Disclaimer: I do not own any part of South of Nowhere. I checked. Twice.

A/N: Hi! Hello! It's been years. Seriously it had been, I've checked. I am Lolita, and I have written two other stories years ago for the SoN universe called Possibilities and Ad Amor, Ex Mors. If you have read them fantastic, if not feel free to check them out. Right now they are dead stories, but if you enjoy them and would like to see them resurrected send me a message and let me know.

However in the spirit of growing older and making different moves, I've decided to start fresh with this new fan fiction which I hope you take the time to enjoy.

I would like to take a moment though to give you some warnings. This fan fiction is rated M for a reason. There will be some strong language, mentions of violence, drug abuse and references and probably sex. Possibly other triggers which if pops up I will be sure to let you know. I strongly recommend that if you are a recovering drug abuser to go find another story, because there is graphic portrayals of drug abuse and triggers. I also do not condone drug use, as we DONT DO DRUGS KIDS (except weed.)

Enjoy! Please be sure to leave me reviews or send me DM's letting me know how you like the story, any errors you might find since I am without a beta, or even just to say hello! I am posting the first few chapters up right away, and I intend on updating once or twice a week thereafter.

You know, at 23 years old, I feel like I should have my life together. A nice paying job, my own place with my own space, maybe even a boyfriend with a piece on the side. That's what all the other girls on my Facebook friends lists seem to have as I scroll through my timeline. One of them even spent a month in Cancun with her new fiancé just a few weeks ago.

Instead I rent out a room in a townhouse in some upper middle class development with three other, slightly neurotic, residents, all of who where significantly older than I am.

They're good people, but their relationships with one another are so complicated and l noticed that me living here means getting swept up in all their drama.

We have Mary and Mike, older, rougher looking couple. They aren't married, but they might as well be. Both of them are in their upper 40's, and they've been together for the last 15. Mike looked like a biker guy, only a little softer and not as threatening in appearance. He had two Harley's but no license, and it didn't seem to phase him. I guess his general nonchalance was the reason why he spent a good time in and out of jail. Mary met him while in rehab while they were both recovering from heroin and opioid abuse and they were together on and off for years. They were both a happy looking couple, and got along just well for me. It was the other housemate that seemed to cause us all grief.

Her name was Kerri, and she was kind of neurotic. From my understanding since being at this house, she was still hopelessly in love with Mary after they dated for a short period after meeting online. She struggled with OCD, and it caused her to overthink and obsess over minute details in conversations and it affected her perception of reality. Often times it lead to her feeling personally attacked by the rest of us and it wasn't unusual for the middle aged woman to become offended by a comment that was never meant to be malicious. Plenty of mornings began where I had been woken up at 6 in the morning to Kerri losing her shit to Mary and Mike for problems that were either nonexistent or frankly not even her business.

I mostly keep to myself. I work as a prep cook in a family Italian restaurant in the mornings and usually chose to stay cooped up in my room. Asides from seeing Mary, who was a server at work, I hardly saw the other two. It was nice while it was quiet and I was alone in the house, but it was often that I would find myself filling with dread at the thought of having to go downstairs to go out and smoke a bowl or fix myself something to eat. Just the thought of running into someone and being exposed to the drama that stems from having four completely people living in close quarters makes my heart twinge with anxiety.

I am not a confrontational person, and I avoid it like the plague.

I've had people tell me it would be easier to move back home, but that was just as anxiety-triggering as it is here. At least here I know that no one is going to be checking in on me constantly or judging me for stupid things that were out of my control.

My mom, Paula, was a good enough person. She was perhaps a bit obsessed with the family image and keeping up appearances the church, but that was normal from the quiet suburbs I grew up in outside of Los Angeles, California. I'd never admit it, but part of me almost believed that the reason why she wanted to adopt my brother Clay was because he was black and that would only improve her reputation. But she did take care of me and my two brothers with the love of a mother, despite the badgering and hovering.

My father, Arthur on the other hand was the opposite. He couldn't care less what anybody thought of him or the family. He loved life with every fiber of his being, and of the three kids, it was the one who didn't even share his DNA that inherited that joy and good-heartedness. He worked as a social worker, and he was one of the best. Unfortunately he always got too involved with each of his cases, and you could tell that it was taking a toll on him. After years of developing a drinking problem, he crashed his car late one night and was killed instantly. It was determined that he had been driving under the influence at the time. Mom got even more attached to me, Clay and Glen, and in turn Glen and I started to pull away.

Glen was always an asshole, so that hadn't been much of a surprise. But Mom never expected to wake up one day and find that my room was empty after my 18th birthday.

A lot happened between then and now to get me here living in Pennsylvania with a couple of strangers who barely co-existed, but it feels like it happened so long ago and in a different life time.

I sighed, closing the laptop on my lap and glanced up at the tv, the pause menu of a game I had been playing glowing from the screen. I was stuck and had been trying to find a guide online, but I couldn't seem to get my attention span to stay focused. I glanced down at my wallet, slightly open from when I had been looking for my debit card to purchase this game, lying on the ground next to my bed. I picked It up and glanced at the drivers license.

I looked so happy in this picture, taken on my 16th birthday when I passed my test on the first try. I had been super proud of my achievement and ready to follow the path I had been on, a life I had foreseen to be rife with success and an active social life. 16 year old me would have thought I'd have at least graduated college by now.

The sound of a car door had me looking from the picture to outside the window, falling onto the green Mini Cooper parked in the front of the townhouse. Downstairs, Bizket, Kerri's jack russel terrier, erupted into angry barking , scratching at the door as the doorknob rattled.

"BIZKET ENOUGH!" A voice from down in the basement a few floors below yelled from the stairs at the excited dog. I could hear Kerri's sigh of irritation as she climbed the basement stairs to investigate the cause of the pooches excitement.

I froze in place on my floor of my second story bedroom, careful not to make noise to alert the woman downstairs. I heard the front door open and Mary's voice as she greeted the happy dog. "Hey puppy!" The door closed and I heard Kerri mutter something to Mary. It was hard to make out from behind my closed door.

"Kerri! Stop it, I just god home for god sakes!" Mary had a loud voice, and it resonated clearly from my position. Mary was a heavier woman, not very shy, with a loud voice that was usually filled with good humor. She had a great heart, which is why she offered me this room, but after being taken advantage of for years, she developed less patience for petty drama. Her relationship with Kerri was short lived, ended well before I met the two, but Mary's love for Mike won in the end, which never sat well with the other woman. Why Kerri stays here is beyond me when it clearing takes a toll.

Kerri wasn't a bad person by any means. But her low self-esteem and paranoid tendencies left her suspicious and manipulative. When she felt hurt or upset, she tended to lash out at sore subjects or with blatantly backhanded tactics to the point where it was almost emotional abuse. It was usually fine when it was just the two of us, but I often felt myself get tired of listening to her ramble on about the same topic or self-deprecation and always found some way to excuse myself.

Downstairs the bickering continued, Mary's heavy footsteps moving up the stairs signaling her retreat to the asylum of her room. Soon after I heard Kerri's footsteps traveling down to the basement.

Taking advantage of the quiet, I slipped downstairs, keys and wallet in hand and out the front door.

It was still nice outside, the wind chill bringing the temperature down slightly. It had been an unseasonable warm day for late February, hitting as high as 50 degrees with clear skies and sun. The sun was still out, offering what little warmth it could in the late afternoon.

I crossed the parking lot and across the road to the empty lot I kept my car parked. I click of my key fob and the doors unlocked. I settled inside and sat, staring out the windshield. I knew I had wanted to get out the house, but I hadn't thought as far ahead as to where I was actually going. After a moment I decided to run down across the highway to the local Wawa and decide from there.

The trip lasted two minutes, signs of rush hour beginning to show on the main highway that ran down the length of 3 towns. The parking lot was starting to fill up, so I pulled the car around the back of the store and parked along the trees and out of the way. Grabbing my phone and wallet, I headed into the little convenience store. As I walked through the double doors, I dialed a number on my phone and tucked it up to my ear.

"You lick 'em, we stick 'em", answered a rough voice, a ghost of a southern accent in his voice.

I smiled slightly at the old man's greeting. "Hey, Bo-bo. Are you still at Boca's Basement?" I replied, pulling a tall coffee cup out of the dispenser and filling it with the house brew.

"Uh, yeah, I got in at like 4:30 or so but I didn't have to clock until 5, see. What are you up to, Spence?"

I patted the cap on the cup, making sure it was on correctly before making my way up to the register. "I was thinking about swinging by." I looked up at the girl behind the counted and offered a small smile, putting the phone between my shoulder and my ear so that I could pull money out of my wallet.

"Oh yeah, sure, I'll be here. Do you mind doing a run for me? We can do a line."

I glanced up at the cashier, receiving a nod that the transaction was complete and I headed to leave the store. I glanced around the parking lot, the idea of making a run giving me an uneasy feeling of anxiety.

"Yeah, Bo, that's fine I guess. Did you get a hold of Aiden?" I asked, doing another scan around the lot before heading to the back of the store. There was something about talking about illegal stuff that suddenly puts me on edge. As if I went from a "running an errand" mindset to "doing shady things mindset". You would think the anxiety alone would be enough for me to reject the request, but it was just thrilling enough to get me to keep saying yes every time.

He gave his affirmation and I hung up, unlocking the car and getting in. I breathed out slowly, collecting my nerves and preparing to drive down the highway the three miles between me and my workplace.

I have no idea what my life has become.