutes now.

"Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I just miss it. You know?"

Drake looked away. He knew exactly what she meant. She missed getting high. God, and so did he. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't get himself to say the comforting and supportive words that he knew he should.

"Once you quit, you're never quite as happy as you were when you used," Meelah said. "Sometimes I don't even want to get out of bed."

Drake pulled her closer to him, so she wrapped her arm around his stomach. "What can I do to make you happy?"

"I wish I knew."

Drake closed his eyes. He knew this would most likely end in a fight, but God, it was worth a shot, right? "Do you want me to run and get a can?"

"Drake..." But it wasn't a no.

"We'll just take a couple hits and throw the rest away. Just to get this feeling out of our system. And then we'll be okay. We'll feel better," Drake said. "For old time's sake."

"This is a really bad idea," said Meelah. "It's been months since I last used."

"The can was never a problem. Charlie was. This hardly counts." Drake knew that he was pushing too hard, but he needed something now. He was going to use tonight with or without his girlfriend, but if he convinced Meelah to do it with him, then she'd only be disappointed with herself and Drake would be in the clear. "It'll be fine. I'm right here. I won't let you lose control again. And you have me. And I have you. We'll be alright."

Meelah sighed.

"Don't you trust me?"

"I do," she replied, then hesitated for a moment more before continuing. "Fuck it. Let's do it."

*END FLASHBACK*

"God damn it," Drake whispered to himself.

Normally, he wasn't one to stop and stare when he was getting his Triple C's, but Walmart was out of them, and now he needed a new plan. He moved his eyes to the white and purple box of Coricidin. It was almost six bucks per box. He only had five dollars. Originally, he'd planned to come here and get two boxes of Triple C's, but now he couldn't even afford one. Drake glanced around to see if anyone was watching him. He lifted his thumb nail and chewed on it with contemplation. The longer he waited, the sketchier it was; he knew he couldn't keep standing here. It was obvious that he was on drugs, and dilly-dallying around in front of the cough medicine only meant trouble. Drake reached down to the bottom shelf and grabbed the box of Coricidin. He turned and started to slip the box inside of his waistband, but his shoulder was grabbed.

Drake closed his eyes and silently cursed, but when he turned around, he wasn't met by a store clerk or a police officer.

"Drake?"

Realizing that he hadn't been caught, Drake quickly fixed his shirt so that it covered the box. He cleared his throat, then averted his eyes and sniffled. "Hey, Josh. What's up?"

His brother glanced at the part of his shirt that he'd pulled down in a hurry, then looked at him suspiciously. However, he said nothing about it. It took him a moment to actually speak. Drake could see his gears spinning as he contemplated on how he should greet him. Nothing seemed right, and Josh was acting as though one wrong word would have his step-brother running out of his life once again.

Josh decided on, "How are you?" Simple enough, right?

Drake shrugged. "I'm okay."

Josh disagreed as he examined him up and down. "You don't look too well."

Drake had lost a lot of weight since he'd last seen him. His clothes were baggy, and Josh would've sworn he hadn't eaten in weeks. With the weight loss came sunken cheeks, and his face was pale from all the time he spent in his room getting high with the lights off. Drake's hair was an oily, tangly mess partially hidden under his beanie, and there was stubble under his chin. And was that a huge bruise on his jaw that he'd attempted to cover with make-up? However, what really tugged at Josh's heart the most were his eyes. They were dilated, like always, and there were dark circles under them from a lack of sleep. His eyes, which were once childlike and had the power to light up a room, were dead, just like his unenthusiastic voice. He'd really let himself go, and Josh couldn't believe the drastic change that he was seeing.

"Why have you been ignoring our calls?" Josh questioned. "We're all really concerned about you."

"I'm fine," was all that Drake said, eyeing every passerby to see if anyone was coming for him. Now that he had the pills, he was ready to get out of there before he really did get caught.

"Mom wants to know if you're coming home for Christmas."

"I don't know yet."

Josh could tell that he wasn't at all invested in the conversation; his brother couldn't even make eye contact. "She really wants you to be ther-"

Drake cut him short. "She kicked me out. Remember?"

"Drake, you had her stuck in this place where she was scared to allow you to use because you might get hurt and scared to tell you that you couldn't because you might try to kill yourself again."

"So this was her solution? Kicking me out?"

"She wanted you to see how hard it would be on your own. She thought you would come back."

"Well, that plan didn't work out too well, did it?" Drake said bitterly. "Now look at me. I'm a fucking mess."

"We can help you," Josh offered desperately. "Just try to clean yourself up and come home."

"She's just gonna send me off to rehab. That's how she handles things. She finds the problem, and she gets rid of it. She'll send me away just like she did when I was younger," he said, referring to the time his parents had divorced and he'd gone through a bout of crippling depression.

"You needed help," Josh justified.

"I was thirteen, and she locked me away in some mental hospital."

Josh knew that he was bitter although his monotonous voice didn't show it. "She makes a place for you at the table every night thinking that maybe you'd come home. Sometimes she even forgets that you're gone. She misses you. We all do."

Drake felt bad that he hadn't returned any of their efforts to reach him. They didn't even know he was staying with his father. He didn't want them to see him like this. It was degrading.

"Look, Josh, I gotta go." Drake started to walk past him.

"Let me just...give you some money."

Drake closed his eyes to keep his tears back with those words, but he stopped because he really needed it. Josh knew that he was planning on walking out of the store without paying for his Triple C's, and he didn't want his brother to get arrested for shoplifting. He hoped that he didn't spend it all on drugs because Drake looked severely malnourished. Josh pulled a twenty out of his wallet. Just so he wouldn't look desperate, Drake refused, but he knew that Josh would force him to take it, and he did.

"I owed you for something a while back that I never paid you back for," Josh lied to make them both feel better about the situation.

"Thanks," Drake said, placing the bill inside of his pocket.

"You know you're welcome at home any time," Josh offered, but Drake declined.

"I think I'm okay." He then turned and started walking away, mortified about this entire thing, but Josh's next words made him come to a sudden halt.

"Meelah wouldn't have wanted this, you know."

*FLASHBACK*

"MEELAH! MEELAH, WAKE UP! Oh, God," Drake choked as the tears flooded his cheeks. He slowly leaned over and rested his forehead on her still stomach. "Please, don't do this now. AFTER EVERYTHING WE'VE BEEN THROUGH, YOU CAN'T DO THIS NOW!" His back jerked with each sob. His voice cracked when he said, "God, please. I can't do this without you."

Drake could hear sirens in the distance. Fucking finally! It felt like he had called them an hour ago. He pushed himself up to his feet and ran towards the road. It was dark, and they had been in a slightly hidden location at the park to avoid cops.

"Hey!" Drake waved his arms in the air. "Over here!" He squinted at the bright, flashing lights, for his eyes had adjusted to the darkness. He knew he was a terrible sight. His face was puffy, snot was dripping down his nose, and his eyes were red from crying.

A couple of paramedics hopped out of the ambulance as soon as it stopped and followed Drake to the spot where an unmoving Meelah lay.

"What happened?" the younger one asked after noticing the can of dust-off.

Drake was scared for her life, so he was mostly honest, and he spoke rapidly, making him almost incomprehensible. "We were getting high, and I blacked out, and when I woke up, she was like this. She won't wake up."

What he didn't say was how long she had been unresponsive for. To be honest, he had no idea. He'd kept taking large hits from the dust-off, so after each hit, he would black out for a short (but also unknown to him) amount of time (most likely somewhere between ten seconds to two minutes). Each time he came to, he found her blacked out, so he'd just assumed that she had just recently taken a hit and was constantly blacking out like he had been. It wasn't until he finished the entire can and attempted to snap her back into reality that he realized that Meelah had stopped breathing.

"I don't have a pulse," the gray-haired man said.

Drake's heart dropped. He was hit with a wave of nausea. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh my God..."

The older one started doing chest compressions. "Starting CPR. Prep the AED."

The other one stood and opened his bag, then pulled out a small machine. "Young man, we're gonna need you to step back."

Drake didn't want to leave her side. "But-"

"Step back."

The boy obeyed. "Please, help her."

Meelah's shirt was pulled off, and since her bra contained metal wiring, they removed it, then started placing two pads in preparation to shock her heart. The older man continued CPR.

"Oh my God..." Drake put his shaking hand over his mouth, then took another step back, but this time, his legs gave out and he fell onto the grass, watching in horror. "God, please don't let her die. Please."

*END FLASHBACK*

I eat my dinner in my bathtub
Then I go to sex clubs
Watching freaky people gettin' it on
It doesn't make me nervous
If anything I'm restless
Yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all

Martin turned the can upside-down over his mouth to get every last drop that he could. He belched, then pushed himself to his feet. He needed another beer, and he had to pee. He decided to head towards the bathroom first. It wasn't until he stood that he realized how badly he had to go. He sped across the hall and pushed open the door, and once inside, he found his son. Martin set his empty beer can down on the counter after noticing the ones on the floor that surrounded Drake, then he stood in front of the toilet and unzipped his pants. As he relieved himself, he glanced back at the pathetic boy. Drake was in a completely different world at the moment. His head was leaning against the edge of the tub, and vomit had made a river going down both the inside and the outside of it.

I get home, I got the munchies
Binge on all my Twinkies
Throw up in the tub
Then I go to sleep
And I drank up all my money
Dazed and kinda lonely

It hardly phased Martin. He found Drake in similar ways as this a lot. As long as he was still breathing, the man let him be. When he finished up, he zipped his jeans flushed the toilet, then spun around and stepped over his son. He turned on the faucet, put soap on his hands, and started washing them. As he did this, he lifted his eyes and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He took after his mother when it came to his looks, which was fine with him. Martin hated his father anyway. He was a drunk prick. He had acted a lot like Martin did now. Maybe it was heredity that the man ended up like this. And Drake would end up the same way. And his kids. And their kids. After what Martin had gone through in his childhood, he always wondered why he would put his son through the same thing and not want Drake to have a better life. After Drake's betrayal and the divorce and the alcoholism, Martin had somewhat lost himself. Plus, it didn't help that Drake looked an awful lot like his father. He couldn't get back at him because his dad was dead now, so he took it out on Drake, and admittedly, that felt just as good. His entire life was a fucking train wreck, but with this, he finally had some sort of control.

It was crazy how different Drake and Martin actually were. When he thought about his past, Martin was embarrassed about how quickly he would give in and beg. Drake wasn't like that. He had always fought and spat bratty remarks even though he knew it would be worse for him. He wanted to keep his dignity. And even now, Martin still felt like he was losing against his son because Drake didn't react at all anymore. He just accepted it and moved on. It was as if he wasn't even affected by it. He'd always called Drake weak when, in actuality, he was the weaker of the two, and knowing that fact always enraged him more when he looked at the boy. However, although Drake was mentally stronger, Martin made up for it with his physical strength, and it made him feel better to see that look of pain on Drake's face and know that he had caused it. Martin - that weak little child - suddenly wasn't so weak anymore.

You're gone and I gotta stay
High all the time
To keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
High all the time
To keep you off my mind
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh
Spend my days locked in a haze
Trying to forget you babe
I fall back down
Gotta stay high all my life
To forget I'm missing you
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

A faint jingle filled the man's ears. He quickly turned off the sink, then wiped his hands off with a washcloth and went back to his room. He picked up his cell phone, and once he swiped to answer, the ringtone stopped.

"Hello?" He made his way to the bathroom again, slower this time.

"Hey, how are you?" It was Audrey.

"I'm alright. I was just about to find something on TV. What about yourself?" He quietly began gathering up the cans of Bud Light and empty boxes of Triple C's so that he could take them into the kitchen and throw them away.

"Not good," she admitted hesitantly.

"Still worried about Drake?"

"I just wish I knew where he was," she said.

"Yeah, me, too." Martin sat down on the toilet seat with his eyes on his son. "I'm sure he's okay wherever he is, though."

"Josh ran into him today at Walmart. He was buying those pills. He said he looked really bad."

Martin heard her voice crack, and it actually broke his heart that she worried so much over someone who didn't deserve her tears. "Drake has to make his own choices, and he's gotta learn from his mistakes. I'm sure he's staying with some friends that are keeping an eye on him."

"Or he could just be sleeping in a dark alley somewhere."

"Audrey, you shouldn't jump to conclusions like that. He was a popular guy and he had a lot of friends. Trust me. Someone took him in."

She sighed. She wanted to believe it, but the mother in her worried too much. "I just want my baby boy to come back home."

"I know. He will someday. He's just going through a lot that he doesn't know how to handle. Especially after Meelah died. He's looking for help in all the wrong places, and he's gonna realize that someday soon. He's gonna come back to you. I know he will."

"I hope you're right," said Audrey. "Anyway, I was just calling to let you know that Josh saw him. Our son's still alive," she said with a slight bitter sarcasm, sad by the fact that she didn't always know that he was safe anymore.

"Thanks. Keep me updated, okay?"

"Likewise. Bye, Martin."

He smiled when he heard her say his name. "Bye, Audrey." The man hung up the phone, then sighed and looked down at his drug-addled son. "You ungrateful little shit," he whispered with pity rather than anger.

---

Molly giggled when she saw Drake reach into the top drawer of her nightstand and retrieve a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs. Cute, she thought. He thinks I'm gonna let him be the dominant one. She knew that the boy knew her little games. He knew that she would tease him until it hurt and that sometimes, she'd even leave him unattended to. Not this time. This time, he was staying a step ahead. Just as he started to put her wrist in the cuff, she violently forced him into his back, then leaned over him and viciously bit his bottom lip. Drake responded by yanking her hair roughly, just the way she liked it. As her head was held away from him, she gazed down at the boy. His eyes were half-closed and full of lust. His lip was bleeding. He was sweating, and he was breathing hard although no actual penetration had been made yet. Her fingernails had dug deep lines into the skin on his back that traced all the way to his sides, and his face clearly displayed the mixture of pain and pleasure that he was feeling. She rubbed her hands down his torso until she came to his weak spot - his rib cage. It didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to, but when she would bare down on it, sometimes he could scream, and the first person to scream would be on the bottom.

Drake's breathing hitched as a sharp pain shot up his body, but he didn't make a sound. His eyes moved down to her chest, where he saw teeth marks and bruises. It was a strange thing - the way that pain and pleasure could intermingle and become one. And eventually, you get so used to it that you can't tell where one begins and the other ends anymore.

Drake lifted his chin to look above him at the head of the bed when he heard a metallic click bring him out of his thoughts. His left hand was locked, but as she wrapped the chain that connected one cuff to the other around one of the bars on the headboard, the boy put up a fight. To immediately cease his struggle, she balled up her fist and slugged his rib cage.

"Mmm!" He bit his lip, then clutched the injured area, but in his weakened state, she grabbed his right wrist and pinned it against the mattress just above his head, then locked it into place.

"That was almost a scream."

"Almost," Drake emphasized, his breath hitching again with each inhale.

"Don't worry. I've got just the thing." She smiled mischievously, then pushed herself out of the bed.

Drake watched her as she nakedly moved over to the closet. She bent over, her back to the boy, as she dug around in the corner, tossing old jeans and shoes out of her way. Moments later, she came back with a rope. Again, she grinned, then grabbed the young man's left foot and quickly tied a tight knot around it. She yanked it closer to her, dragging him towards the foot of the bed until the handcuffs wouldn't allow him to go any further. Next, she wound the rope around the outside of the left, then right bedposts, then she tied the very opposite end of the rope around his right ankle. When she finished, she stepped back and examined her work. Drake had absolutely no moving room whatsoever. He tried to fight against the cuffs and the ropes, but they were both secured so tightly that his skin was beginning to be rubbed raw. Without another word, she gave a satisfied smile, then left the room.

"Molly?" Drake called after her. "Where are you going?"

Not another one of her stupid fucking games. His could feel his erect member pulsating. It was started to hurt. He needed to stick his dick inside of something NOW. His hips involuntarily began pumping the air a couple times.

"Get back here, you fucking bitch!" He knew it wouldn't hurt her feelings; she liked being called names during sex. He fought his restraints and squirmed around, but it was no use. "Oh, God," he whispered as the level of pain grew.

When she finally returned with two cups, one steaming and one not, she laughed at his discomfort.

"Come on," he pleaded. "Fuck, it hurts."

Molly set the cups down on the nightstand, and now that they were closer to his nose, Drake could smell the scent of coffee. The woman climbed on top of him, then slid her hands up the inside of his thighs slowly. His legs twitched with pleasure.

"Oh God," he whispered again, his hips bucking in a rapid pattern.

"Calm down, cowboy," she said in a sexy voice, then she reached over and picked up the steaming cup. She filled her mouth with coffee, then set the cup back down.

Drake noticed that she never swallowed it, and he knew what she was planning when she gave him that mischievous grin again. "Don't."

Molly then started leaning forwards.

"Don't! Molly, fuckin' don't!"

She ignored him as she wrapped her lips around his erect penis, some of the hot coffee dripping from her lips and down the sensitive skin.

"Ahh! Gahh!" He felt her lips form a smirk around his member, for now that he'd screamed, they knew who would be on the bottom. Drake held his breath as he tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes closed. He clenched his toes tightly. "Gmm," he moaned. And then he felt her swallow the bit of coffee that was in her mouth. He took comfort in the gentle strokes of her tongue as she licked up the remaining droplets, cleaning him off as if he were a cat.

"Please," he said breathily, urging her to finally allow him to start penetration.

However, she had other things in mind. Molly grabbed the other cup, then pulled out an ice cube. She pushed it against the boy's chest. She smiled as she watched him shiver, then she slowly moved it down the middle of his torso. Drake attempted to shrink himself against the bed as if trying to get away from the cold, but he couldn't get anywhere. Finally, she allowed the cube to rest on his belly button. She reached up and connected their lips. He closed his eyes, but he was distracted by the coldness of the ice cube on his stomach. Molly moved closer and pushed her tongue in between his lips. Drake moaned. The woman felt Drake's heavy breathing as his stomach lifted up and touched hers for brief moments at a time. His torso was covered in a mixture of his own sticky sweat and the sweat from the ice cube.

At that moment, she started to lift herself, but Drake moved his head higher with hers, silently begging her not to depart from him again. He was ready for action, and the longer he waited, the more pain he was in. To stop his feeble attempts, Molly roughly snatched the top of his hair back, forcing his head against the pillow. He gasped with surprise at the sudden pain, his breathing rapid and short now as he gazed up at her, completely vulnerable.

"God, fucking please," he said again, earning a slap across his cheek. His head was turned with the force of the blow, and his ears were ringing as the sound of the loud smack filled his ears. His cheek stung, but he had no way of offering it comfort.

Molly kissed his chest, then moved her lips down his torso, giving out more kisses every so often. When she made it to his belly button, she wrapped her lips around the ice cube, then started guiding it over the line of hair that led to his most private area.

Drake's stomach caved in, and he let go of his air in staccato breaths to prevent moving and causing himself more pain as the ice travelled lower and lower. "Ha! Ah! Gah!"

Once again, her lips wrapped around his penis, but this time, with something cold in her mouth instead of hot. The ice move around, adding no comfort to his scalded skin.

"Ah! Ha ha!" Drake clenched his teeth, then repeatedly blew air out of his pursed lips in a speedy manner. Focusing on this helped him not think about that mixture of excruciatingly torturous pleasure he was feeling currently.

Molly used her tongue and guided the ice up closer to his tip, pleased with herself as she heard the boy lose his composure.

"Oh, God. Oh, shit. Oh, fuck." Drake tightly gripped the bars on the headboard until his knuckles became white. "Please, Molly! You fucking win! Please, just fuck me already!"

Upon hearing his defeat, she lifted herself up with the ice cube in her mouth, giving in to his pleads. She repositioned herself so that she had a knee on either side of his hips. Molly leaned over and gave the young man a quick kiss just to pass off the ice cube. Drake immediately turned his head and spat it to the side, ignoring the sound as it rolled off the mattress and onto the hardwood floor.

"Come on," Drake urged again, his eyes half-closed as he lifted his head and pushed his lips against hers.

Their tongues danced together perfectly. As much as Molly liked to tease, she needed it just as desperately. Drake could tell by the way her hands travelled up and down his body fervently, for she was unsure where she wanted to touch him first. She straightened, dragging her long fingernails down his torso, then dropped herself right on top of him. She let go of a relieved gasp while Drake grunted, then urged her to moved faster by thrusting his hips in sync with hers.

---

Drake entered his father's house slowly, then leaned his back against the door as he quietly shut it. It had been a grueling walk from Molly's to Walmart and then to here. The sex had been fucking amazing, but it had left him in a lot of pain.

"What the fuck's wrong with you?" Martin said as he approached him.

"Nothing," Drake said quietly.

His voice was always meek around him these days. Now that he lived here for an indefinite amount of time, he couldn't just bark back freely like he normally would. No one was going to save him this time. He had to make the best of his living arrangement because it wasn't going to change any time soon.

Martin eyed him suspiciously, then reached for the strap of Drake's backpack. "Have you gotten your paycheck yet?"

"No."

Drake pushed himself against the door again so that his bag was stuck between it and himself, but Martin grabbed him and snatched the pack away. Unfortunately, it wasn't closed, and the man turned it upside down in his struggle, so a couple boxes of cough medicine dropped into the floor.

*FLASHBACK*

Drake was exhausted, but he knew that it wasn't a good idea to sleep here. He forcefully pushed himself to a sitting position, then listened to make sure that the shower was still on. Molly had disappeared into her bathroom some time ago, and now was as good of a time as any.

The young man pushed himself out of bed. He grabbed his boxers and slipped them on. He glanced towards the room that she'd gone into, then moved over to the closet, which is where her Coach purse was hanging from a doorknob. He grabbed it, then rummaged through her things until he found her wallet. He opened it. There were a couple of shiny credit cards that her husband paid for. She had forty dollars in cash. Drake grabbed a ten, then checked to make sure that the bathroom door was still closed. With that confirmed, he slipped the wallet back inside of the purse, then found his jeans and put them on.

*END FLASHBACK*

Martin was silent for a moment as he looked down at the drugs on the floor. "You know I don't wanna see this shit."

Drake was quick to scoop up the boxes. Martin never stopped him. He was fully aware that this was going on, but he didn't like seeing it because then he was reminded about just how much of a loser his son was and just how shitty of a dad he was for not caring enough to put a stop to it.

"Sorry," the boy said.

And he was. All he had to do was keep the pills hidden, and then nothing would come between himself and Charlie. His father was giving him that, so obeying that simple rule was the least he could do in return.

"Where's your paycheck?"

"Is...today Saturday?" Drake squinted his eyes in sincere thought, but Martin didn't believe that he'd forgotten his payday.

The man grabbed the side of his neck, then slammed his head against the door, causing his son's heart to start racing at Martin's sudden surge of anger. "Listen, boy," he spat, inching his face closer. "I give you shelter. I give you food and water. I provide a bed and clothes. I turn my back when you're getting high off of those pills. Paying me back is the least you could do in return."

"I know. And I appreciate that."

He did. He couldn't go home. Charlie wasn't allowed there. Charlie wasn't really accepted anywhere else but here, and he was willing to endure whatever he had to in order to keep the love of his life by his side.

"It must've just slipped my mind," he said, his jaw crushing under the weight of Martin's tight grip. "I'll get it tomorrow when I go into work."

"This better not happen again. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Drake clutched his jaw when he was let go, and he rubbed the aching skin.

"You can start on dinner after you finish the laundry."

"Okay," Drake said submissively. He cautiously took a step past his father, then another and another until he was in the clear. Before he started on his chores, he went into the bathroom to take his "medicine."

---

Drake took a seat on the couch, his feet curled up beneath him. He had found a slightly expired can of Chef Boyardee Ravioli hidden away on the top shelf of one of the cabinets. They didn't have as much chicken as he'd originally thought, and of course Martin had hogged it all and left Drake to fend for himself, so this was his dinner. He couldn't taste it anyway because of his drug use, but he knew he needed something in his stomach. He couldn't shake the way Josh had looked at him. He needed to get some of that weight back so it wasn't as obvious to people he was passing by that he was a drug addict.

Drake glanced to his right when he felt Martin's presence in the doorway to the living room. By the look on his face, he knew Martin was mad about something. "What?" he asked in a feeble voice finally after waiting several seconds in silence for the man to speak first.

Martin stomped forwards threateningly, causing his son to flinch, and he pointed backwards with his thumb. "Beat it."

Drake didn't have to be told twice. He stood and went the long way around the coffee table to avoid Martin as the man made his way to the couch. He glanced at his father, who seemed to be more upset than he was angry. Drake couldn't help but feel somewhat sympathetic. In his eyes, Martin was always strong and dominating and untouchable, so seeing him so down now made everything feel off somehow.

"Are you okay?" he asked curiously with a meek voice.

Martin hated being so vulnerable, and he swore he heard a bit of satisfaction in his son's voice although it wasn't actually there. He pushed himself off of the couch. Drake flinched again when the man's hand came towards him, but instead of making contact with his skin, it knocked the bowl out of his hand.

"I said piss off!"

Drake was shoved backwards. He fell, but immediately pushed himself out of the floor and scurried into his room with hopes that he wasn't being followed. Unfortunately, he was. Martin blasted through the door before the boy had fully shut it, then grabbed the left side of Drake's face in a tight grip. He then started forcing the boy into the kitchen.

"You clean that shit up!" He shoved him hard, causing the young man to fall against the counter and knock a few things onto the floor.

Drake's hands fumbled for the roll of paper towels, then he made his way back to the spilled ravioli.

Martin was right behind him. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are that you think I'm about to clean up after you! You're not about to make my house a train wreck, you filthy junkie!"

Drake's muscles were tense and his shoulders were raised in hopes that it would offer some sort of protection for his head as he scooped his dinner back into its bowl. He hated being on his knees at his father's feet. He was too much of an easy target there. However, Martin left him alone and made his way back over to the couch, mumbling a few rage-fueled insults about his ungrateful son.

Drake despised that sudden rush of adrenaline he felt when his father started yelling. He hated the rapid heartbeat, the quick breaths, the numbness in his fingers, the fear coursing through his veins. It felt as if he lived half of his life in fight-or-flight mode, but he never chose fight. He was always running. Always hiding. Always.

*FLASHBACK*

Thirteen year old Drake sniffled as he closed his suitcase. He wiped the tear that had fallen down his cheek, sniffled again, then reached around and zipped up the bag. Ha! As if he ever got the luxury of changing his clothes when he stayed with his father. It was all for show. No one could know what he went through at that house. Or else...

"Knock knock." Audrey leaned against his bedroom door. "You all set?"

He kept his back to her so she couldn't see that he was crying. "Yeah."

She could still heard sadness in his voice. "Cheer up, honey. You'll be back before you know it."

"I don't see why Megan doesn't have to go, too."

"Martin wants to spend time with you. He thinks you two could use some father/son bonding time."

Drake inwardly winced at those words.

"We've been really worried about you. You were gone for nine days. We had no idea if you were okay or even alive. You really scared us. You scared me."

His runaway attempt had gone well up until he ran out of food and money. He'd snuck through Julio's window, but his friend's father had caught his son carrying a bunch of snacks upstairs and had proceeded to call Audrey.

"Then why can't I stay here with you? I don't want to go to Dad's. We don't get along. He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you, Drake." Audrey made her way over to her son and placed her hand on his shoulder.

He turned his head away so she couldn't see his watery eyes.

"None of this is your fault. Your father made a mistake. He got caught. You weren't the reason we got a divorce. Neither of us blame you."

Drake's face contorted and his lip started trembling. Fresh tears flooded out of his eyes. God, if only she knew. If only he had the courage to tell her.

"You're dad's almost here." She rubbed his back for a moment before pulling away. "Finish getting ready."

*END FLASHBACK*

When the floor was spotless, Drake pushed himself to his feet, then went into the kitchen to discard of the used paper towels. He scooped the rest of his dinner into the trash can along with it, then set the bowl inside of the sink and filled it with water.

The boy was still hungry. He opened the refrigerator and looked inside, but it was even emptier than usual. Something was different. It felt abnormal as he gazed into the fridge - halfway searching for food and halfway pondering why it felt so off kilter. He realized the latter first. There was no beer. The absence of blue had a way of making the entire refrigerator look different. That's probably why Martin seemed so pissed off and why he was so irritated when Drake forgot to pick up his paycheck. The boy then started to feel guilty. He knew all too well the feeling of being out of the thing you craved most. He was surprised that his dad hadn't done more than just push him around. When Drake was out of Triple C's, he was always filled with an intense rage that forced him to hole himself up in his room so that he'd stay out of trouble. And Drake wasn't a violent guy. Martin was. Why hadn't he gone off on him? He'd done worse things to the boy for less.

*FLASHBACK*

Drake pushed himself into the corner when he heard the lock on the outside of the door click. When the closet door opened, he lifted his arm, blinded by the brightness of his father's bathroom.

"Jesus Christ, it smells like shit it there." Martin grabbed his arm, then yanked him out of the closet.

"Ah!" Drake was only wearing a pair of boxers, so the bruises that covered his skin were clearly visible. They were still rather dark although he'd gotten them when he'd first arrived here nine days ago. He had a rash in between his thighs from a lack of a place to use the bathroom. His feet were damp, and he reeked of urine.

"Stay there," Martin ordered after forcing him to turn and face the closet door. "Take off your underwear."

Drake didn't realize that his fingers were trembling until he struggled to slide the soaked boxers down his raw legs. He choked out a sob when he heard the man removing his belt. "Please," the boy begged almost silently as he turned his head to look at the man and plead with his eyes.

Martin forced him back into place. "Stand still."

Drake was already crying, and the belt hadn't even touched him yet. He felt that he had been punished enough. Nine fucking days in a tiny, cramped place should've been enough for Martin. He hadn't been able to stretch his legs; the closet was so small that he'd kept his knees to his chest the entire time. There had been a shelf just above his head, so there was absolutely no standing room. Not only had he been beaten beforehand; he'd been locked away in the dark, isolating closet, and he hadn't even been able to move around. He felt disgusting for repeatedly urinating on himself, but he was thankful that Martin had left him with a gallon of water although it took up a lot of his room. The child had refrained from having a bowel movement, so now his stomach was in a lot of pain.

"Did you have fun in there?"

Crack!

"Ahhhh!" Drake thrusted his hips forwards and attempted to cover his stinging cheeks with his hands, but Martin grabbed them and tossed them to the side with irritation.

"Answer the god damn question!"

Crack!

"Ahhhhhh! No, sir!"

"Why not? I thought you wanted to be on your own. Isn't that why you left?"

Crack!

"Gaahhh! It was a mistake!"

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that you ran away because of me."

Drake closed his eyes, but the tears still came. God, he was terrified and humiliated. "No, sir."

Crack!

"Gaaaaahhhh! I'm sorry!" Drake could feel the welts developing on his raw skin. "Please," he sobbed. "How many more?"

"Well, you ran away for nine days, and then I locked you in the closet for nine days. I know you're not too good at math - or anything really - but you can figure that one out, can't you?"

Drake squeezed his eyes tighter and hung his head as he wept. His face contorted, and his sobs made him sound pathetic. When he was able to speak, he said, "Please. I'm begging you."

Crack!

"Gnaaaaahhhh!" The boy pushed himself up against the wall. He was bawling so hard that it was no longer audible, and he couldn't stop to take in a breath. Once again, he tried to block his backside with his hands - if only for a few seconds to ease the pain - but Martin balled up his fist and punched the top of his spine three times until Drake finally moved his hands away.

"You know, your mother called me every night that you were gone, and she sounded a lot like you do now."

Crack!

"Ahhhhh! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

"That's what I thought. You would never intentionally hurt your mother, would you, Drake?"

"I didn't mean to." Drake had thought of his mother every single day that he was gone, but at the time, he knew that if he went back to her, he would eventually end up here. It wasn't that he didn't love her enough to endure his father's punishments. It was just that he feared Martin enough to throw away any relationship he had with his family.

"And when you get home, you're gonna apologize for worrying her, aren't you, Drake?" Although a lot of the things Martin said were in question form, they were not questions.

"Yes, sir." He was sorry, but maybe she had some things to be sorry for, too, like forcing him to come here, for instance. God, if only he had the balls to tell her what his father did to him!

Crack!

"Gaahhhh! God, I swear! Please!"

Crack!

"Gaaaahhhhhhh! Mmm..."

"And one more thing," Martin said, and this time, Drake could feel the man's breath on his neck. "You're never gonna try to run away from me again," the man said, and although it wasn't a question, he finished with, "are you, Drake?"

"No, sir. Never. I swear to God."

"Good."

Crack!

"Aaahhhhhhhh!"

*END FLASHBACK*

Ring...

Ring...

Ring...

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mindy."

The girl could tell by the way he said those words that he was high, and she was less than enthused. "What do you want, Drake?"

He wasn't sure why, but he hadn't expected for her to answer, and now that she did, he pushed himself up into a sitting position on his bed because he felt unprepared. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." She didn't elaborate more, so he could tell that she was still bitter about everything that had happened over the last summer. She waited for him to speak, but he seemed to be doing the same. "So is there a reason you called me?"

"Um, your doctor's appointment was today, right?"

"It was."

"How'd that go?" he asked. Usually when he talked on the phone, he would half listen and half play with a loose string on his pants or something out of boredom, but this time, his full focus was on their conversation.

"Fine."

Drake didn't blame her for being short with him after everything he'd done, but it kind of hurt that she pretended that they never had anything between them. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"You've made that perfectly clear," she said sharply. It wasn't the first time she'd heard his lousy attempt at an apology.

"I do still care, though," he tried.

Mindy sighed, her jaw taut. "The baby's fine."

A small smile crept onto Drake's lips.

"The doctor said everything's normal. I'm supposed to go back in month."

"That's good. When do you know if it's a boy or girl?"

"Josh and I decided to do the reveal on Christmas," Mindy said. Against her better judgement, she added, "You should come."

He knew Mindy didn't care if he was there or not, but she'd been living at his mom's now that her and Josh were back together, so she saw firsthand how his addiction affected his family. "I don't know."

"Drake, stop being so selfish. Your mom still pays for your phone bill because she hopes that you'll finally answer her calls one day. All she wants it to hear your voice and know that you're not dead."

Drake looked down at his lap with guilt. He cleared his throat, then changed the subject. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

Mindy hesitated before allowing the switch in topic. "We haven't agreed on a girl name yet, but if it's a boy, we're gonna name him Cameron Layden Nichols."

"Nichols?"

"I mean, Drake, if you would've stepped up and taken responsibility, I would've gladly used your last name, but you've fallen off the face of the earth, and I'll be damned if this kid's gonna grow up without a father."

"You're right," Drake agreed. "I'm glad you have someone there for you. You deserve nothing but the best."

"It's not just Josh. Your whole family's really supportive," she said. "I'm sure they'd treat you just as well as they treat me if you came back."

"You know why I can't do that."

"No," she said, shaking her head although she knew he couldn't see her. "I don't."

And honestly, Drake wasn't so sure either. He just knew that, the second he showed up, things would go horribly, horribly wrong. He had that effect on people.

*FLASHBACK*

Everything was wrong. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. This wasn't how this night was supposed to go. It was supposed to be fun. It's something he needed - that they needed - and he'd pushed Meelah into following his lead. It had just been so long since he'd used. A fucking month. Although that didn't sound like a long time, for an addict, it was everything, especially when Drake was the type of guy who had hardly managed to make it twenty-four hours back when he'd tried to clean himself up before. Not to mention that those day fours were nearly impossible, and Drake had made it almost eight times that amount now.

He'd promised her that they'd only take a few hits from the can, and they had each other to keep from losing control, but Drake had known even when bringing that idea up that he had no stopping point, and he knew that, once Meelah remembered exactly what it felt like, she wouldn't either. Now she was fucking dead and it was all his fault!

The bright lights flashing against the dark sky made him feel dizzy and as if he wasn't actually there. He felt sick and nauseous, and it was hard to breathe through his bawling. All he could do was sit on the back of an ambulance as he watched the coroners lifting the body bag onto the stretcher.

God, he felt terrible when Meelah's parents had showed up. They were completely heartbroken. Drake had prayed that they wouldn't come talk to him, but they had because they wanted to know what had happened. The young man had completely lost it, and he apologized over and over and over again. He didn't explain that it was his fault, so maybe that's why they hugged him and held him and cried with him. They knew about their daughter's former drug use, and they knew that she was the reason that Drake used, and although things had gotten better after she'd gotten clean, they knew that addiction was something she would struggle with for the rest of her life. Meelah's mom, Mrs. Harmon, had squeezed Drake until he couldn't breathe while her step-father Mr. Harmon had encouraged the boy to clean himself up before it was too late. It wasn't in a preachy kind of way; it was from the heart because he honestly cared about this kid. And Drake had nodded and he'd sworn up and down that he would, and he'd meant it. He felt betrayed by the very things that used to give him comfort. Ha! That sobriety vow was short-lived, and now he was worse than ever.

Drake saw someone take a seat next to him out of the corner of his eye. Josh. Pull yourself together, he told himself. And Drake actually did manage to lessen the tears. His step-brother was quiet for a while as if he was waiting for Drake to say something, but he had nothing to say. Things were still awkward between the two. Josh was still pissed as fuck, yet he was beginning to talk to Mindy again. It wasn't fair that Drake was being blamed for the entire thing, but he never argued because he was guilty of having sex with his brother's girlfriend. He just wished that Josh would forgive him just as quickly as he forgave Mindy.

Josh finally spoke, but his words were anything but comforting. "I hope you see now just how much of a cancer you are, and how you ruin the lives of everyone you come into contact with." And just like that, he was gone.

Drake was in shock. Even after everything he'd done, that was the last thing he'd expected to come out of his brother's mouth. But God, wasn't he right? As his sobbing grew, he leaned forwards and buried his head in his hands. "God, I'm sorry," he whispered to no one in particular.

*END FLASHBACK*

Josh never apologized for his comment, but Drake could see that he was sorry after he attempted to kill himself. He hated apologies anyway, so he didn't mind. It had cut deeply at the time, but it was the truth, and you can't be mad at someone for being honest.

Also, at that time, Josh had been going through hell. He had been trying to work things out with Mindy, but she had been really strung out on meth. After Drake had invited her to snort a few lines with himself and Rhinestone last summer, she hadn't been able to get that feeling out of her mind. She'd traded those red pills for white powder and her scissors for a pipe. She's only six weeks clean, but that was a lot longer than Drake ever made it without his vices. Josh had really worked with her. He was patient and forgiving. Drake was jealous in a way. He'd been kicked out of his own home for his drug use. His family had given up on him in a tiny fraction of the time Josh had helped out Mindy. No one had tried to force her into rehab. And how had she quit so easily? It's not fucking fair! Meth is one of those bad ass drugs you hear about on television that ruin people's lives, and Drake was stuck on cough medicine?! Fucking pathetic.

"Are you still there?" Mindy said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

"Um, I've gotta go," he said abruptly.

Figures. He always did when Mindy started talking about his family.

"But if you need money or anything for the baby, just let me know, okay?"

"I think we can manage," she said, returning to her bitterness. "Bye, Drake."

"Bye-" He'd barely gotten that word out before she hung up the phone. He sighed and spoke softly to only the dial tone that was ringing in his ear. "I love you."

---

"S'cuse me. Sorry," Drake mumbled repeatedly as he squeezed his way up to the front of the line. He made it without a fuss; everyone here knew him and loved him.

The bouncer was a large Caucasian male who had the facial expression of an assassin. He unclipped the red rope and allowed Drake to step through without so much as a word. Even before opening the door, the boy had been able to hear the loud bass pounding in his ears and feel it vibrating through his shoes. The scent of alcohol filled his nostrils. Just like home.

He was in a small hallway that was lit with a black light, causing his white, V-neck shirt to glow in the dark. The walls were lined with people waiting for friends or using the phone or making out. Speaking of making out, before he even knew what was happening, he'd been shoved up against the wall with a girl on his lips.

She pulled away and giggled. "Finally, my best friend's here."

He wasn't her best friend. They weren't even friends. If it wasn't for her necklace, which read Sandy, he wouldn't have any idea what her name was, and he was pretty sure she didn't know his either.

"Give me a few minutes, okay?" he yelled over the music. "And I'll come find you."

"You better," she said with a smirk before exiting through the door Drake had come in through for a cigarette break.

The young man continued down the hall, then moved the tye-dye curtain to the side and stepped into a large room. The dance floor was crowded with young adults who were jumping about and having a great time. After Drake got all set, they would be in for an even better time.

"Yo, Drake." A dark-skinned male in his late twenties or early thirties (probably the latter) with a black goatee spotted him. His name was Dante, but Drake never remembered that. "It's about time you showed up."

"Hey, what's going on?" Drake forced a smile and went with the man's greeting by bumping their shoulders together after his hand was grabbed. It's not that Drake didn't like the guy; a couple months ago, they probably could've been best friends or something. However, Drake didn't do much socializing anymore. He never wanted to leave his house unless he absolutely had to, and he didn't much like people anymore. He had all the company he needed between himself and Charlie.

"This is my girlfriend I was telling you about," he yelled over the music as he pulled a girl closer to him until their hips touched. "Sasha. And Sasha, this is Drake."

"Nice to meet you," she said overly kindly.

Jesus, she's a newbie for sure. He was willing to bet that she was the equivalent to Dante as Mindy had been to himself. Definitely an uptight drug virgin who recently got pissed at mommy and daddy and sought after corruption. But hey, you can't corrupt someone who doesn't already want to be corrupted, so Drake tried not to think too much into these things. Not getting to know his "clients" personally helped him not feel so guilty for being apart of them ruining their lives, so he only replied with a quick nod and glance, then excused himself. He squeezed in between people, occasionally getting noticed by someone who was ready to have the time of his life, until he finally made it to the staircase on the left side of the room. He ducked under the abandoned rope, then jogged up the steps. This time, there was another bouncer. He let Drake pass with no problems. The top of the stairs opened up to a large balcony with a retro seating area on the wall to the left and a couple dancing poles next to the rails on his right. The young man passed through the middle. On the opposite end was yet another rope. No one stood guard, so he stepped over and walked down the empty hall, then took a right. The music was dulled slightly now, and Drake felt as though he could breathe a lot better. Clubbing and big crowds and uppers would've been his scene several months ago, but now he preferred to be holed up alone in his dim room with Breathe Carolina or Cage The Elephant playing on his radio at reasonable volumes.

"Hey, Cedric," the young man said to the final bouncer.

"Drake, what's up?" He opened the door. "Catch the game today?"

"No, I haven't been home all day."

In fact, he never watched the game. He wasn't much into sports. However, when he'd first met this guy (and the rest of these guys in the room he was about to enter), Drake knew that he was in dangerous territory. Charm wouldn't work with these guys. He had to find common ground with each one. With Cedric, it was the football game. Usually, Drake would get a rundown from his dad: who played, who won, best plays, etc. Today, however, it had slipped his mind.

"Oh, man! You missed a phenomenal game."

"Damn. I'll have to watch the highlights."

Drake entered the room after giving Cedric a nod for his goodbye. There were eight men - all of them older than Drake, and all of them a lot tougher. When he thought back on it, he couldn't exactly recall how he'd gotten mixed up with such a crowd. Drugs, guns, half-naked prostitutes. Now it all seemed like a normal Saturday night.

"Drake! There's my favorite guy!" He was pretty young himself: twenty-three. African-American. Only a couple inches taller than Drake. Probably twice the young man's size, but it was all muscle. He pushed the two women off of his lap, then stood and grabbed Drake's hand for a shoulder tap.

"Hey, Marcellas." Drake said, pretending to be more social and enthusiastic than he actually was.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna show." Marcellas nodded towards another guy, who grabbed a bag from the table in front of him and tossed it across the room. The man caught it, then put it into Drake's hands.

Drake looked at it. The clear baggie was filled with a plethora of small, tie-dye colored pills. He weighed it in his hands. This felt like a lot more than usual.

Marcellas could tell what he was thinking and spoke up. "Tonight's crowd is crazy. I have a feeling that those are gonna go fast."

Good. The more Drake sold, the more money he got. He got a pretty fair percentage of the earnings. However, Marcellas still kept most of it. Drake owed him a lot of money - five grand to be exact - and this was how he promised to pay off his debt.

Months ago, Drake and Meelah agreed to move to New York. She wanted her boyfriend to follow the dreams he had had before the drugs had taken them away. And while he pursued his music, she would continue her schooling there. The five grand would really help them get started. They'd had it all planned out: plane tickets, used car, down payment on an apartment. Both would find day jobs and pursue their careers at night. Marcellas was a long-time friend of Meelah's older brother, which is why he was willing to loan the two this substantial amount of cash. Everything had been perfect.

Up until the point Meelah had died.

Drake's several weeks of sobriety that he'd racked up were suddenly gone. He was always fucked up after that on Triple C's or Xanax or alcohol or some possibly fatal combination of the three. At this time, he'd lived at his mom's. One night, he took the car he and his step-brother shared. Drake never remembered why, for he'd been high as a kite on Xanax. At some point, he'd fallen asleep at the wheel and had wrecked the car. His parents had been livid, not to mention Josh, who had already hated him for everything that had went down with Mindy. It was non-stop arguing and belittling and scolding for days until Drake finally couldn't take it anymore. Out of drunken spite, he'd given his flabbergasted brother what was left of the five thousand so that he could find a new car. After his mind cleared later on, he tried to get it back because he knew he needed to return it to Marcellas since the New York plans had fallen through, but Josh refused.

Marcellas was a reasonable person, especially to someone he was close to. This had been his solution, and now here Drake was. He couldn't complain, though. Things could've gone a lot worse. Meelah had told Drake stories about this guy before, and the young man was filled with an unnoticeable fear every time he was around him.

Drake placed the baggie into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. When he lifted his head again, he suddenly noticed that one of the hookers had been eyeing him whilst biting her lip.

Marcellas saw this, too. "You want a little motivation before work? It's on me."

Drake would never admit it because it made him feel like less of a man, but prostitutes made him uncomfortable. He assumed that it had to do with these women being clearly coked out of their minds and willing to do anything for another line. "Uh, nah, I'm gonna go on downstairs."

"Oh, come on. Lola's still pretty tight down there for a whore."

"¿El va comprar?"

"Nobody knows what the fuck you're saying. Speak English!" Marcellas seemed irritated as if he'd had to remind her of this a couple times already.

"Uh, blowjob?" Lola nodded her head as she struggled over one of the few English words she knew. "¿Sí?"

"Maybe next time," Drake declined kindly. "I've got this thing...later, so I just wanna sell these so I can get out of here."

"Determination. That's what I like to see." Marcellas spun him around and placed his hands on his shoulders as if pumping him up for a wrestling match while he walked him towards the entrance. "Make me proud out there."

---

It had been a while since Drake had felt this happy. He knew it wouldn't last, but for now, he was thankful for the break from the usual monotony and depression he felt everyday. He'd taken two ecstasy pills, and within ten minutes, he was chatting up a storm with everyone as if he knew them and gave a shit about their lives. He was standing with Dante and his girlfriend Sasha talking about how Dante was bullied all throughout his school days when Drake's arm was grabbed and he was dragged away. He turned and saw that it was Sandy. She giggled with a wide grin, then turned and looked ahead so that she could carefully make a way for the two of them through the crowd of people. Drake didn't fight her lead. When she finally stopped, they were in the guy's restroom. She then grabbed his shirt collar in her fist and pulled him into one of the stalls. Sandy wasted no time. She violently shoved him against the wall. Her lips collided with his, and she started unbuckling his belt.

Drake stopped her by grabbing her hands, then pushed her away. He was already breathless by her kiss. "Do you have a condom?"

"No. You always bring one."

He ran his hands through his hair as he debated on whether or not he should risk it, but every time he did this, he thought of Mindy and the baby in her tummy. "Shit."

"Come on." She grabbed the front of his jeans and roughly yanked his hips closer, then she slipped her hand down the front of his boxers with a mischievous smirk.

God, he wanted to. The ecstasy made him extra horny, and he was already sexually aroused. His jaw dropped open because of what she was doing with her hand, and he let go of a moan. She smiled when he tilted his head back against the stall and closed his eyes, then she started to pull off her shirt. When her hand left Drake's lower region, he immediately took notice and opened his eyes to find her now removing her bra.

"No, I really can't." Everything inside of him was screaming to give in just this once.

"All you gotta do is pull out."

Drake tried to look into her eyes - that's how his mother taught him to treat women - but she was topless and her breasts were a nice D size at least. "I can't," he said again, but quieter.

Sandy saw where his gaze was directed and smirked, knowing she had a good bit of control over him. She pushed herself against him, her crotch grinding against the bulge in his boxers as she connected their lips again - this time sticking her tongue inside of his mouth. She grabbed his hands and placed them onto her breasts.

Just do it. Just do it. Just do it. They could deal with the consequences later. There were other options: Plan B pills, abortion, etc. Sandy probably wanted to avoid having kids just as much as he did. And why was he worrying? There's a huge chance she won't wind up pregnant anyway. He's had unprotected sex plenty of times before, and Mindy was the only girl he'd ever impregnated...as far as he knew... Shit...

"Stop," Drake said breathlessly, pulling his hands away from her. He couldn't recall when it had happened, but his jacket and shirt were on the floor and his boxers were around his ankles. "We can't."

Sandy didn't seem happy, but she understood. "I can still suck your dick."

Drake wasn't opposed to that. It was their little..."agreement." The boy gave her free drugs in exchange for sexual satisfaction. Jesus, that sounds terrible when he thought about it in those words. He wasn't taking advantage of her ecstasy addiction. She wanted the sex, too. Right?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when she gripped his jaw and forced his mouth open, then she stuck one of the pills onto his tongue. He hadn't noticed that she'd gone into his jacket pocket, but he brushed that thought away as they kissed. Using only his tongue, he passed the ecstasy to her, and just as the kiss grew deeper, she pulled away and got onto her knees with a grin.

---

Drake wasn't even able to take two steps into the house before he was shoved against the front door that he'd just walked through. His father had his hand on the wood next to his ear so that he couldn't move past, making Drake feel claustrophobic.

"You have my money?" Martin's face was inches from Drake's, and for once in his life, his breath didn't reek of alcohol. Maybe that's why he was up so early. The withdrawals were starting to hit him pretty hard.

The young man immediately grabbed his wallet out of his pocket. His father was not a man to be messed with in such a state. It was fucking hell to put up with an angry drunkard, but believe it or not, he was a lot calmer with his vices than without. Drake opened his wallet and fumbled for the cash. However, Martin snatched the wallet out of his hands and grabbed the money himself. He then folded the bills and pocketed them.

"You can't take all of it," Drake thoughtlessly argued.

"Next time, I suggest you don't forget your paycheck."

It wasn't exactly a "paycheck," but Martin didn't know that. Drake sold ecstasy at Marcellas' club on Friday and Saturday nights. He got paid both days. However, he'd gotten mugged on his way back from the club - which believe it or not, was located in an even shittier neighborhood than Martin's house - on his way back home early Saturday morning. Drake usually gave his father the money he received for Friday night's sales - minus what he spent on that day's drugs - and kept Sunday's all to himself without Martin's knowledge to get him through the week. He'd been robbed yesterday, and now Martin had taken his Saturday night earnings, leaving him completely broke.

"The hell am I supposed to do without money for food?"

"That's not my problem. You're the one who wanted to leave the home of a caring mother. Welcome to the real world, you spoiled little brat." Martin tossed the wallet to the side, then turned and started towards his bedroom to retrieve his car keys. "You're good at mooching off of other people. Bum it from someone else."

Drake was pissed. Walmart had only had one box of Triple C's, so he'd bought that one for tonight. They'd been in the process of restocking, but without any cash, what the hell was he going to do tomorrow? Martin had even taken the money that was leftover from Josh.

"Fucking prick," Drake whispered with irritation.

However, this pathetic attempt at rebellion didn't go unheard, and it stopped Martin in his tracks. The man turned to face his son, and Drake's muscles tensed up.

"What'd you say to me?" Martin started towards him, so Drake pushed himself against the door again. "What'd you say, you little shit? Huh? What'd you say?" When he was in front of his son, he took his forehead and smashed it right against Drake's nose.

The force of Martin's blow caused Drake's head to fly back and collide with the wooden door. Blinded by pain in multiple parts of his skull, Drake's knees gave out and he dropped onto his bottom. He clutched his nose, his eyes wide with shock and his jaw dropped open.

"I don't know who THE FUCK YOU THINK YOU ARE talking to me like that!" Martin firmly pointed his finger in his son's face. "You can get the fuck out if you don't like the way I run things around here!"

The searing pain was so great that the young man's eyes watered over. His nose was throbbing and the back of his head was pounding. He could already taste copper, and he could feel the blood flooding across his lips. Never had his nose bled so much in his entire life.

"I think you broke my nose," he gasped.

"Answer me! Do you wanna fucking leave?!"

Drake didn't recall him asking that question before now, but he wasn't about to correct his father. "No."

Martin knew it. He had his son right where he wanted him because Drake would never leave no matter what he did to him. Not when he was allowed access to Charlie here.

"Get outta my sight, you little maggot," Martin spat with disgust, and Drake immediately obeyed.

Once he was in his own room, Drake went over to the mirror. Jesus, blood was fucking everywhere - all over his lips, his chin, his neck, his shirt, his hands. It was sticky and gross. The young man cursed himself for not going to the bathroom instead to clean himself up. He grabbed a dirty tee that was on the floor and plugged his nostrils, hissing with pain.

He wiped away some of the blood, then examined himself further. His nose didn't really look broken. It was probably fine; it just hurt like a mother fucker. God, what a fucking asshole!

---

Martin had left for a beer run almost immediately after that confrontation, so Drake had felt safe to clean up in the bathroom. A lot of blood had been wiped off. The sink was covered in a liquidy crimson color. There was still dried blood under his nostrils and down his neck, but he wasn't ready for hard scrubbing just yet because he knew that it wouldn't feel pleasant. First, he decided to change his shirt. He exited the bathroom and pushed the door to his room open, then was met with a surprise.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Drake's heart dropped.

Ricardo sat on the edge of his bed. He'd been poking at the balled up shirt on the ground to see if the dark stains on it were, in fact, bloodstains like he'd suspected, but when Drake finally entered, he looked up at him. It was obvious that he was shocked by his friend's appearance: the pale skin, the sunken cheeks, the dark-circled eyes, the loose clothing.

This was the second time that he'd been looked at in that way over the past twenty-four hours, and Drake didn't like it one bit. What gave Ricardo the right to judge him anyway? And what had given Josh that right when they'd run into each other at the store? It was Drake's life, and he was going to live it however he wanted.

"Do you know how many times I've searched for you here in the last three and a half months? Every time I tried, though, I kept finding your sister. She has no idea where you are either. I would come check here about every two weeks after work on Saturday. That's when I started to realize that that's when Megan comes over. Every other weekend. She pretty much expects my showing up now. I can tell that she hopes that I'll bring her news of your whereabouts although I only come because I hope she's heard from you so I know that you're still alive. You know how I figured out you were still here, though?"

Drake swallowed, then averted his eyes by looked at the wall to his right. He shyly clutched his right bicep with his left hand. He felt like he was in trouble, and his heart was beating pretty quickly. For months, he'd ignored everyone he'd ever known except for a couple short conversations with Mindy. Even she didn't know where he was. He'd hidden it well. Now that Ricardo knew, Drake worried that he would tell and everyone would suddenly smother him with pity and intervention attempts and pleads to sober up.

But he wasn't ready.

"I was just starting to leave after talking to Megan one day, and I found an ashtray hidden behind the potted plant on the porch. It had a couple cigarette butts: L&M. Megan doesn't smoke. Your dad doesn't smoke."

"Okay, you caught me. What do you want?"

"I want you to go home."

Drake rolled his eyes, then went over to his dresser. He opened a drawer and pulled out a shirt. He pulled the current bloody one off, revealing the many bruises that covered his torso. He slid on the new one, then started to leave the room, only stopping to pick up the other bloody shirt on the floor so that his friend would stop looking at it.

Ricardo was right behind him. "Everyone's worried about you."

"I'm fine," Drake said harshly over his shoulder as he walked into the kitchen and tossed his clothes into the dirty clothes basket.

"Obviously, you're not."

"Piss off."

Ricardo was right behind him when he went into the bathroom and started scrubbing the coat of dried blood from his skin. "You promised me you wouldn't come back here."

"I guess I lied."

"They miss you. Your family misses you. Your mom misses you. I miss you."

Drake had no response for this. The truth was that he missed them, too - possibly even more than they missed him. Charlie had a way of doing that - making you miss people intensely - even ones that you'd just seen hours before.

"We can help you. Your family. Julio and I. We want you to come home."

"I am home."

"Jesus, Drake. Your dad almost killed you a couple months ago. Is that what you want?"

"Maybe I do," he said quietly, and it broke Ricardo's heart to see him like this.

"What do you think Meelah would say if she saw you like this?"

"She'd probably leave my sorry ass."

"See? She wouldn't want this for you."

"Yeah, but here's the thing," Drake said, turning to look at him finally. "Meelah's dead. She's not watching over me. She's not rooting for me. She's just dead. In a box, in the ground. Dead." He pushed past the man and tossed the washcloth into the basket with the rest of the dirty laundry, then he went into his room. He swung the door closed behind him, but Ricardo caught it before it shut and invited himself inside.

"I know her death was hard for you, but you have people around you that support you and want to help you move past this."

Drake opened his book bag and pulled out the box of Triple C's he'd bought earlier. Ricardo was starting to stress him out, and it had been hours since his last Charlie high. "I feel like everything coming out of your mouth is just a bunch of cliche bullshit."

"Everything I've said is the truth." The man's eyes were attracted to the bright yellow box. He watched for a minute as Drake held it in one hand while rummaging around for his emergency scissors with the other, but he couldn't help himself. "Okay. No." He grabbed the box away from Drake, who at first had looked like a child who had woken up to find no presents under the Christmas tree before his expression changed to pure fury.

"Give it back," Drake said with all seriousness.

"I just want you to listen to me."

"Give it back!" Drake reached for it, but he was too short.

"I'm trying to help you."

Overwhelmed by rage, Drake clutched the scissors tightly and held them in a threatening way. "Give me the god damn box."

"You're not gonna cut me," Ricardo challenged. He was filled with shock that Drake had even made it look that way, and his heart ached deep inside. He wouldn't show this on the outside however, although he feared that his friend was too far gone now.

Drake didn't back down with his glare. It's just that this was the last fucking box and it was all he had for the day and he fucking needed it right now. However Ricardo was right. Drake tossed the scissors across the room violently, but that didn't stop him from smashing his fist against the man's face. He got in one more good punch before his luck turned and Ricardo's shock turned to anger. Before Drake knew what had hit him, he was laying on his back with fist after fist flying at him. His jawbone exploded with pain, then his nose, then his jaw again. It hurt like hell, but somehow proving to Ricardo that everything he had just said was a lie felt amazing, so he kept a grin on his face with each hit. It wasn't too long before the man realized what he was doing and pushed himself off of his friend.

Drake groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position, then spat a small puddle of blood into the carpet next to him. He looked up at the towering man, and although his teeth were stained red and a pool of blood slowly drained from behind his lips, he wore a smirk on his face.

Ricardo couldn't take it anymore. Drake wasn't even the same person. He felt so guilty about Meelah's death that he sought out ways to hurt himself. He felt as though he deserved it, and the man started to believe that he would never be able to convince Drake otherwise. The boy was completely insane and self-destructive, and Ricardo felt that this talk had done more harm than good. He had no more words. Apologies wouldn't mean anything to Drake, plus he wasn't so sure that he was sorry for what he'd done, so he just turned and stormed out of the room.

Seconds later, Drake heard the front door slam closed. He was breathing heavily as the reality of what had just happened set in. Instead of thinking about it, he pushed himself out of the floor and grabbed the box of Triple C's off of the bed. He searched around for his scissors, but couldn't for the life of himself find them. Too desperate to put this off any longer, Drake ripped open the box and tore at the packaging with his bitten and uneven fingernails. He clawed at the corner of each perforation, and it was taking a lot longer than he'd originally thought. The wait was getting to him. The fight was getting to him. The fact he needed it so much was getting to him. The loneliness was getting to him. Everything was getting to him in this moment, and he COULDN'T GET THE GOD DAMN BOX OPEN! The overwhelming sensation of a whole new flood of emotions filling his mind within seconds upset him. He furiously tossed the box and the package he was working on across the room, then leaned back against the wall as the first of many tears left his eye. He slowly slid down until he was on his bottom and pulled his knees to his chest while running his hand through his hair. His back shook with each sob.

What is happening to me? What am I doing?

Drake heard the front door open and wiped away his tears. He didn't want Ricardo to see how broken he truly was. However, the person who appeared in his doorway wasn't Ricardo; it was his father.

"I saw your old pal leaving. He looked pissed." Martin's eyes searched the room until he found Drake resting against the wall by the foot of his bed. He moved closer to him and saw the fresh blood. "Jesus Christ."

Drake sniffled as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then looked up at the man as if it wasn't obvious that he'd been sobbing his eyes out.

"Come on." Martin grabbed a bottle out of the six pack that was in his hand and tossed it at his son, who caught it and met his father's eyes with confusion. "Let's get drunk."

---

Author's Note: Oh my goodness, you guys. It's been eight months since I finished writing Charlie Freak! I can't believe the sequel has taken so long, but I'm so glad I'm starting to get it out there. It took about five months to write this chapter. I'll try to get the others out faster. I have an idea and mental outline of what I want to have happen, but other things just pop up and I roll with it. Thanks to everyone who is back for the sequel and those who are sticking with me even though I take fucking forever. You guys rock.