Before Drake opened his eyes, he squeezed them closed tighter than they had been and moved his hand to his pounding head. "Mmm," he moaned as he stretched out his free arm and his legs. That movement alone made his stomach churn. His eyes widened as he pushed himself out of bed, then ran towards the bathroom. Once inside, he hurled his guts out, the force of it so strong that he found himself on his knees in front of the toilet. He gasped for air in between his gags.
When he was finished, he spat a few straggling chunks out of his mouth and into the bowl. Too lazy to stand, he pushed his weight back until he was sitting on his bottom with his back against the tub and his knees to his chest. His breathing was still pretty heavy when he heard his cell phone ringing back in his room. Drake didn't even bother getting up. He never really talked to anyone these days. He never answered anyone's calls, and he only ever called Mindy every now and then. It was probably just his mom calling for the hundredth time wanting to know if he was going to be showing up on Christmas. Drake wasn't, but even if he were, he wouldn't give her a heads up. That would give her time to plan some sort of intervention like after Meelah had...well...like the last time.
*FLASHBACK*
Drake couldn't keep the smile off of his face. He couldn't even begin to describe how elated he was. Finally, he had the love of his life back: Charlie. At last, he had the confirmation that everything was going to be okay. At least, for a while anyway. Walmart had been out for TEN DAYS. It had been absolute hell. Drake basically stayed in bed every second of every day - didn't eat, didn't move, didn't speak. His family had grown worried about him. He'd acted like this before - right after his girlfriend had died - until finally he'd given up on the little over a month of sobriety he'd had in his pocket. That was the night he had tried to kill himself by mixing a bunch of pills. He didn't remember much about that night, but he'd heard stories about being found in his bed, covered in his own vomit and surrounded by a bottle of Jack Daniels and ripped-open Triple C boxes and an empty pill bottle with the owner's name scribbled over in Sharpie. The very day he'd gotten out of the hospital, he was back to using again - this time more than ever before. He never tried to commit suicide since then because he couldn't get over how much it had hurt everyone, and seeing the pain in their faces made him feel guiltier than he had ever felt before.
Honestly, though, he fantasized about it everyday, but now that he and his lover were reunited again, it wouldn't be as hard to ignore those morbid thoughts. Now he has something to live for.
Drake looked up at the sky when he heard thunder emanating from way off in the distance, and he saw dark storm clouds gathering overhead. Even this dreary weather couldn't put a damper on his mood.
It wasn't long before he reached his front yard. It was just beginning to rain outside when he practically bounced up the driveway and opened the door to the Parker-Nichols home. He shivered when he stepped inside of the warm house as the cold rain drops slid across his skin. It had been chilly outside, for it was getting close to autumn.
After closing the door, Drake turned and started to sprint up the staircase, but stopped with slight irritation when he heard his mother calling out to him from the living room. He begrudgingly turned and made his way towards her voice, but when he entered the room, he froze. Standing before him was his mom and Walter. Josh was sitting on the recliner, and Megan was on the couch. They were clearly all rather nervous, especially Josh, whose fingers were fidgeting.
"Come sit down," Audrey said, holding out one arm and waving him towards her.
"What the hell is this?" He already knew, which is why he was prematurely angry.
"We just wanna talk," Walter said.
Drake wanted to run. In fact, for a second, he thought he was. He was trying hard to move his feet backwards, but instead, he found himself giving in and going nearer to his mother. She smiled and pulled him into a hug for a moment, then guided him around the couch and sat him down in the middle. She then took a seat while Walter grabbed a chair from the kitchen table and placed it on the other side of Megan, who was also sitting next to Drake. The young man's heart was pounding against his chest, and suddenly he felt embarrassed about his drug problem.
"We all wanted to come together as a family to show you that we love you," Audrey said.
"And we're here for you," added Walter.
"Jesus, I don't need to hear this from you." Drake tried to push his mother's grip on his shoulder away so that he could stand, but she wouldn't let up.
"You do." His mother nodded. "We're really worried about you."
"I'm fine."
"We know you're lying," Josh said.
Drake met his eyes when he spoke. Ever since Drake's suicide attempt, Josh acted differently towards him, which was only natural, Drake supposed. Although Josh hated him for what he had done over the summer, the young man couldn't deny that he still loved his brother.
"We just wanna help you."
"I don't need your help," Drake said, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Drake, you have a problem," Walter stated softly. "And the sooner you admit it, the sooner you can get some help."
The young man suddenly regretted not taking his pills sooner. He wasn't sure how he was going to make it through this sober. He leaned back against the couch a bit because he felt claustrophobic, what with everyone leaning towards him with their eyes burning holes through his skin.
"We've all written some things down," Audrey grabbed his hand, so Drake turned his head back towards her. "Ways that your drug abuse has hurt all of us. We're gonna read them to you, and then let you respond."
"This is bullshit."
"We're not mad, honey. We're hurt, but we're all willing to forgive you if that means that you'll clean yourself up." Audrey nodded towards her other son, who grabbed a sheet of paper from the end table next to him and started to read what he'd written awkwardly.
"Um, dear Drake..." He cleared his throat nervously, questioning why he had voiced that intro. "I mean...uh..." he continued reading.
Drake didn't exactly hear all of it. He felt ambushed, so he could only half pay attention to his step-brother's words. Mindy was mentioned a lot. And the summer break. And stealing money, which Drake had just done for his most recent Charlie run. Josh said a lot of cliche things. "I didn't just lose a brother. I lost my best friend." And although Drake had remained stubborn and indifferent when Josh had started, the boy's letter made him reminisce about when they had been a lot closer. Drake truly missed it, possibly more than he missed anything else from his sober life. However, when he compared his need for Charlie with his love for Josh, it wasn't even close.
"I think what really hurt the most," Josh read, "was when I came home from work and found you the night you tried to..." He tiptoed around the words. "-to hurt yourself. I was finally starting to find some sort of happiness again, and then I came home to you feeling sorry for yourself even after everything you did to the rest of us. You ruined the plans I had made for my future with Mindy. I should've been the one moping around depressed. Yet I come home and find you covered in puke. Everything's always about you. You're selfish. Even now, we're all here because of you. I know you won't get clean for me, or for Megan, or for Mom and Dad because you don't care about us as much as you care about yourself. So get clean for you. Do it to prove to yourself that you can." Josh dropped his arms onto his lap and looked up, nervously folding his paper. "That's all," he said quietly.
"Drake, do you have anything to say to your brother," Walter asked.
They wanted him to apologize. They wanted him to grovel at their feet and beg for forgiveness. And he knew he owed it to them, but he wasn't in the mood. He was fucking pissed. Josh thinks that he's selfish?! Well, yeah, maybe. But where was his family when he was getting ass-raped by his own fucking father?! Where were they when he was forced to suck his gym coach off?! Where were they when he spent a large portion of his early teenage years locked in a closet?! And why did he keep all this inside, you ask?! Because he knew how much it would hurt them! He knew how guilty they would feel. He did fucking care! Maybe he should spill the beans about everything right here. In front of all of them. Really make them feel like shit. However, he didn't have the heart, and he was already humiliated enough to be talked down to in this sort of way.
"Drake?" Walter repeated. "Anything?"
I do love you. However, those words didn't make it past the young man's lips. "This is fucking stupid," Drake said angrily, pushing himself to his feet.
"Drake-" Audrey tried. She was crying, which had started at some point during Josh's letter.
The boy yanked his hand out of hers, but was blocked by Walter when he tried to slide in between his step-dad's seat and Megan's spot on the couch.
"Just hear us out," the man said. He was standing now.
"Why? So you can tell me how much of a pathetic piece of shit I am?"
"Drake..." Audrey winced each time he cursed.
"We love you," Josh tried.
"You have so much potential," his step-father said. "We hate watching you throw it all away. There's so much you can give to the world. You have a lot to offer people."
"What? Like extra ketchup with their McDouble?" Drake said. "Is that the kind of potential you're talking about?"
"You have your music."
Drake squinted as if he were trying to recall something from several months ago. "Wasn't it you who gave me that whole lecture about how I needed to grow up and get a real job because becoming a rock star is just some childhood fantasy?"
Walter had no response to that. Drake didn't feel satisfied, though. The only thing that was running through his mind was how close everyone was to him and how much he needed room to breathe. He felt like he was being talked at from all different directions. In fact, the only one who remained silent and seated was Megan. He wondered what was going on inside of her head and what she thought of him, so he snatched up her piece of paper.
"Don't." She made a grab for it, surprised at his sudden interest, but he moved over to the other side of the living room.
"Dear Drake," he read sarcastically, holding the paper up high out of his sister's reach and easily pushing her back with one hand. "I just want you to know that I love you, and I should've been there for you like you were always there for me when it mattered the most. Cute," he said harshly, then continued. "Maybe things would've turned out differently for you if I would have stopped d..."
Drake immediately went silent, his eyes transfixed on the letter. He stumbled slightly, for he'd stopped paying attention to Megan's attempts to snatch the paper away, and she'd accidentally tripped over his foot. Once she knew he saw it, though, she gave up and watched as he took a couple more steps away and turned his back to his family. Drake's throat suddenly felt dry, so he cleared it. His mind was swirling. His heart started pounding against his chest. His cheeks burned and turned a shade of red. He continued to read, but silently this time.
Maybe things would have turned out differently for you if I would have stopped dad from treating you so badly. He made me swear not to tell because he said he would do the same to me, and I was scared because I was only six. He tried to hide it from me, but every now and then I could hear you crying or yelling for me to come help you, and I'm sorry that I never did. Mom said that this was supposed to be a letter about all the things you've done to hurt me, but there's nothing you need to apologize to me for because I wasn't there for you the one time you needed me. So for that, I'm sorry. But now if you ever wanna talk...
Drake stopped there. He gripped the top of the paper and ripped it in half, then turned those two halves sideways and tore it again. He put the pieces inside of his pocket to throw away or possibly burn later, for he didn't want anyone to find it.
"I'm sorry," Megan said with tears in her eyes, and it was clear in her voice that she felt extremely guilty.
Drake was pissed - not because she never tried to stop the abuse, but because she knew about it. His anger wasn't directed at her fully, but she felt that it was and he wasn't about to go into the story of his childhood for everyone to hear right now just to explain his feelings to her and make her feel better. And yeah, maybe he was kind of frustrated with her. He was humiliated that she knew. When she thought of him, she probably always heard the sound of his screams. She probably always associated him with that weak whimpering noise puppy dogs make when they're scared. And why had she taken so fucking long to tell him the truth?
"Drake?" Audrey said, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"I'm done with this." The boy slid past his brother and started to go up to his room.
"We're not finished," Walter said, stopping him once again. "You have two choices. You can either check yourself into a rehabilitation facility," he said, "or you can leave."
"Leave?" Drake chuckled because, for a moment, he didn't believe the man was serious. He soon realized the sincerity of Walter's words by the look on his face. "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"
"You're supposed to go to rehab," Josh said.
"Mom?" He turned to her. "You're gonna throw your son out on the streets? Just like that?" At this moment, he felt as though he would start weeping just like his mother. His eyes watered over, but he held the tears back and bit his bottom lip.
"No, of course not."
"Sweetie, we just talked about this," Walter said to her, wrapping an arm around her. "We both agreed on this."
"Mom?" Drake pressured, wearing the most hurt-filled facial expression he could possibly muster.
"You need help, Drake," she said.
The young man nodded, contemplating his next move. After a few silent seconds, he finally spoke up with his decision. "Fine. We'll do this your way."
Drake didn't stay for the celebration and the looks of relief and the congratulatory pats on the back. He disappeared upstairs, leaving his family to process what had just happened.
Walter pulled his wife into a hug. "Things are gonna get better," he promised.
"I feel like he hates me," she doubted.
"Maybe he does now. But when he cleans up and gets his life together again, he's gonna thank you." He wiped away her tears, then put her head on his shoulder. "It'll be okay," he said softly.
Josh turned from his parents to his step-sister, who was sitting down with her head hung. He squatted down so that he was at eye level, then spoke after a quick moment of silence to assess his thoughts. "What'd you say in your letter?"
She didn't respond. The girl placed her head in her hands; her elbows rested on her knees.
Josh rubbed her shoulder. "Whatever you said - I'm sure he won't be angry for long. He's probably not even mad at you. He's mad at all of us. He can't think straight, and he hates that we're trying to separate him from the drugs."
Still no reply.
"You know, I said something that really hurt him, too. When Meelah passed away, he was crying in the back of an ambulance, and I...well, I basically just let him have it. I don't really regret it although I feel really bad about it. But he knows that I love him, and he got over it."
Megan finally spoke up then. "Did he?"
It wasn't long after the moment that Josh was referring to that Drake had tried to kill himself. Megan didn't think it was all Josh's fault, but his lack of support definitely contributed to why Drake had felt like there was no other option.
Megan saw that Josh was taken aback by her words and had no rebuttal, which was fine because she was done talking anyway. She stood, then went around the couch. She wanted to go to her room and have a good cry or call her boyfriend Ryan or maybe both. On her way towards the staircase, however, she met Drake, who held a suitcase in his hand.
"Where are you going?" she asked, obviously upset by his actions.
The rest of the family looked on from the living room, the short-lived relief immediately gone from their faces as if it had never been there at all.
"What are you doing?" Walter said.
"Rehab or fuck off, right?" Drake lifted his eyebrows in question, but he didn't receive an answer. "Right. Well, I guess I'll be leaving now then." He turned, but his sister grabbed his shoulder.
"Drake..."
He took on a more serious tone as he looked at her and spoke so that only she could hear. "I love you. Okay?"
"Then stay. For me. Please?"
And for a moment, he actually felt bad. But he was stubborn and had to prove his point. He wasn't about to give in now. Drake wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug, then whispered in her ear. "Don't tell anyone about dad. And I'm sorry for being a shit brother." He kissed the top of her head, and with the blink of an eye, he'd disappeared out the door.
"Drake!" Audrey screamed with tears pouring down her face. She started to run after him, but Walter held her back.
"Let him go."
"DRAKE!"
Walter pulled her into a hug, then rested his head on top of hers and rubbed her back as she sobbed. "Come on. Come sit down," he said quietly.
*END FLASHBACK*
Drake hesitantly hefted himself to his feet. He was still drunk from the previous night, which is probably why he couldn't recall a thing. He steadied himself against the wall, clutching the door frame as he stumbled out of the bathroom. Everything was spinning.
"Hey, shithead?"
Jesus, it's too early for this. Drake leaned against the wall as Martin walked out of his room. The man seemed rather chipper, but that didn't exactly mean it was a good thing.
"Guess what today is."
Drake started to think about it, but his brain was aching too much. He clutched his forehead and squinted his eyes.
"It's the third Thursday of the month. Disability check day!"
Thursday? What the hell happened to Tuesday and Wednesday?! Is this a joke? Is he fucking with me?
"Jesus, you look like hell, son," Martin examined as he went into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and sifted through the bills, still glancing up at the boy every few seconds. "Are you still drunk?"
Drake could only groan as a response.
Martin laughed. "Here." He handed him thirty bucks, which confused Drake, for he'd never done this before. Since the boy didn't take it, Martin grabbed his wrist and forced it into his hand. "Maybe you should slow down on the booze for a while. But just for a little while. These past few days with you were the funnest I've ever had in my entire life." The man put his wallet away, then looked over his son once again and smirked. He slapped Drake's bicep. "You're gonna have one hell of a hangover. Holy shit."
After he left, Drake just stood there for a moment trying to process the conversation he'd just had. There's no fucking way it's Thursday already. Drake's had more than his fair share of blackouts, but two fucking days just gone and unaccounted for? What a fucking mess.
The boy slowly continued making his way into his bedroom, tripping once just before he arrived. He'd barely caught himself, but managed to stay on his feet. As he entered the room, he furrowed his brow and looked around. Several empty beer cans were thrown about along with three bottles of Jack Daniels. Jesus Christ... Why hadn't he noticed this earlier? He rested his head against the door frame and clutched his pounding skull. The young man groaned, although it sounded more like a whine.
Drake made his way over to his nightstand, but his phone wasn't there. He plopped down on the bed, and after a bit of lazily searching the floor around him and becoming nauseous each time he bent down, he found it on the floor in between his nightstand and bed. He opened it and found that Martin was right. It was one o'clock Thursday afternoon. Unsure of how he felt about this, Drake picked up the only bottle of JD that still had some whiskey left inside and took a long swig. His face contorted and he shivered the second it touched his taste buds. He never liked any sort of alcohol other than beer, but apparently he'd went all out with this fucking whiskey. The boy forced one estimated shot-sized gulp, then he put the cap back on and grabbed his backpack, which was on the floor at the foot of his bed. He unzipped it, then rummaged through in search of his pills. Unable to find them, he flipped the bag upside-down above the floor, then ran his fingers across everything to see if they were hiding under something. It was almost immediately that he covered his mouth with the back of his hand as he felt vomit creeping up his throat. He sat up straight as an attempt to stop it, then glanced around his room with confusion.
"Looking for these?" Martin stood in the doorway.
Drake looked up and saw bright yellow boxes through a plastic grocery bag in his father's hand.
"I didn't want you mixing these with as much alcohol as you drank." He tossed them towards his son.
Drake didn't catch it. He reached down and picked up the sack, then counted all three unopened boxes.
"I brought you these also." Since Drake hadn't been able to catch something so large, he brought the next items over to him. It was a bottle of Advil and a Bud Light.
"Thanks," Drake managed, taking them.
After a bit of struggle, Martin took the bottle of medicine back and opened the childproof cap for him, then handed him four pills. Drake tossed them into his mouth, then held the beer bottle top against his forearm and twisted the cap off. He chased the pills with that, then set it onto the nightstand and started opening one of the Triple C boxes.
"Have you seen my cigarettes?"
"I think you're out," Martin said, taking a seat on the corner of the nightstand.
"Shit." He didn't feel panicked or anxious at all, but he felt confused, and not the good kind of confusion. The good kind was a Charlie-induced confusion. This was just pure unsureness, and he hated it. Drake picked his scissors up out of the floor, then started cutting up one of the packages.
"I think your mom's been calling you all day. Probably wanting to know if you're coming to the party."
"What party?" He looked at his phone to check the date again, for he'd already forgotten and was wondering if it was Christmas already. "Shit. Megan's birthday."
"You gonna go?"
"Probably not," he answered honestly, then belched because of the beer.
"I still haven't bought her anything. I was waiting to get my check this morning. What do you think she'll want?"
"Hell if I know." Sadly, Drake didn't really know his sister as well as he would've liked to.
"You wanna ride to the store with me?"
"Without throwing up?" After he removed eight red pills from the plastic, he tossed them onto his tongue and quickly chased them with the Bud Light. He cringed as they clattered down his esophagus.
"That didn't stop you yesterday."
Drake went silent. He wanted to know what had happened and what he had done, but he wasn't sure he could actually handle it. If he knew, he'd probably be too embarrassed to leave his house ever again.
Martin changed the subject. "What are twelve year old girls into?"
"Boys and make-up." Drake didn't even look up from cutting up the next package. He decided to just take one box to make it easier to keep down for at least an hour before he vomited.
"Not my fucking daughter."
"Boy bands and clothes," Drake guessed.
"Yeah, but I don't know what bands or what she wears. She's so picky about her clothes. She never wore the last shirt I bought her."
Drake poured the next eight pills into his hands. "Money's a great gift." He dropped the pills onto his tongue, then grabbed the bottle of beer again.
"I guess that could work. I could give her a hundred. That way, she could pick out her own stuff and get more than just one thing."
Drake placed the back of his hand over his mouth, then gagged.
"You gonna throw up?"
He shook his head even though he wasn't so sure.
"I think I'm gonna go ahead and leave." Martin stood.
When Drake was sure the pills wouldn't come back up, he said, "Actually, I think I will go. Can you drop me off at the gas station? I need cigarettes."
"You'll make it home okay? You can barely walk straight as it is."
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Just give me a second to change."
Drake packed his new box of cigarettes, tapping the top of the pack against the bottom of his palm as he pushed open the glass door with his bicep. "See ya," he called back in response to Ahmed's goodbye. He removed the plastic and tossed it into the garbage can that was outside the door, then he opened the box. He ripped off the silver paper, trashed it, then pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He fished for a lighter in his pockets, then lit the end of the cigarette and inhaled. When he lifted he eyes, he found that his father's truck was still in a parking spot to the far right. Drake headed in that direction and, when he was close enough, spoke through the opened passenger's side window. "You waited?"
"I figured you'd come to your senses and realize you definitely wouldn't make the walk back to the house."
Drake actually hadn't thought about it until now, but that was a fucking long walk although he was currently only right outside his neighborhood. However, he had a migraine, and the bright sun wasn't helping anything. He felt like he wanted to puke some more, and he desperately wanted to so that he could get it all out and this hangover would fuck off, but he couldn't get anything to come up. Had he not been so desperate for a cigarette, he wouldn't even have gotten out of bed.
When Martin saw his son glance at his newly lit cigarette, he said, "Just leave the window down. It should be fine."
Drake got inside. This was the first time he'd ever smoked in here. He never really smoked in any car, as a matter of fact, so it was like a whole different feeling to him being cramped up in a small space with smoke lingering around.
As Martin put the car in reverse and backed up, Drake started to remember just how hard it had been for him to refrain from vomiting all over himself during the drive here. As they headed down the street, he rested the back of his head on the headrest and closed his eyes, taking in quiet breaths of air. However, this didn't help one bit. Although his vision only displayed complete blackness, he felt as though he was spinning and falling backwards out of an airplane. The young man just wanted this day to be over. He felt like shit.
"You hanging in there?" Martin asked with an amused grin.
Drake squinted his eyes, for his father's voice had sounded louder than it actually was. "Yeah."
Martin chuckled knowingly. "You gonna throw up?"
"No." Drake took a drag, then tossed the half-smoked cigarette out the window.
Getting changed earlier had taken a lot longer than he'd originally planned because, after grabbing his clothes and going to the bathroom, he realized he was in dire need of a shower. Martin had been kind enough to wait. It was now roughly forty-five minutes after he'd taken his pills, and they were starting to hit. To ensure that he wouldn't come down in only an hour, he grabbed the other box from his backpack and started opening it.
Martin glanced at him, and just for a minuscule moment, there was a bit of empathy emanating from his eyes. However, Drake didn't see it; he was too focused on Charlie. That is, until his father spoke.
"What's it like?"
"What?" Although he wasn't meaning to, Drake was whispering to give comfort to his ears.
"Charlie," Martin said, the nickname Drake used feeling strange coming off of his tongue suddenly. "What's it like?"
Drake actually paused for a moment in thought. He wasn't sure how to sum up why this drug was so perfect. Meelah had been the only one who understood. Mindy had thrown his weird love and personification of the pills in his face after he'd admitted his feelings to her. And Drake couldn't forget who Martin was. He was being super nice now, but what about tonight after Megan's party or tomorrow? What about when he needed new material to taunt him with?
Drake pushed all that to the side however. He couldn't give up a chance to talk about the love of his life, especially when he wasn't the one to bring it up. Someone else wanted to talk about Charlie, and that just gave him the excuse to express his deep attachment.
"It's like you have a bunch of noise. Everything is noise. But then suddenly it isn't anymore. Everything's quiet...and it's calm. And it's like you're taking your first breath of clean, unpolluted, untouched air, and although it's kind of hard to think and comprehend, you can feel in your entire body that you've never thought so clearly and you've never fully understood the things around you. Instead of seeing myself as a guy lacking in knowledge, I'm a man with so much to learn." Drake lifted his eyes for a moment to see his father's response, and Martin actually seemed to understand him for the first time in as long as he could remember. "What about you?"
"What do you mean? What about me?"
Drake poured a group of pills onto his palm and realized that he didn't have his normal bottle of water in his bag. After a quick search around, he spotted his father's Bud Light in the cup holder and reached for it, slowly in case this would be the thing that sent Martin back to his "old ways." "What is it about alcohol that makes you fiend for it so much?"
"I don't know," the man answered after a moment's hesitation.
"Yeah, you do," Drake dared to challenge after swallowing the first group of pills down.
Martin glanced at him, and even though it wasn't a glare, Drake still knew he'd crossed the line a bit by calling his father a liar. He averted his eyes and looked at the next package as he cut into it with the scissors.
"I mean...sorry."
Old Drake wouldn't have given a shit about disrespecting his dad. New Drake, however, had no choice but to obey him. If Drake fucked up enough to provoke Martin to kick him out, he'd be on the streets. Sure, he had places to go for a short amount of time, but no one would take in a junkie bum for more than a week. Martin knew this, and he often used it against the boy when he was his normal drunken asshole self.
To Drake's surprise, Martin answered his question. "I just have so much bitterness inside of me. I guess it helps let off steam. I guess it kind of feels better to let go of everything for a while and not have to keep it inside."
"Good thing you've got me as your personal punching bag," Drake said with a sarcastic cheeriness in his voice.
There was a silence then, and for a moment, Drake swore he'd done it now. However, Martin's somber and guilt-filled voice filled his ears.
"It was never supposed to be like this. We were never supposed to be like this."
Drake had just finished gulping down the last of the pills and was currently trying to focus on not vomiting. "Don't."
"We were supposed to go to baseball games and drag races."
Drake sighed. "Dad-"
"I was supposed to teach you how to stand up for yourself and how to take care of your family."
"Don't, okay?" Drake found the nausea rising in his throat, and he rested his head back against the headrest.
"Instead, all I taught you was how to be an addict. I showed you how to completely fuck up your life. I taught you to think that you were this tiny, minuscule, worthless being who was meant to idolize some sort of mind-altering substance."
"Dad-"
"And we're just on our knees, sucking this thing's dick, giving it more power, feeding that addiction. And I'm-"
"Stop."
"-the one who taught you to live that way. I taught you to think that it was normal, and that you would never be better than that."
"Seriously, stop the truck!"
Martin looked at his son and saw that he was heaving. "Shit." He flipped on his blinker and pulled onto the grass. He didn't even have the vehicle all the way stopped before Drake opened the door and hopped out with puke spewing from his lips.
"Jesus Christ!" Martin said.
Drake weakly held himself up by gripping the window sill with his right hand, then he clutched his stomach as all of the alcohol he'd consumed over the past couple of days forced its way up his esophagus, causing his throat to feel as if it was on fire. The vomit was mostly liquid, for he hadn't eaten anything since his drinking binge had begun. The bile squirted from his nose as well, filling his entire face with a burning sensation. He gasped for air in between his gagging spasms.
This all seemed to go on for an abnormally long amount of time before Drake finally could be heard panting for air. He sniffled, then let go of an exhausted chuckle. Martin could tell just by looking at him that his son was gone. His eyes were glazed over, his pupils dilated.
"You alright?"
Drake didn't reply. He was still bent over, so he placed his left elbow on the passenger's seat of the truck and rested his head in his hand. He let go of a quiet moan, then sniffled again. Snot was dripping from both nostrils, and his eyelids hung heavily over his brown eyes. He was acting strange, and although Martin was starting to worry, Drake wore a grin on his face.
The young man straightened and turned as if possibly heading home? Martin wasn't sure what was going on in his son's head currently, but the boy hardly made it anywhere before he fell against the side of the truck, his back slowly sliding down the metal until he was in a sitting position on the grass.
"Drake?" Martin couldn't see him, but he knew that he was still close by. "Drake, get in the truck," he demanded, his irritability growing. "Drake!"
There was no movement, so Martin opened his door. "God damn kid," he mumbled, making his way around the tail-end of his vehicle. When he was on the opposite side of the truck, he found his son leaning against the back tire. "What the hell are you doing?" He was thankful that there were no cars passing, for he was slightly embarrassed. "Get up."
He wrapped his arm around Drake's torso and hefted him to his feet. The young man was able to make a couple of steps before he became dead weight and Martin lost his hold on him. He landed right next to his puddle of vomit. His father was just about to help him up again, but as he bent over and reached for him, Drake's body started twitching.
"Drake?" He didn't receive a response. "Drake, you alright?"
As the boy's convulsions became more violent, it became apparent to Martin that his son was having a seizure.
"Drake, wake up! Aw, fuck!" He reached into his pocket and whipped out his cell phone. In a flash, he dialed 911 and examined the young man while waiting for an answer. "Drake, can you hear me? Jesus Christ!" He flipped his son onto his side as more vomit gushed out of his mouth. "Drake, wake up! Wake up!"
Beep...
Beep...
Beep...
Drake's already closed eyes squeezed tighter as the loud noise filled his ears. His head pounded with each beep. Besides the pain in his skull, the next thing he noticed was how empty and sore his stomach felt. He could never remember feeling so empty inside. Drake opened his eyes, but was blinded by the brightness around him, so he closed them as they watered over. He groaned, but no sound left his lips. Instead, his throat filled with a fiery pain. Drake gave another go at opening his eyes. He squinted and blinked several times until his vision started clearing up. He found that everything around him was white, and it hurt his eyes.
The young man turned his head towards the beeping and saw a heart rate monitor. Next to that was an I.V. stand. Drake followed the tube to the needle that was sticking into the top of his hand. He wasn't exactly sure what had happened or how he'd gotten here. He could faintly recall a strict woman's voice repeatedly instructing him to swallow some huge ass tube. He remembered gagging and resisting until he was restrained and maybe crying a little bit. Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?
Drake noticed that it was pitch dark out the large window just past the machines. He found a clock on the wall towards the foot of his bed and saw that it was a little past two in the morning. He reached for the nurse button, but before he pressed it, he heard a toilet flush and the sound of running water. Moments later, a door opened and his step-father entered the room.
"Walter?" Drake tried, but his quiet, strained voice cracked and went in and out.
The man looked up at him, his voice cold. "You're awake." He crossed his arms.
Drake erupted into a coughing fit after his attempt at getting out words. His throat burned, and his stomach felt bruised and achy with the force of his coughs. He went into a slight panic as he gasped for breath.
"Can you...water?" Drake croaked, his deep coughs causing his eyes to water over.
Walter hesitantly uncrossed his arms and went over to the counter, where the hospital had supplied a cup for Drake to drink out of. The man turned on the sink, which was right next to where the cup had been. It seemed to take forever before the man finally came over to him. Walter placed one end of the straw in between Drake's lips. The boy took the tiniest sip and started coughing all over again. This time, however, it didn't last as long, and each sip of water got easier.
When the young man had finally calmed down, Walter set the cup onto the table next to him.
Drake cleared his sore throat. His voice was still scratchy. "What happened?"
"What happened? Alcohol, benzodiazepines, amphetamines, that stupid cough medicine of yours. THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!" Walter yelled his last sentence, which caused Drake to wince with fear, for the man hardly ever raised his voice.
Drake's eyes squinted slightly as he started to shake his head. "I don't remember-"
"Of course you don't. Why would you?"
Walter was a little bit too hostile for Drake's liking, and the boy much rather preferred the soft, caring voice of his mother.
"Where's Mom?"
"She left," Walter spat. "She couldn't even stand to look at you." It wasn't exactly true; it was more like she couldn't bare to see her son like this.
The pieces still weren't exactly fitting together for Drake. Alcohol, Triple C's, yeah, okay. Benzos? Amphetamines? When did that happen? What the hell was going on?
"I...I can't remember anything," he tried again, fishing for some answers.
"You overdosed. On the side of the road like some homeless junkie. Thank God your father just so happened to be driving by and saw you. If it wasn't for him, you would probably be dead right now."
None of this was making any sense to Drake. The more he heard, the more confused he became.
"Are you using meth, Drake?"
Still confused and disoriented, Drake replied with, "I don't know."
"You don't know?!"
"I mean, no."
"Mindy told us about you snorting meth before. What other amphetamines are you doing if it's not meth? They found it in your system when they pumped your stomach."
"None. I don't know," Drake said defensively. Honestly, he wasn't really up for this conversation right now. He felt like shit, and each time he spoke, his throat grew more and more sore.
"Stop lying!"
"I really can't remember."
Walter gritted his teeth. It was obvious by the way that he clenched and loosened his fists repeatedly that he was getting wound up. Fury was bubbling up inside of him, and he just wanted to scream. "You're so pathetic, Drake! You're throwing your life away by putting all of that shit into your body. Is it because you lost your junkie girlfriend?! GROW UP!"
"Get out," Drake demanded viciously, his eyes filled with disbelief at the man's words.
"What, did I hurt your feelings? You think I've upset you more than you've upset your mother?"
"Get out! I fucking hate you! Get the fuck out!"
"Fine, you wanna be alone? Good. You need to go ahead and get used to it now because you're gonna be alone for the rest of your life."
Since he was in a hospital bed, he didn't really have a lot of ways to blow off steam, so he fought back the only way that he could. Drake grabbed what was left of his water and slung it at his step-father. "Fuck off, you little bitch!" he spat.
Walter's jaw was dropped and his eyes were wide with shock as the liquid dripped down his cheeks and onto his clothes and the floor. What had happened to his step-son? Where had that outgoing, happy-go-lucky, kind-hearted teenager gone? And who was this awful personality who had taken his place?
"Fucking go!"
Walter composed himself so that he could talk calmly. "Someone's gonna pick you up tomorrow. They want to keep you here for twenty-four hours, but after that, you're gonna be coming home with us, and we're gonna help you find a rehabilitation center."
"Piss off."
Once again, Walter pictured who the boy used to be and thought about all of the differences between who he had been and who he was now. "I love you, son."
Drake rolled his eyes and looked away, and just like Walter had promised, he was all alone.
It was obvious to Josh that Drake was feeling some sort of discomfort as he clutched his stomach and rested his head against the headrest on the passenger's seat.
Despite his observations, he asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah." Drake knew he didn't sound convincing, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "Yeah." Better.
"We've all been really worried about you. Where have you been?"
"I'm fine." Drake ignored the question.
Josh turned the car into the driveway of the Parker-Nichols home. "Yeah. Right. I mean, I'm picking you up from the hospital after a drug overdose. It could've all been on purpose like last time, and I'd never know. But you're fine, though, so whatever."
"It wasn't on purpose, Josh. They even gave me a psych evaluation just to be sure it was okay to release me."
He turned off the car. "You could've lied. You're good at that these days." Josh started to get out, but was stopped when his brother grabbed his shoulder. He met Drake's sincere eyes.
"I didn't try to kill myself again. Okay? I just...dicked around a little too much. An honest mistake."
Josh believed him. However, it didn't make him feel better like he'd expected. "An honest mistake that almost cost you your life."
Drake didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Instead, he pulled at the handle and pushed open the door. It wasn't until he was on his feet that he realized just how sore and achy he felt. He clutched his stomach and froze as he leaned against the car and groaned quietly.
Josh saw this. "I'll help you upstairs." He went around to the other side of the vehicle and started to wrap his arm around his step-brother, but Drake stopped him.
"No, I'm okay." He wasn't, but he didn't want his family seeing Josh support him. He was too prideful to show that he had any regrets although, honestly, he had no memory of the past couple of days, and that scared the hell out of him.
"You sure?" Even though Drake confirmed that he was fine, Josh stayed behind him to catch him if he stumbled.
Once Drake stepped through the door of his old home, he was surrounded by Audrey, Megan, Walter, and Mindy, who slightly hung back with Josh.
"Oh my God, I'm so glad you're alright!" Audrey was already in tears before she could even wrap her arms around her son. She choked out a couple sobs and she held the boy tightly.
"I'm okay," Drake said.
He felt embarrassed. Before, he maybe could've possibly hidden how badly his drug use was. He'd always been able to convince people that it wasn't as big of a deal as it actually was. Not anymore. There was no denying it. He had lost control of his life, and that was fucking humiliating. He was weak, and his family - the people who had been by him since the beginning and those who had loved him as if they had always been there - they knew.
Audrey didn't want to let go of her son. She feared that, if she did, she would lose him forever. She hadn't seen him in three months, and she was shocked at how much his looks had changed. He was so much skinnier than she remembered. His clothes were way too large, and when she squeezed her arms around him, she could feel each individual bone poking into her skin. His eyes were empty and had dark circles around them and bags under them. He never smiled.
It wasn't just Audrey who needed this hug. Drake took comfort in the embrace as well. Despite the fact that leaving had been his choice, he fucking missed his mom more than anything.
The young man lifted his eyes when he felt that he was being stared at, and standing right in front of him was Walter. Awkward. The last time he'd seen the man, he'd tossed water in his face. He wasn't proud of it, and he had no idea what came over him. That action had only proved that the drugs did, in fact, change him for the worse.
Audrey finally took a step back from her son and examined him and she slid her fingertips down his arms until she was holding his hands in hers. "Come sit down. There's so much that we should catch up on. I wanna know how you've been, what's been going on in your life, where you've been staying-"
"Um, actually..." Drake's eyes moved to the ground, then to the crowd of people that were surrounding him, then back to his mother. "I'm kinda tired?" he said quietly, wishing for privacy. Although it was a statement, it sounded as if he was asking for permission to sleep.
"Of course. You must be." Audrey wrapped her arms around the boy once more really quickly and kissed his cheeks, then she pulled away and rubbed his back while nudging him towards the staircase. "Go on upstairs and get some rest. I'll bring you up something to eat in a bit."
"No, you don't have t-"
"Nonsense. You need to eat. You have nothing in your system. You just had your stomach pumped." Suddenly, she went quiet. Those words seemed to remind her of the reality around her. Her eyes watered over.
Drake had one foot on the first step, but seeing her like this broke his heart and filled him with guilt. He started to go back to her. "Mom-"
He didn't make it very far. She shook her head, then shooed him away.
"I've got some leftover turkey tacos. Megan chose dinner last night." And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Drake could feel all eyes on him. Maybe they were trying to see if he really did have a heart. Maybe he was supposed to go after her, apologize for all the shit that he put her through, beg for her forgiveness, and promise to straighten his life up. However, he didn't plan on changing. Not yet anyway. So he turned and made his way up the staircase.
"Here ya go, sweetie." Audrey set a tray down on Drake's loft.
"Thanks." Drake forced himself to sit up. He felt like fucking hell, but he didn't want her to see that. He knew she was worried about him, so although it made him feel worse, he picked up the bowl of chicken noodle soup and put a spoonful into his mouth. He'd almost immediately thrown up the tacos, so Mindy had suggested something lighter, like soup.
"Just yell if you need anything else, okay?"
Walter was standing further back as if to protect Audrey in case Drake lashed out at her. The young man could tell that Walter hated that his mother was babying him. Honestly, Drake did, too. He knew he didn't deserve it, and it made him feel all the more guiltier. Everyone could see that this was her desperate attempt to win him back. Maybe expressing how much she loved him could cure him from his terrible affliction. Maybe he could see just how sorry she was for not being more connected with him before. He wanted to tell her that none of this was her fault - that it had been his choice to swallow down that first set of pills - but he wasn't sure he believed it.
"Thanks, Mom," he said.
She smiled and gently patted his cheek before turning around and leaving the room. Walter was right behind her, but was stopped when Drake called out to him.
"Hey, Walter?" the boy said quietly.
The man turned to show that he was listening.
"Could I talk to you for a minute?"
Walter turned back around and saw that his wife was walking down the hallway and towards the staircase. He closed the bedroom door, then moved closer to his step-son.
"I just...wanted to apologize. I'm not usually like that. You know I'm not usually like that."
"I don't know who you are, Drake," the man snapped back.
This quieted the boy for a moment. He hung his head and nodded. "I guess that's fair."
Walter didn't want to treat Drake like his wife was. However, seeing him so low and vulnerable broke his heart. "I'm not mad at you. I want you to know that. Okay?"
Drake bit his lip and nodded his head.
"However, I am disappointed in you."
"I know," the young man whispered. "Me, too."
"Then let us help you," Walter begged, stepping closer. "We want you back, Drake. We want our son back."
"I wanna come back," the boy said.
Walter smiled, and suddenly his entire facial expression changed. All of the disappointment was gone and replaced with pride. "So what do you say? Tomorrow we can start looking into some rehabs. We can get you back on track. We can all be a family again."
Drake met his eyes, and for a moment, he swore he could feel just how much Walter loved him. How did Josh get so lucky? Why did Drake get stuck with Martin? What kind of fairness was that? God, how different things may have been had Walter have been his father. Look at Josh: smart, wise, super nice, super loyal. He was everything Drake wished he could be. And just a simple switch in fathers could've changed his entire life.
Drake nodded and spoke quietly. "Okay."
Author's Note: So what do you think? I'm trying to post new chapters as quickly as I possibly can. Let me know if you have any ideas or things that you wanna see happen or things that maybe I mentioned and forgot to cover fully. I have several ideas for this story. It's just gonna take a while to get to them. Since this story takes place five months after the first story ends, there are a lot of flashbacks and things that happened I need to cover, and I wanna make sure I get the right emotions across in my writing. I'm gonna start bringing back some familiar characters in upcoming chapters. Right now, though, Drake's just content with being on his own.
Also, you guys, I posted a new story a while ago. It's a one-shot about Drake (twenty-six years old) going home to his mom after his life and family in New York fell apart. It involves cancer, and it's my first non-druggie story. Ha ha. Let me know what y'all think. I would absolutely LOVE your feedback.