You lose at him, and it is stupid. (You knows this all to well). It's sickening and ugly and beautiful all at the same time (you were never really good with words). But you love it. And everyone else looks at him, looks at you, with such evil corrupted eyes, and you smile. Because what else can you do? You were always his demise, his last resort (and it's stupid). How did it get to this? To him bobbing his head to the beat of the rock song you had playing in the background and Carly sitting looking at you two (looking at you, mostly), glaring, vodka sitting in her hands, never quite making it to her mouth. You just sat, sadly watching the lines blur a bit more (weren't things supposed to get happier?) and sucking up another puff from the glass pipe in your hand. He never touched the stuff, only the white lines he said made the world prettier. He was always a sucker for the prettier things in life. And who were you to stop him? You had your own demons (your own personal hell) to deal with, you can't handle his too. And that's the lie you tell yourself every time he snorts up another line, knowing that you did this to him (that you fucked him up).

Carly had never really cared at first. My last time, the stupid line he always used (the stupid line you always used.) and she believed him. Carly would always believe him. Because how could she not? It was Freddie, golden boy (the reason you always wanted to corrupt him) and nothing he said out his precious mouth could be a lie. You and him were always the rebels in your own way, but Freddie was always the one to break first (because you don't break; you crumble slowly) and you knew, you always secretly knew, he would be the one to break the most. It just hurt more (and it hurt like hell) when he did. Because it meant no more saving. No more superhero. Not that you needed saving (you were too selfish to admit he saved your ass a lot.)

"You broke him you know." Carly whispered sadly. It's all she did lately. Whisper. Because goddamit, you didn't deserve peppy Carly. You broke him. The one good thing to ever happen to you, and you broke him (because you break all your toys, right?) and you acted like you didn't care. "It was his fault. He broke himself." Lie lie lie. That's all you did these days. Lie (because that's all you knew how to do). Seeing him in the halls hurt the most. Seeing the glazed over look, the broken neediness that you knew all to well (the same neediness you saw everyday in the mirror). And the fact you caused it stung more. But you loved the sting. It reminded you that you were still whole; you were still real (that you still had a heart). And even outside, when you would smoke, reminding yourself just to breath because he was outside, still doing the powder that he carried around with him on his finger. "You know," Inhale "You should really quit that stuff" Exhale. Hypocrite. He smiled though. "It's my last time. I promise." And you really, really want to believe that, because it would mean he wasn't broken. It would mean you broke first for once, and god, how you want to see that smug look, just so you can wipe it off his face again (because you're just sick like that.) and things can go back. But you knew it was a lie, so you nodded and inhale, exhale. Puff.

Dirty basements and backrooms were a second home to you now. They marked the deep failures and haunting memories that cover every inch of your brain. Their the proven factor that Melanie was the better twin, and that you are the stupid rebel everyone always pinned on you (you always hated labels) but never, never did you wish a fate like this for Freddie. You might have gotten annoyed with the kid on occasion (mostly when he got those goo-goo eyes for Carly) but you wouldn't wish this on your worst enemy. But what could you do? You weren't anybody's savior (even though he was yours). And this was his fault (how much you want to believe that). Sitting on a dirty, smoke-infested couch, that the old Freddie would have ran at the sight of (he would have taken you with him) was Freddie, doing what else then snorting. You laughed bitterly at the sight. He looked so mechanical doing it (how ironic) and it was stupid. This was stupid. Why couldn't you saved him like he saved you? Why were you so selfish? But you were, and things weren't going to change anytime soon. So you sat beside him and smoked another cigarette. Inhale… you held it. You wanted the smoke to consume your lungs, to make this all stop (you were oh so selfish). When you felt like the smoke was about to make you explode, you felt a pat on your back, making all the oxygen rush back to your lungs, making you sputter and cough, smoke rushing out of you like some big explosion happened in your body. After the tears cleared, you looked around for the jackass that did that. All you could see was Freddie staring at you. "Stop it." And for a second (maybe it was your imagination) the old Freddie stared at you. And then he was gone, like he was never there in the first place (he probably wasn't) but still. It meant that he wasn't completely broken. Not really (at least, that's what you would tell yourself to go to sleep at night). Inhale, exhale. Smile.

It really all started that night. At Dean Spinner's party. You were, like always, in the basement. Smoking a joint and laughing at some girl who was wasted beyond belief (it was only the first hour) when he came in. Tears rimmed his eyes, and he just sat. He sat beside you and a tear rolled down his cheek (Hollywood would love him). And you didn't bother asking what was wrong (maybe you should have) because some random guy asked him first, and the memories get a little blurry after that. Suddenly he's on couch and you're teaching him how to snort it and… and then it stops. That's all you remember, and the next day and the next fucking day after that, and every day after that Freddie would snort the pretty white lines, because you taught him. But again, it's his fault (it's always been his fault hasn't it?)

After a month, Carly noticed the glazed over look in his eyes, the need to go the bathroom every 5 minutes (how many times have you done that?), and that broke her. To know the one person who was going to help fix you, was now broken too. And it broke her. The one person you promised never to hurt, you ended up hurting the most. Your friendship was a little strained after she found out; because she knew (although she'd never say this out loud) that it was you. You gave him the drugs, and that you screwed up his whole future. And yeah, it killed you to watch her beg with him to stop, and him making his lame ass excuses, and you knowing (but never really calling him out on it. That wasn't your style.) that it was a lie. That's probably when you started smoking. It gave you something to do (something to take your mind off the guilt). It let you finally breath (because you have to hold in all in when you're around him). Inhale. Exhale. Breath.

You know, you never did find out what the hell was wrong with him that night. Why he was so hurt, he went against every moral code he ever had. And if you couldn't fix him, you wanted to know why the hell he broke in the first place. So that's why you found yourself sitting outside his door, playing with a lock of your hair, not really caring that Carly was right next door, and she should really be here for this too. It was a you and Freddie moment and you didn't want to share with Carly. Freddie walked to his door after you had been sitting there (more like fidgeting and wishing you could smoke.) and your butt was sore, and you were angry he had been late for your non-existent appointment, but you hopped up and stood there looking at him, smirking a little. He looked… sober. "Uh, hey dork." "Sam." Sober, and angry, you noted. "Is it ok if we talk?" You asked, actually (maybe) caring for once. "Fine, but… I have somewhere to be, so make it quick." He fumbled in his pockets for a moment and pulled out his house keys. His hands shook as he unlocked his door. You walked in the white and sterile living room and smiled. At least this hadn't changed. You walked over to a couch, but Freddie kept walking speedily with a look of determination on his face. You looked confused, but followed anyway. You walked into his room to find him searching in drawers for something. Drugs, probably. You sighed and shut the door. He continued to rummage in his drawers and when that turned up empty, he faced you for a second, saying only "Speak" before turning to look under his bed. You shifted from one foot to another. "Well, I just wanted to know… what happened that night?" you asked, kinda peeved that he didn't stop looking just to listen. 'Fuck building rules', you thought, and pulled out a cigarette. "Huh?" He said, flopping on his bed, having pulled out a shoe box from under his bed and was now searching through it. "You know, the night this all started." You said, hands fumbling just to pull out a lighter. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about." He said, and then smiled. He had found a tiny vile of white powder and was looking at it look he had just won the lottery. The sight made you sick. You gave up your desperate attempts to light the cigarette (your hands shook too much) and snatched the vile. "This Benson! When this started! When you gave up every fucking dream and ambition! And for what? WHAT HAPPENED?!" You screamed. You knew his mom most likely heard, but she gave up on him a long time ago. "My dad died, okay?! I tried to talk to you about it, but you said this would make me feel better! And now, now that I'm not… not perfect, I suddenly have to stop?!" You looked at him. You… you started this? Memories flooded back to you, and it made you stumble back.

"Hey, dude, what's wrong?" A random guy asked, seeing Freddie crying. Freddie wasn't here to talk to him though. No, here was here to talk to the blonde sitting on the couch beside him.

"Nothing. Sam, can we talk?" Freddie asked Sam, sadness evident in his puffy, red eyes. "Yeah, yeah." You finished smoking, and leaned on him. "So tell me Benson, what's the matter in this brain o' yours." You slurred, slightly tapping his skull. He shook you off. "My dad… He died. Drunk driver." He whispered. "Damn. That's tough. But…" You pulled out a bag from your jacket. "this will make you feel better." You handed him the powder and he shook his head.

"Are… are you crazy?! I tell you my dad dies, and you offer me drugs?" He angrily whispered at you. "Look dude; get your panties out of a bunch. You see all the people in this room?" He nodded. "Name one sad one. They all use this. Well, except for me. I don't care for it, but whatever gets you happy, ya know?" He looked hesitant, and then took it. "Just this once, ok?" He said, looking at you. "Got it. Let me show you how to use it."

You sink down the wall, and he smirks at you. "You know what Sam? Burn in hell." He brusquely says, and it stings. Not the sting you're used to, but the one you know tears apart the heart you've tried to pretend is non-existent for so long. But knowing you did this, knowing that you were the reason (knowing you really did break him) make you not want to simply brush this off. So you stand back up and throw the drugs you had been griping so tight that there was now an imprint in your hand, and you throw it on the floor. He looks at you for a second, only daring you to do what you're about to do. You smile and him and s t o m p with all your might on the glass vile and he yells about something or another, and you just sigh. You suddenly don't need cigarettes anymore.

After the 'incident' as you have now deemed it, you (forced) entered Freddie into rehab. It was two months after you entered him into it, and you were picking him up. You were twitchy, and really wanted to take a long drag from a cigarette just to calm your nerves, but you refused. You wanted to keep up your end of the bargain and stay drug and smoke free for him (for yourself). Smoothing out your skirt for the third time in five minutes, you see him and smile. Taking a deep breath, you stand up. He runs to you and hugs you. Inhaling him, you hug him back. He smelled like he used to before the drugs. Vanilla and Apple Shampoo. It was a weird combo, but it was him. "Sam, I missed you. Thank you so much." He said, his face still nuzzled in your hair. You smiled, pulling back. "Hey, no mushy junk. We have to get to Carls' soon, and the last thing I want is her yelling that I got you home late." You say, smirking. Freddie frowns at you. "Well, I see you STILL can't take a thank you." "Maybe I would, if it didn't come from a nerd like you." The bickering continued all the way to Carly's house and then inside. You loved it. It was like the old days had welcomed you back with open arms, like the last year had never happened. It was nice. It was right. Cigarettes suddenly seemed utterly disgusting to you now. Wonder why.

Likey? No likey?