"You say your life I'm taking, always bothering me, I can't take this anymore, I'm failing, always smothering me, you look down on me...
Nothing seems exciting, always the same hiding...
It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me. It's haunting me.
It's haunting me..."

-Marilyn Manson, Queen Of The Damned [Redeemer]

Chapter 3, Part 1
Too Honest

Fuck it, fuck everyone and everything. He'd found it, been able to get his hands on it. It was so sweet with its wonderful sting, it slipped down his throat so warmly and made him feel light as air. He drank and drank until he couldn't even get out of bed. This was it, just like before. "Fuck it, gonna drink myself to sleep...to death." he mumbled to himself, pressing the bottle to his lips.

Ofdensen would be mad, rip into him like never before; Skwisgaar might even dare to give him a lick or two; Nathan would probably threaten to kick him out of the band, like always; Murderface? That was a fucking joke; Toki...Toki. His Toki. His protector, his brother, his...

He was dying. Pickles let the tears slip down his face as he drank again. His Toki was dying, rotting, away from him, fading. The drummer hated him for it, hated everything. If he could, he would give the fearful Norwegian half of his life to live off of, maybe all of it. He wasn't using it anyway, just wasting it away on booze and drugs. Pickles grinned. Ah, the drugs. He leaned over to his nightstand, inhaled one of the thin, white lines he'd cut. Cocaine was good, it was his favorite. It took away any pain or regret he had, and lately he'd seemed to have a lot of that hanging over him.

So damn good, so fucking nice just to be high again...

He moaned and fell back into his mattress, let his eyes fall closed as he drank some more. "T'death, fuck it, I'm gonna drink myself further'n 'dat." He heard something then, a harsh, sharp knocking at his door, a desperate voice begging to be let in. "What's wrang?" he sounded disgusting, he knew it; so weak, so obviously overtaken and fucked over—once again—by the alcohol. Of course he was slightly ashamed, but what could he do?

Toki came in. Of course. The Norwegian took one look at the drummer and a sad, disappointed look came over his face. He looked so let down that Pickles had no choice but to inhale another line of cocaine and open himself up a fresh bottle of booze. "Hey, dude, I gatta some'n t'tell ya..."

"Shuts up, Pickle." he muttered, seizing the alcohol from the drummer and walking away. Pickles arched a brow.

"Whatchu doin' 'dat for?"

"Shuts up, I said! I hates how you sound when you ams drunk..." he went and poured the booze down the drain of the sink before returning to Pickles, dusting the other shakily cut lines of cocaine off the nightstand. He took a seat next to him and looked down. "I guess even though I needs the help, I'll just spends all night making sure you don't chokes on your own puke, likes always."

"Huh? No way, dude, I gatta take cara you. Look, I can do it. Come see." he fell into Toki's lap and closed his eyes. " 'Cause f'anything happened to you, I might as well just kill myself."

"What?"

"You take cara me so fuckin' good. I love you for 'dat, y'know." the only time that Pickles was ever really honest or open with anyone was when he was drunk, and tonight he certainly was very drunk. Toki just stared at him, a little smile on his face.

"Someones has to takes care of you, Pickle. Who would just sits back and watch you kills yourself?"

"Watch me..." he chuckled drunkenly and looked up into the guitarist's blue eyes. He was still tired, but somehow he seemed more alive than he had been earlier today. "That's what my parents did, y'know. They watched me kill myself twice..."

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Chapter 3, Part 2
One Escape

"So you think you're a big man, huh?" Pickles said nothing, just sat there in his seat, smiling down at the floor smugly. His father, mother, and brother sat across from him, all looking infuriated. His father asked again, "You think you're a man, huh?"

He shrugged passively, trying to look as cool and collected as possible. "Sure, I guess." He was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. To his parents he was a burden, not good at school or much of anything. He was usually too stoned or drunk to get involved in sports, and his grades were so bad that he couldn't manage to have any hope of getting a scholarship; the only thing that interested him was his music. Maybe that's where he'd gone wrong...

His father scoffed. "You are nothing, Pickles. Here-" he held out his hand, beckoned for his son to get up and come to him. "-let me see those wrists."

"No." he hissed, narrowing his eyes at him.

Seth perked up at his resistance and insisted, "Yeah, c'mon, I wanna see those stupid, cut-up wrists!"

"Fuck aff!" he howled, instinctively covering his bandaged wrists.

"Do you know how this—this suicide thing—will affect how I'm looked at by my superiors at work?" his father snapped. Pickles rolled his eyes.

"I don't care! Fuck you and fuck the guys at your job! You said it yourself, that you hate them all anyway!" there weren't many people that his father liked.

"Damn you!" his father said, rising from his chair. "What do you think you're going to do when the doctors say you can go back to school? What will you say when people look at those cuts on your arms and ask you what happened?"

"I don't give a fuck, I did what I had to!" Pickles wanted to kill that old man. What did his father know about him? What did anyone know about him? It had just been a simple thing, a simple attempt to end his life.

The suicide incident he remembered very well. Adults were fucking stupid—his teachers noticed him never doing his assignments and always getting into fights, but they never cared to confront him about it. That's what made Pickles try to do it. Nobody ever cared. Just once he'd wanted to make them care, to make them stop and realize just how blind they were to everything outside of their own world...they didn't want to see how fucked up he was, maybe that was it, but it all amounted to nothing. Nobody cared.

He'd gone in the bathroom during Geometry I, just walked right out. The teacher hadn't noticed or bothered to stop him. He'd planned it out. He wanted them to find him dead in the bathroom, the floors soaked in his blood. Maybe then all those stupid idiots who tormented him and the teachers who had failed him would finally care. So Pickles went into the bathroom, got out his razor and cut. He cut deeply, watched the blood flow and trickle down his arm onto the floor.

It bled so much, but he didn't care. He cut again and again, watched that crimson, bright red life drip out of him and gently snake its way down his pale arm. He smiled. It looked good, sweet. He pressed his face to his arm, let the scarlet liquid stain his face. That was when he heard the bathroom door open; somebody else was interrupting him. He looked up, let the blood trail down his cheek. He hadn't bothered to lock the stall door, he hadn't thought that someone might walk in on him. He realized what an idiot he was just as the door to his stall opened...

Still, his father didn't care. Fuck him, what did Pickles owe him? Still, he didn't know why, but he sat there as the man got in his face, less than an inch away, and yelled at the tops of his lungs. "You want some God damned attention, son? What do you want me to do, stop my whole life just to give you a second's fucking notice?"

"No!"

"Then what do you want?"

"For you to give a little more than a fuck about me!" Pickles cried, feeling tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Behind his father, Seth began laughing.

"Ma, look!" he whispered to his mother. "Pickles is crying! That little shit's really cry-"

"I'll fucking kill you!" Pickles howled, jumping to his feet. His father stopped him, held him back.

"What did you just say?" his breath smelled like the expensive alcohol he always drank after work. His son adopted a sneer and sat back down in his seat, trying to calm himself down. He'd fought with his father many times, but the result was always the same. The man was twice his height—Pickles was an oddly short kid for his age—and weighed much more than the scrawny teenager did. Pickles knew damn well he'd lose, he wasn't a fool.

"I said I'd kill him." the teenager whispered hatefully. "I will, I'll rip his Gad damn throat out..." His father's fist collided with the side of his face; he let out a howl of pain and pressed a hand to his cheek, his eyes watering. "Dad, what the fu-"

"At least your brother has drive. At least he is going somewhere with his life! What are you doing? Not a damn thing! You're driving me and your mother straight to hell!"

"Just because you don't know how to raise your kids..." he knew he'd earn himself another hit for this, but it didn't matter. It felt good to say, so it slipped past his lips anyway. His father didn't hit him, though. Instead he shook his head, turned, and walked out the room. Everyone was eerily silent.

His mother finally sighed and said sharply, "Pickles, maybe you should-"

"Ma, what's dad doing?" Seth asked. Upstairs a loud banging could be heard. Pickles jumped to his feet.

"That bastard's in my room!" he made a move to walk towards the door, but his mother caught his arm.

"Don't you dare!" she seemed almost desperate. Pickles had to hesitate, and in that moment his father came back into the room and ripped his son out of his mother's grip. He pushed Pickles to the front door of the house.

"You want to be a smart ass? Here, get out." he urged his son out the door. Pickles had no choice but to go and walk out into the lawn. His clothes were scattered everywhere, along with his drum sticks. His eyes grew wide and his breath caught in his throat.

"What the fuck did you do?"

"You want to be so good, so much better than us? Go ahead, run away. Kill yourself on your own damn time, not mine." His father glared at his son. "I dare you." Pickles did nothing, just stood there frozen like an idiot. His father laughed and grabbed his arm roughly. "Either you go or you get your sorry ass back in that house and get what's coming to you, you little smart-assed prick."

All he could think to say was, "Y-You're drunk, dad."

"Then maybe I'll go easy on you tonight. Go in the house!"

He knew he didn't have a choice. He wanted so badly to run away, but on his terms, not those of his father. When he did finally leave home he wanted it to be a slap in his mother and father's face, but if he left now then he'd never get that. That's the only reason he turned and stalked back into the house. Yes, his dad would hit him some more tonight, but soon it would be over. Soon it would all be over.

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Chapter 3, Part 3
The Morning After

Toki stared at Pickles and took his hand. "I'ms sorr-"

"S'fine, I guess. Nobody cares about me, and I'm just fine with it now."

"Buts I care."

He grinned. "I know, a bit too much, dude." he sat up and gave the guitarist another quick study. He looked very dismal as he sat there on the bed, so helpless. Without quite knowing what he was doing, Pickles leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Y'gonna not never leave, love?"

He laughed, pushed him a way a little. "What? You ams really, really drunk, huh?"

"Fuck yeah I am, but I mean it. I love you, dude, I do..." and he really did. He didn't know why, but there was just something amazing about Toki that Pickles admired. He was a beautiful, smart person, even if not everyone realized it. The drummer wanted him to be his, his own.

"If you don't gives up on me, I won't gives up on you." Toki said, letting the drummer kiss him again.

"Y'gonna get drunk with me tonight?"

"I can'ts, Pickle. I gots to go to the doctor tomorrow."

"S'what?"

His face fell as he said, "I'm sick, remember?"

"Ah, I don't care. Look." Pickles rose unsteadily to his feet and went over to get himself another bottle of booze. He opened it, took a sip, and passed it to Toki. "This stuff fixes everything."

Toki hesitated before taking the bottle. "I don'ts know..."

"Do it, just a sip!"

He sighed and gave in. He hadn't had a drink in a few months, it was bad for him now, might even kill him. What did it matter? He would die soon anyway, so he pressed his lips to the bottle and drank down half of it. Pickles just watched him and smiled, the tip of his nose a cheery red. Toki loved that about the drummer—whenever he really drank, his nose always sort of blushed. For him, his cheeks just turned a bright pink. Obviously Pickles loved this, because in a moment he was holding the Norwegian close, hugging him, and caressing his cheek.

"You mean the damn world t'me, dude."

"Okays."

"I wanna fuck you."

Not knowing what else to say, he repeated timidly, "Okays."

"I wanna show you how much I Gad damn like you; I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Sures, ja."

"You wanna get married? Right now, just run aff and screw everybody over and just get married?"

He laughed and nodded. The alcohol was making him feel giddy now, so he would agree to pretty much anything Pickles said. "Ja, okays. Let's go."

"Y'love me?"

"Of course I dos."

He grinned and slurred, "I've always wanted to fuck you, since the day I saw you."

"Uh-huh."

"You wanna suck my dick?" he leaned in to kiss Toki again, but the Norwegian looked away and drank some more, despite his better judgment.

"You ams so stupid when you ams drunk, Pickle. You will fucks anything, won't you?"

He chuckled drunkenly and nodded, his eyes head swimming. "Y-Yeah, I will...here." he motioned over to the bag of white cocaine on the nightstand and whispered, "You should sniff some, feels good. Burns goin' in, but feels so damn nice."

"J-Ja, okays. Shows me how to dos it."

And so Pickles dumped out the whole bag of cocaine and cut its contents into shaky, white lines. They stayed up all night.

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Chapter 3, Part 4
The Missed Call

Pickles awoke the next morning with Toki laying in a sleeping bundle on top of him. He groaned in exhaustion and raised his head; he had a hell of a hangover, but seeing the Norwegian laying there with an empty bottle of alcohol in his hand made him forget this. His heart dropped into his stomach as he saw Toki's white-powdered nose. Cocaine and booze? Who the hell had let that happen? Dimly he remembered the events from the night before and-

I wanna fuck you...

"Oh shit..." his face turned red with shame as he shook Toki awake. "Dude, wake up. You gatta go to the doctor today, right?"

He moaned and covered his eyes with his hand, a sure sign that he was having a splitting headache. "Gods, Pickle...I can'ts go today, not now..."

"You've gat to! Here, get up! I'll go down to the kitchen and get you some breakfast and-"

"I'm nots going, I can't. I haves a hangover, they'll just sends me home anyway."

"Then what the hell are we gonna do?"

Toki sat up and smiled down at him. "Wants to get some breakfast?"

Pickles' heart filled with a sort of undeserved relief. "You're actually hungry?"

"Sure, I could gos for some food. Comes on, please?"

He nodded. "Okay, sure."

And so they went into the dining room together, ignoring the sideways glances that Skwisgaar gave them. Everyone ate in silence before Murderface dared to say anything. "Sho you're actually eating now?"

"Sures." Toki said with a simple, passive shrug. Pickles just narrowed his eyes at the bassist.

"Watch yourself, dude. He don't need 'dat shit."

"Where haves you been all yesterday?" the Skwisgaar asked.

"Sleepings, like I said."

"Oh. Ammnest you feelings better?"

He just stared down at his plate and ate some eggs. "Sures, I guess." it was clear that he really wasn't that hungry, that he was making himself eat. He ate all of his food hesitantly, as if thinking whether or not he really needed to. Everyone was staring at him now, watching him carefully to see if he really was feeling better. Pickles tried not to pay too much attention to him, though; he just drank his cup of coffee silently, trying to rid himself his pounding headache. Why had he drank so much last night?

Finally Toki spoke, sounding much better than he had yesterday. "So what ams we going to do today?"

"Record." Nathan said gloomily. "Ofdensen's making us...that is, if you think you can handle it."

"Sures I can, I'm good." he had a strength in his voice that he hadn't had in it the day before. He seemed almost renewed, better in fact. There was no way that anyone would be able to tell that he was sick. Pickles let his head rest on his palm as Ofdensen entered the room. True to his usual fashion, he looked serious and business-like, but also a little worried. He approached them all, but payed special attention to Toki.

"May I talk with you for a moment?"

"Why? I ams eating br-"

"It's very important, about your cell phone."

He didn't look worried in the least as he said, "What abouts my cell phone? I thoughts I lost it back at the concert, because whenever I gots home it was gones. Sos what? Can't we buys me a new one?"

Ofdensen shook his head. "It's not about where it was—you left it on the bus. It's about the call I got this morning. It was from a doctor I believe, and he said-"

"Rights, we talks in private." he said, quickly getting to his feet and trailing after Ofdensen out of the room. Before exiting the dining room, he turned and gave Pickles a desperate, helpless glance. Without seeing any way out of it, the drummer laid down his fork and sighed. He rose to his feet and went to follow them to Ofdensen's office.

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Chapter 3, Part 5
More Lies

"You may sit," Ofdensen said politely, motioning to the comfy chair that was across from his desk. Toki, who was nervously twisting his long hair in his hands, nodded and quickly took a seat. Ofdensen just stared at him for a long while, his brown eyes searching the Norwegian's emotionless face for answers, until at last he said, "A doctor called your phone, you know. I believe he wanted to verify an appointment."

"Ja, I knows."

"Then you also know what he told me?"

Toki swallowed and whispered, "I thinks I can probably guess."

"Hmm. It's kind of sad, you know." he said, pouring himself a glass of brandy. The guitarist watched him, his pale eyes wide with expectant fear at what the man's next words would be. Ofdensen downed the brandy before continuing. "Is what he said true? That you have-"

"Hey, dudes...I—what's up?" Pickles blurted, throwing open the door. He was panting; he'd had to sprint to get to the office in time, but it looked like he'd made it. Toki just stared at him in disbelief. The drummer had actually come? Nobody ever did that kind of thing for him...

Ofdsensen just frowned at the drummer and waved away his greeting. "Yes, yes, we can have a private meeting later if you want, Pickles, but right now I'm talking to Tok-"

"Well about 'dat, it's a lie."

He arched a brow. "A lie? What's a lie?"

"Ja, what ams a lie?" Toki hissed.

"Well...I..."

"The phone call ams a lie, or what?"

Pickles nodded, silently thanking him for the help. "Yeah, the call...what was it about again?"

"I don't think it's any of your business." Ofdenesn said seriously. "And I'd appreciate it if you would-"

"Yeah, it was a lie, the call." the drummer insisted, grabbing Toki by the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him to his feet. "I noticed 'dat he wasn't eating-" he motioned to the guitarist, "-and so I...uh..."

"Mades a doctor call me?" the Norwegian asked, continuing the horribly bad lie. Pickles nodded quickly and didn't hesitate to urge Toki over to the door.

"Yeah, right. I did 'dat."

Ofdensen sighed. "That doesn't make any-"

"He wasn't eatin' because he wanted to be as skinny ask Skwisgaar, so I gat worried about him and called a doctor!" Pickles cut him off. "See, that's what happened, that's it, so you don't need to worry! He don't gat no doctor's appointment or-"

"He doesn't have cancer?"

The drummer's face paled at the mention of the word, but he still managed to keep his cool and shake his head. "Nah, he's perfectly healthy. Don't he look it?"

Toki tried his best to appear his usual happy self and didn't miss a beat. Ofdensen was just left to nod and say, quite annoyed at the way this was going, "Yes, I suppose he looks fine. So, just to be clear, there isn't anything to worry about?"

Both of them shook their heads. "Nope, nat a thing."

"Nothings at all."

"Okay then. I guess you two can g-"

But they were both out the door already. Pickles walked down the hall quickly, trying to pull himself together. " 'Dat was the worst damn lie I ever told in my life! I know he didn't buy it, I could see it in his face...he still thinks that something's up, that we're hidin' something..."

Toki really wasn't that shaken. He just took the drummer's hand and gave him a sweet, reassuring smile. "It don't matters much anyway, Pickle. Thanks for savings my ass."

"S'fine."

"Even though you ams the reason I had to reschedule my appointment anyways..."

"Hey, I said I was sorry!" he snapped. "You know what kinda bad I ideas I get when I'm drunk!"

"Oh, likes marrying me?" Toki asked, laughing. "Remembers that?"

"What?" he chuckled. "You wanna marry me?"

"No, last nights you saids you wanted to marry me."

"I did?" he turned red and looked down. "Oh..."

Toki's laughter faded. He asked, his voice full of disappointment, "You didn'ts means it?"

"No—I mean yeah...well damn, now I dunno...yeah, of course I would, I guess. I love you, kid."

His smile returned to him as he exclaimed, "I loves you too, Pickle!"

"So you're gonna let me come to your doctor's appointment tomorrow?" the drummer asked hopefully. Toki peered over at him and shook his head.

"Nos, I already told you thats-"

"Please, Toki! C'mon, give me a damn break!" Pickles cried, wrapping an arm around the Norwegian's waist and pulling him close. "Gimme a chance."

"A chance? To whats?"

"Prove to you how much I love you. Please?" he kissed the guitarist's cheek and whispered, "I don't know what it is about you, but I really, really wanna be with you. Is that fucked up?"

"Nos, nots really."

"I wanna make you love me."

"I already do."

"Then let me go with you. Don't make me wait to find out what to expect, let me figure it out myself." he rested his forehead against Toki's and gave him a little grin. "C'mon, please? We can do this together, I swear. It'll be fine. You can trust me."

"Wells..." Toki thought about it for a moment then hesitated. He leaned forward, gave Pickles a quick peck on the lips, then pulled away. "Okays, you can come, but only because I loves you so much."

"That'll work for me." he said softly.

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**A/N**

Yes, life is very boring here, so I'll be updating a lot in the future...all I do is sleep or be bored. I'm not ready to go back to school, though. Ugh. -_-

Also, a reader named sierra t who's recently been reviewing my stories—thank you, by the way—asked me a very good question about another fic I wrote called, Ghosts & Blueberry Pie: "I like the way you describe thing in this one but I'm curious as to why such a depressing story line? Too much happy ones? I'm not criticizing just wondering." If you haven't noticed, my story lines are getting very, very sort of dark. Mainly this has been happening for two reasons. [1] By the end of the story, I really want you to feel as though the characters will be together forever, that they can stick it out thru anything and get thru hardships and all that crap. I find it hard to get this idea across with just sunshine-and-roses plots, because love, as one of my readers once pointed out, is not all sunshine and roses. [2] I usually like to put a little of myself in every story I write; I think that's what makes them so good and detailed and all that good, grand shit.

I hope I answered your question. For all my other readers, I usually answer your questions in my A/N or in reviews. Hope you're loving the story and thanks for reviewing.

Peace & Love