I almost didn't update today! Almostt! But, updates might be coming a little later than usual from now on. I hope that isn't the case, it just might happen :( BUT! I'm excited to update this one. It was originally supposed to be with Chapter 9. Due to it's length, I had to cut it off :( Hopefully everyone enjoys this one, though. It explains more about Drake's Dad :)
Disclaimer: I do not own Drake and Josh
Josh's POV
Tears are making their way down my face. I don't swear a lot, I don't believe they hold much purpose in life, and that there are better ways for displaying one's anger, but right now, everything is fucked up. And it's all my fault.
My parents are both crying, blubbering messes, because I'm leaving for University. Megan has gone insane and non-Megan like, because I'm leaving. Mindy hates my guts, because I've been denying my feelings for Drake. And Drake hates my guts because I hate Kayle, I just kissed him, and have been ignoring him for months, with the occasional deep conversation. The only reason he is with Kayle is because I was ignoring him, just because I couldn't handle my feelings.
After Christmas Break, I started thinking. Everything was going to change. I was going to start my life. I was going to be separated from Drake. 'Drake&Josh', the single entity, would no longer exist. We would no longer have our little 'adventures'. I didn't want to think of that. I hated the thought of it. So, I thought that maybe, just maybe, if I spent time with Mindy, and separated myself from Drake, this drive to New Haven wouldn't hurt so much. Let me tell you something... it didn't help. It hurts way more then I could ever imagine. The lost months. I lost all of my time that I had left with him.
I realized soon after I was separating myself, that I was dreaming about us. Me and Drake. At first, it was us having our normal adventures. But, very quickly, it was no longer about having that, the dreams were filled with loving kisses, holding each other, being happy. Watching movies while eating popcorn. Together.
Mindy figured it out. The girl unfortunately has a brain bigger than Einstein, Newton, Mozart, Beethoven, Van Geoghe, Da Vinci and Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibniz all meshed together. It's really depressing. She figured it out, but she stayed with me. She tried to take the denial route, but I can tell that only made it worse...
I never imagined that Drake would suffer from depression, that he'd turn to new friends. I'm not surprised now, I guess, the kid needs attention. He needs someone to look after him. He's like a child. I just guessed that he's living the years that he lost after his Dad died and he had to be the parental figure for Megan, and the 'Shoulder To Cry On' for Mom. It must have been difficult. I always guessed that that was why he acted the way he did today. Ignorant, innocent without being innocent at all, egotistical... and an attention seeker. All the things that I learned to love about him.
Maybe it was all just a facade. The confidence could have very well been something to hide a loneliness that he had been feeling? Haha.. this is Drake Parker. The idea of Drake Parker hiding anything underneath his skin tight jeans, shirts and egotistical personality makes me laugh... but I can't help but believe that it's true.
The abuse with Kayle, though. Because of my repressed emotions, Drake ended up getting hurt, in more ways than one. It's all my fault. It is all my fault!
I continue to let the tears fall.
I drive by a small park, and I notice a figure on a bench, an Armani jacket clinging to his sides. He's smoking.
Kayle.
Quickly, I turn the car into an empty parking space near the sidewalk, ignoring the loud honks from angered drivers behind me. I guess I forgot about the signal light... whoops.
I flick the engine off, and quickly exit the vehicle.
I stomp up the sidewalk, stopping just beside his sitting figure. He knows I'm here, but he doesn't face me.
"You hurt him, don't you?" I ask.
"..."
"Answer me, Kayle. I don't like you, you know that. Tell me the truth, talk to me, and maybe I won't hate you as much. Drake told me to give you a chance, so that's what I'm trying to do."
"You just said you hated me." He answers, smoke flying from his mouth. Dark clouds are lingering over our heads.
"Yes, and?"
"If you already hate me, you aren't really giving me a chance. You're setting me up for failure." Smart Alec. The kid is a smart alec. I am beginning to understand why Drake kind of likes him.
"But, if you're being truthful, Josh. I'll be honest. You're Drake's step-brother. He loves you, probably more than he loves me. I don't want you to hate me, hating me will only affect Drake negatively, which I don't want."
Damn it, he's good. He almost gets my sympathy. He almost gets me to believe him. Almost. I just can't trust him.
"You don't like me, Josh. You don't have to. Just try to accept me being around Drake. He stresses out about you enough. It's cute really, actually... but- maybe you don't have to trust me, I don't expect you too, just try to trust Drake's judgement of being with me."
He knows just what to say and when to say it. He's like a freaking politician. I have said this many, many times to myself, but it's true! He just has that... face.
It's fake, I tell you, fake!
"I love your brother, Josh, I really do."
"Huh, that's funny. Because last time I checked, people who love each other don't hit each other. And, oh, what happened last march? I do believe you r- " I yell in retort before he cuts me off.
"... I try not too... I have hit your brother though. I have, and it kills me more each time. I could kill myself just thinking that I've hurt him. He's lonely, though. I think killing myself isn't the answer, and would only hurt him more."
"Uh-huh. You just know what to say, don't you Kayle?"
"No. I have no friggin' idea what you want to hear. So, right now, I'm just speaking the truth." Kayle lifts himself from his position. He throws the cigarette onto the cement, stomps on it, putting out the embers.
"You promised you wouldn't hurt him!" I yell at him. "You gave him a promise ring. So tell me, why does he keep coming home with bruises? Why does he keep coming home limping? Why is he constantly flinching? Why do I hear him, Drake fucking Parker, whimpering and crying in his bed at night, when he is IN his bed. It's a rarity as of late."
"I tried... And I am getting help... It's another reason why we're moving to New York. They have a great specialist who'll talk everything over with me. I can't hurt your brother anymore, Josh. A-and I never hurt him while I'm sober. He just shows up when I'm not! I try. I try so hard. It's just, his face contorts itself into my fathers, and I see Carol, bleeding and unconscious in the corner. I can't help it. I go into attack mode! I'm trying to get help, I really am. I don't ever want to make Drake feel the way I did. Never."
"It's too late for that, Kayle." I don't know what the hell he's talking about, therefore my voice contains absolutely no sympathy. His hands are gripped onto his head, his hairs entangling his fingers.
All I can picture is the blood on Drake's pants. The pants that he threw out into the garbage can that night. Coming home to him, crying and screaming, trying to clean something off of the floor. Knowing that this Man in front of me put him into that position... I'll never forgive him. Drake might, but Drake is forgiving. I'm not.
Knowing that he's going to be living with him, the thought of it. It repulses me.
"For some stupid, insane reason, my brother loves you. I, for the life of me, cannot fathom why that is. But, I swear, if he ever calls me crying, begging for help, if the hospital calls my saying that he's in critical condition, or my parents phone me, saying that he's dead, I will kill you."
"If that were to ever happen, Josh, I'd make sure that I'd pitch myself off of a bridge before you had the chance."
"Get fucking help. More help. Go to AA meetings, don't drink. Don't go to Parties. I'll be stressing out about school, about how my soon to be ex-girlfriend is doing, if my parents are paying attention to my step-sister. I don't want to be worrying about whether my brother is still alive or not."
"I'm trying..."
"Try harder, Kayle."
"I am. I really am trying. I'm getting help, for Drake."
"... Then... No. The only way you can get past.. your... umm... past... is if you do it for yourself. You can't get better if you're trying to do it for someone else and not for yourself. That is only setting yourself up for failure, and setting up more pain for Drake in the future."
"... It's 11:38, Josh. Aren't you going to be late arriving for your schedule?" He states, staring at his watch.
"Screw the schedule. I want to know that Drake will be safe. Promise me that he'll be safe, damn it."
"I can't..."
"Then get the fuck away from him."
"I can't..."
"I hope you go to hell."
"I do too, I deserve it. I've called him whore and a slut way too many times, he believes it now. I apologize every time, and he just laughs. But I know that he believes it. I forced him to believe it... It's verbal abuse. But his face... It makes me happy, when I see sadness and pain reach this eyes... it's fucking psycho... but I like the look of pain crossing Drakes face. It's the biggest turn on in the whole fucking world."
Hearing this, I punch Kayle on the side of the face, releasing only some of my anger.
"You fucking..."
I can't finish the sentence. There are no words in the English language to help express the way I am feeling. Instead, going against years of figuring out my beliefs when it comes to violence, I land another right hook on the side of Kayle's cheek. His face just turns slightly from the force, and he lifts his hand to red streak. He never even grimaces.
He stares at me, and I notice that his eyes are green... Weren't Drakes real Dad's eyes green? That same colour even?
"You really love him, don't you, Josh?"
"... I do. But he loves you now, Kayle. I lost my chance. You still have yours, though. I hate saying that. You've caused him enough pain, you don't deserve another chance... especially after saying something like that!"
"I'm sorry that I stole him from you. I knew that 'Drake&Josh' was some sort of calibre that was never supposed to be broken. I'm sorry."
"It was my fault in the first place. It's the entire reason he's with you. It's because of me." I confide.
"I guess I should thank you then." He says as he puts out palm towards me. I just slap it away.
"I'll kill you if you Thank Me, you son of bitch." Here I am, leaving for university at Yale, years and years of NOT swearing, just waving their little palms to me, goodbye... This is horrible, my vocabulary cannot, and I repeat, cannot, be decreasing now!
"... Drake's Dad died tomorrow, 9 years ago. He's going through some sort of Post Traumatic Stress episode right now, Kayle. Too much stuff is changing. He's losing it."
"What do you want me to do about it?" He asks me incredulously.
"You're his boyfriend of, what is it? 7 months? Help him..." It's starting to rain, the small drips are pitter pattering themselves on the cement. "Drake has never been that great at choosing his times to do things wisely. Find him. Make sure he's okay. I would do it, but like you said, I have to get to Yale on time. It's up to you now, Kayle. It is no longer 'Drake&Josh'. That's done now. Gone and past. It kills me, but I'm stepping out of the way, and you're going in now. It's now 'Drake&Kayle'... You don't deserve him. But he asked me to be happy for him ,and leave him be, so that's what I'm doing. I'm giving you my god damn support! I love him, more than anything. Just... please..." The tears on my face are mixing with the small rain drops. I know for a fact that Drake is outside, alone. Fuck...
"I'll find him, Josh. Don't worry."
"I am going to worry."
"I know..."
"I don't trust you."
"I know."
Shaking my head, I wipe the tear drops off of my face. "Have a nice fucking life, Kayle."
"You too, Josh, you too."
I turn to leave. But I can't just walk. I run towards the vehicle, getting out from under the rain. Running away from Kayle, who just took the life that I was supposed to have with Drake. He took it. He took all of it!
"I'll make sure he keeps in contact with you, Josh! I'll make sure of it!" Kayle yells at me.
Fuck... I hate crying like this. Sobbing. The tears, mixing with snot and rain, are crusting themselves onto my face. I don't wipe them off, though. Instead I just leave them be. It's imperfect, something that I've always tried not to be.
I hate that kid. He doesn't deserve what he has. He doesn't deserve any of it. Nasdaq. Money. Drake. Love.
No...
I don't deserve another chance from Drake. Love, or Friendship. It was my fault in the first place. It was all my fault.
Drakes POV
...
...
... Is it raining?
... I think it is...
I can't actually tell. Everything just looks blurry. Everything is covered in mist. A slight haze. I think I'm cold... am I shaking? ... Ya, I think I'm shaking...
The talk with my mother just drained me of any energy I had. I had to sit down after 20 minutes of sprinting. Maybe it was the sprinting that drained me of my energy?
... No, I know it was definitely the talk with my Mom.
I didn't tell her everything, just most of it. Everything that was important.
I didn't tell her how I have just spent the last 3 days locked in my room. Josh was packing, and getting ready to leave. Mom was preparing all of his favourite meals and Walter was spending as much time with Josh as he could, when Mindy wasn't there. Movie nights, miniature golf, dinners, movie nights. I stayed home, every day and every night, in my room, just in case they'd ask me to join. Just in case they'd talk to me.
I was leaving in only a couple of days. I had, at this point, spent practically the entire summer in Kayle's apartment. Days. Nights. It was rare if I was ever at home.
I wondered if they noticed. I wondered if they ever made dinner, and shouted up to my room, calling for me to come down. I wondered, and I wanted to know the answer. I was leaving. I told my Mom that I was leaving. She didn't notice. Never even fucking noticed that I was talking to her. So, like I said, I stayed home.
3 days. Alone. In my room.
I needed to know, that if I left for New York, they'd noticed. Did they call my name for dinner? What would happen if I didn't answer? Did they come check on me? Would they come check on me?
I just needed to know that I'd be missed when I left. I just needed to know that they'd notice that I wasn't there.
3 days. No one ever called me. For dinner. For the Movie Night with popcorn. For the day trip to the mall to pick up the rests of Josh's needed supplies. The game night. Breakfasts. They never called my name. They never talked about me. They never wondered where I was. Did they even know that I was in the house?
I still think that I could have just picked up and left, and that it'd take a year for my parents to even notice my disappearance.
"Oh, where's Drake?" They'd say. "When was the last time we even saw him? Last night? No need to worry, he's probably at a friend's house for the night. He's Drake, he'll be fine!"
He wouldn't be fine. Drake isn't fine. Not even now...
If it wasn't for Kayle, I'd probably be the closes thing to a living zombie that there ever was, by now. Depressed, begging for human touch and attention to keep me alive instead of blood, guts and brains.
The talk probably wasn't necessary for my Mother, but it was for me. I couldn't just pick up and leave. Especially after seeing Megan like that. I couldn't. They're still my family. Still the people who've raised me, been with me, and have had to suffer through everything that was 'Drake Parker'.
It's really is for the best that I'm leaving. Everyone will be happier. Megan probably doesn't see that now, but she will.
... September 2nd, Drake... Septemeber 2nd... What's tomorrow, Drake? Do you remember what tomorrow is? The voice whispers slowly to me. It loves to taunt me, make me suffer. But it's right.
No matter what I think, no matter what I'm trying to force myself to think, I just keep on getting reminded of the date. Today is September 2nd. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, 9 years ago, my life changed.
It changed. And I couldn't stop it. I tried to stop it. I tried to help. But, nothing I did worked. I tried, god damn it, I tried. Wasn't trying good enough?
He was an alcoholic. I rarely ever saw him without a bottle in his hand. The smell was excruciating. Nauseating. It was bitter, and I hated the sting it left when it filled the air in my nostrils. I can still smell it today. It was the smell of Dad.
Kayle swears that's why I drink. I forget the smell and the feelings, so I try to get myself as sloshed as my Dad... He says that my Dad was an alcoholic, and that increases my chances of being an alcoholic because it runs in the family...
I don't drink too much. At least, I try not to... Kayle usually stops me. After my 3rd or 4th glass when I begin laughing at everything, and begin falling off my seat, that's when Kayle intervenes. He's always there when I drink. And I'm always there when he drinks as well.
I wish I had a drink right now. It'd stop this feeling.
The ecstasy that I had in grade 9 at that one rave. It made me feel 10x better than anything alcohol could ever do. You were still sober, and you could think about the most depressing shit, and you could still smile. It just made me feel happy. I want to feel happy right now.
Happy... what is that even like? At the moment, I can't even remember.
I keep seeing my Dad.
His disfigured face. Blood, mixed with sweat, alcohol, and glass. I tried calling his name, but I could barely move as well. I remember that the seat belt kept me locked in my place. The arm that was needed to get me out of my seat, was dangling limply at my side. I couldn't move it. I tried, but I remember a severe pain just ran through my body.
My Dad was breathing. His eyes were fully open. He couldn't move though. I could see two of his teeth, covered with rust-like colour, just sitting on top of the dented dashboard.
I kept trying to call out to my Dad. Get him to help me. Get him to stop the pain. I couldn't move, couldn't he see that?
But he was bleeding as well. It just kept gushing out... I wanted to puke, I wanted to get out of that car. Everything hurt. It wasn't until after, when the Jaws of life had rescued us, that I even noticed that there was a small piece of glass, impaled in my chin.
I woke up in the hospital, my father was in ICU at this point. I remember that I was scared when I woke up alone.
We had been out, just the family, for dinner one night. I don't know why, I guess my Mom just didn't want to cook, but it was a decision that she still regrets today. It was her idea to go out. Her idea. She still feels guilty.
I don't know what restaurant we even went to, I just remember that my Dad was teaching me tips on how to pick up the cute waitress. We were laughing, and having a good time, hitting each other with my chicken strips. Mom was trying to force the food down Megan's throat... she was a bit of a picky eater and a stubborn child at the time.
Finally, Dad's first drink arrived... then his second... then his 3rd. By his 4th, Mom had left in anger. She hated seeing him drink so much in public, so she started yelling at him. She said something on the lines of 'his drinking was teaching me and Megan that being drunk as hell was okay'. She said that she hated it, so she took a sleeping Megan, and left in a cab.
My Dad gave me money to pay the waitress. I remember his hands were shaking, and that he could barely form sentences. I think that was why he gave me the money for the bill. He was severely wasted. But, it was normal seeing him like that. I didn't understand why everyone was giving us such nasty looks.
I gave the money to the cute waitress, and she gave me her number, saying that if my Parents ever needed a babysitter, she'd love to look after someone as cute as me. We never did call her.
My Dad had insisted on driving. He kept yelling that he was fine. Hell, he had never felt better!
I just remember driving on a deserted highway late at night. It was around 11:30, I was watching the passing trees that were going by my window, faster and faster.
I tried to keep calm, only saying my Dad's name every once in a while from fear. It didn't help.
He was crying. Against the streetlights from the roads, I could see the tears, dripping from his face. He was trying hard to hold them in, but he couldn't. He started screaming.
He began yelling out profanities. Saying how it was his Father's fault for letting him suffer. Saying how it was his Mother's fault for never paying attention. Yelling how it was his brother's fault for making him feel lonely. Yelling how it was his teacher's fault for giving him the horrendous scar on his cheek. Screaming how it was Pastor Johns fault. For everything. Pastor John was the reason my father was supposedly suicidal, the reason was father was supposedly depressed, the reason my father turned to drinking.
My father was screaming, saying how, even now, he couldn't escape him. He could still feel the large hands, wrapped around his small body.
Suddenly, he stopped. The silence over took the car. That's what I remember. The silence as my father began to shake his head, mumbling. The rain, thudding down against the window. The trees were animatedly dashing across my window.
I tried calling my Dads name once more. He never turned to look at me. Instead, I just watched as he pressed the gas pedal, the accelerator-monitor-thing kept moving upward in a slow, semi-circle. 110... 113...118... 120...
I remember that a yellow sign had a large 80 on it. We were doing 50 over the speed limit, that is, until my father let go of the gas pedal, and stomped on the brakes.
He did it on purpose.
He flew us into a tree, making it so that he only had another 12 hours to live. I think we was happy. Even in his panicked state, I can never forget his Green Eyes. The ones that were usually so happy, and full of life, even when glazed over, they were dignified. At that moment, they were just full of fear, despair, pain, and... they were still dignified. He was still proud.
... I think it's raining.
I'm 18 years old.
Tomorrow is the 9th anniversary of the crash that Dad caused, the one that he forced me to witness and survive. The one he made me make sure never to tell, that it was really his decision. How it was really suicide, and not just some late night drunk driving.
My Mother suffered deep depression after that. She believed that it was her fault. She could never look at the scar on my chin. It reminded her that I was there, in the car with him... but it also reminded her of the scar on Dads cheek... It reminded her of Dad... it still does today.
I was her shoulder-to-cry on. Every night, I'd walk into her room, to her bed, the place where she'd lay all day, never moving. I'd just hold her. It was becoming easier as the months past, she was losing a lot of weight.
It never got to the point where me and Megan were starving, luckily, but still, I was only 9. I could barely even read.
Here I am, sitting on the wet ground. The damp grass, hovering over my legs.
Here I am, 9 years later. Still alive. I survived.
I saved everyone. I kept them alive.
... How do they repay me?
They ignore me for months. They pull pranks that almost cause me near-death experiences almost daily.
I saved their asses, without me, Megan would have spent days alone, by herself, and Mom would probably still be in the same, depressed state. I helped them...
But there was always, always that one person I could never save. The one person I could never help.
"That was you, Dad."
I run my hand over the engraved piece of rock that sits in front of me. I always hated knowing, whenever I came here, that I was standing right over top of him. He was facing upward when he was in the coffin, as usual. I hated knowing that he was always looking up at me. When I was small, I'd always look up at him. I hated the role reversal.
Still to this day, I can't help but think this.
His body is right underneath me.
The body I couldn't save. The body that I couldn't help, even with my shouts.
Maybe if I yelled louder. Maybe I screamed. Maybe if I told him that I loved him. Maybe if I hugged him. Maybe if I listened to him. Maybe if I did my homework when he asked, or did my chores, or helped feed Megan when he asked me to.
Maybe he'd still be here today, and everything that has happened so far, would just disappear, just like the writings of a pencil on a 50 year old letter.
"...Drake?"
Through the misty air, the rain continues to fall. I can feel it dripping from my hair.
I can see the silhouette, completely shaded by the falling rain and lack of sunlight, standing behind the grave.
He's tall. He looks kind.
He brings forth his hand, indicating that he wants me to take it.
From here I can still see his green eyes.
I take his hand, accepting it. He lifts me up, putting his large arms around my shivering form, shielding me from the rain.
... I couldn't save my Dad, but maybe I can save him.
"Come on, Drake. Let's go to New York."
Chhappter done!
I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I had a lot of ideas for Drake's dad, but I've read a lot of stories where he's evil. I kind of wanted to be different :p Even though, originally, he was supposed to be 'evil'. Unfortunently, I am not a huge fan of the Josh and Kayle conversation. To me, it seemed necessary, but mehh. It just doesn't really seem to flow... shmeahh!
Hope you enjoyed it!
Review! :)