Drake groaned when he felt himself waking up. He squinted his eyes away from the sunlight that was shining through his window, then turned over towards the wall, refusing to get up. He snuggled deeper into the comforter.

Last night had been pretty great. Despite the self-doubt from earlier that day and Stevie's negativity, Drake had done fucking fantastic. The lack of emotion in his voice brought a different tone to the music that still expressed who he was as an addict and how he felt about life, which really worked with the crowd. After the first song, Julio and Stevie had calmed down. They'd even taken hits from a blunt Drake had passed to them after someone had given it to him from offstage. Julio had disappeared with some girl, Stevie had went to some party, and Ricardo had taken Drake home.

Clang!

"God damn it!"

Drake's eyes opened wide, and his body stiffened. His dad was awake, and he sounded angry. Drake listened for footsteps, but they weren't coming. Maybe he was safe. Just to be sure, he thought it was a good idea to avoid his father for a while, but he kind of had to pee, so he knew it was pointless to stay in bed. The boy stood, then stretched before opening his door and leaving the room. He walked down the hall and started to enter the bathroom when the noises from the kitchen made him curious. He crept further down the hall until he arrived at the large opening.

"Dad?"

Martin was standing in front of the sink, pouring a can of Bud Light down the drain. There were several empty cans piled around the overflowing trash can and a lot of unopened ones next to the sink.

Martin turned and looked at him, and Drake thought that maybe he should've just stayed out of the man's business. However, he'd already made himself known. No point trying to go back now.

"What are you doing?"

Drake took a step back when his father moved away from the sink. However, Martin went over to the kitchen table and picked up a notebook, then started reading out loud.

"It's one of those things that you look back on and get this nauseous feeling in your gut."

Drake realized that his father was holding his journal. He charged forwards, his face going red with anger. "Give it back!"

Martin shoved him onto the floor, all the while, not missing a beat in his reading. "It's not the good nausea that I associate with Triple C's. It's one that makes me dizzy and nervous and short of breath. Every time I think about it, I just want to vomit and die. Even now. It's probably the only thing that I truly regret and would go back and change. I was just so fucking scared at the time. And it pisses me off because it was pointless. I ended up in the basement anyway for almost two weeks. I sucked my gym coach's dick for nothing, and no amount of Xanax had made me forget about it," Martin finished, then he looked at his son.

Drake looked down at his lap. His face was hot, and he had tears in his eyes. He had no recollection of writing that down. Maybe a Charlie night? Jesus, fucking idiot. The boy pushed himself out of the floor, then turned and started towards his room with humiliation.

"Stop," Martin demanded, and of course, Drake obeyed. "You let him do this to you?"

Drake swallowed hard, then turned. "Don't get pissed at me for doing everything I could to get what you wanted."

"I'm not pissed at you. I'm pissed at him for thinking he could blackmail you!"

Drake looked up at him with confusion, unsure whether or not he was in trouble.

"Why didn't you tell me that he was doing this to you?"

"I thought you wouldn't care," Drake answered quietly with a shrug.

"I fucking care," Martin said. "It's different with me because I'm your fucking father, but you don't just let anyone treat you like this. You could've told him no."

"He would've failed me. You would've locked me in the basement all summer." Drake was still looking at the floor meekly. "I hate the basement."

"Then you could've told me."

"He knew about you," Drake said lightly, sure that this would make his father finally start throwing punches. "He would've told someone what you do to me if you would've done something."

It was then that Martin first appreciated how hard Drake worked to hide the abuse when he didn't have to. He always expected it and punished him if he ever let himself slip up, but now he saw just how hard Drake tried to keep his family together as best as he could.

"Listen to me." Martin moved closer. "You never let anyone else touch you again. Do you hear me? No one else is going to make you feel like this. And if they try, you fucking come tell me. I'll kill them."

A single tear fell from Drake's eye then. He wiped it away, then sniffled, unsure of how to respond. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Hey?" Martin grabbed his chin and lifted it up, then wiped away his tear with his thumb. "Don't be." He pulled his son into a hug.

Drake returned his embrace, no longer able to keep himself from weeping. "I was so scared," he said, his voice raising an octave. "I don't wanna go back in the basement again."

"Things are gonna change around here. Things are gonna get better. I promise," Martin said. "I'm gonna get sober. And when you're ready to get clean, I'll be here. It doesn't have to be anytime soon. Just whenever you're ready."

Drake hid his face in his father's shirt. His back jerked with each sob. It was almost unbelievable, and the boy swore he was in a dream. His father was saying words that he'd always needed to hear. He was showing him that he did care and that he did love him.

"I'm so sorry," Martin said.

It was the first apology he'd ever said that was directed at Drake, and it made him cry even harder.

*FLASHBACK*

Martin spat viciously on his son as he zipped up his pants, his breathing heavy. "Stupid piece of shit," he mumbled, then a rage suddenly filled him. He smacked the back of the boy's head a few times, earning a fearful yelp as he screamed, "You ready to listen to me now?! Huh?!"

Drake was laying face-down against the basement steps with his underwear around his ankles. His hands were now attempting to cover his head from further injury. His fingers trembled madly. More than anything, he wanted his mom. He wanted to go home and be in the safety of her presence. He hated it here. He hated feeling so alone. He hated having to deal with this. Sometimes he wished that Megan or his mom would randomly show up in the middle of a rape or beating and stop Martin from ever hurting him again. But he knew how humiliating that would be, and he was sure that he wouldn't be able to live with everyone knowing just how weak he was.

Martin grabbed his shoulder and snatched him so that he was on his back and staring up at the towering man. His father gripped his throat, his tight fingers squeezing the skin. "Did you not fucking hear me, boy?" he growled.

Drake gasped for air, no longer able to focus on the shame he felt about his nakedness. He clenched his eyelids shut, then let go of a cough. He quickly tried nodding his head as best as he could, his lips attempting (but failing) to mouth a few pleads and apologies.

Martin's lips tightened as he noticed the endless tears pouring from his son's closed eyes. He wouldn't let up even though Drake was clawing at his skin and attempting to bend his fingers away from his neck. The boy was weak. He was a coward and a mistake, and every time Martin looked at him, he was filled with rage. Either he saw Audrey, the love of his life who had left him because of this stupid kid, or he saw his own father, the man who would do similar things to him when he was but a child.

Martin lifted the boy up by his neck, then slammed his head against the edge of the step. Drake then moved his hands to the injured area, too dizzied to realize that his dad had let go of him. The man straightened, then kicked the boy's side-

"Gah!"

-before stomping up the stairs and leaving the basement. Martin immediately went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He was sweating and still panting for breath. He popped the tab open, then gulped it down. As he did, he could hear his son's sobbing growing louder. The pathetic boy hadn't even tried to move although Martin had left the door wide open.

The man was quick to finish his cool, refreshing beer. He tossed the empty can into the garbage, then grabbed another one before moving over to the doorway to the basement. He saw his son again laying on his belly. "You quit that fucking whining or I'm gonna shut this door and I'm never gonna unlock it again."

Drake put his hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs. They weren't stopping, but they were quieter.

"You little fucker. You think I'm playing with you, don't you? You haven't had enough, huh?"

Drake looked up and saw Martin set his beer onto the table behind him, then begin to remove his belt. "No, please." His voice cracked and rose an octave. "I'll stop. I'll stop." However, he was doing the exact opposite.

"You need to GROW UP! Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"This cutting class, this lying shit - it's gonna fucking stop right here." Martin's voice was firm and demanding. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get your pathetic ass up and go to your room. I don't wanna see you again for the rest of the night."

Drake forced himself to his feet. "Ah! Ah!" He was hurting all over. He started to clutch his stomach, but then his side would screech with pain. However, once he'd attempt to give that some relief, a paralyzing pain would shoot up his leg. The helpless young man bent over cautiously, his breath hitching occasionally. He reached down and pulled up his jeans, hissing as they rubbed against the bruises and welts and blisters on his legs and bottom.

The boy took his time ascending the staircase. Quiet cries and groans would leave his lips. When he finally reached the top, his father was still standing there. Drake pushed himself against the wall as he slid by, his dad's menacing eyes on him. The boy kept his head down fearfully, and just when he thought he was in the clear, Martin snatched him, then pinned him against the wall.

"Gah!" Drake's wounded shoulder screamed with pain.

"If I find out-" Martin's voice was quiet this time, but it was just as scary as it had been when he was yelling. "-that you miss one more day of class, I'm gonna snap your little fucking neck."

Drake's voice was barely above a meek whisper. He spoke defensively. "Okay."

Martin let up, but Drake stayed there, fearful of what his father would do if he moved. His breathing was short and shallow because of the pain that coursed through his body.

"Get out of my sight," Martin spat with disgust. He stiffly outstretched his arm and pointed at the boy's bedroom, and the rapid lifting of his hand caused his son to flinch and let go of a quiet gasp.

Drake's muscles stayed tense even though he realized that his father wasn't going to hit him. He did exactly what he was told. It took him so long to limp to his room that he was full-on sobbing again before he reached it. He was scared that this would irrationally cause his father to go off again, but he made it to his room in peace. Drake closed his door, then leaned against it weakly and let his tears go. It felt good to be back here. Even though he absolutely despised his father's house and everything about it, he felt a small tinge of what might have been happiness by just being freed from his dark, lonely prison that was the basement. He needed a shower. He needed to brush his teeth. He needed food. He needed Charlie. But right now, he didn't have the courage to leave his room. This was different than all the other times. Martin hadn't just left him down there like usual. He would repeatedly visit him and beat him, and at one point, he'd even raped him. All because Martin had been under the false impression that he was skipping his stupid physical education class. The wounds were too fresh for Drake to be brave enough to risk going against his father's demands for a while. He was going to stay in his room and hope that Martin didn't have more in store for him.

Drake hissed as he pushed himself away from the door. He unbuckled his belt and gently slid down his pants, biting his lip as the rough material aggravated his sensitive skin. When that was done he pushed them away with his foot, then moved on to his boxers, which had blood spots adjacent to where each deep welt was on his skin. "Ahh..." Drake let go of a sob as he pulled at the cloth which had seemed to dry to his wounds rather quickly somehow.

His father hadn't left many places unscathed, but he'd really focused on Drake's bottom when he'd stormed down those steps with his belt ready. The boy wasn't sure what day it was, but if he had school tomorrow and Martin made him go, he knew he was going to have a hard time sitting down at his desk. It was practically impossible. He couldn't even stand to wear clothes because of the way they would rub against his skin. How was he supposed to walk around school like everything was fine?

Drake peeled off his shirt slowly, then tossed it on the floor with the rest of his clothes. He moved over to his bed, then slowly bent his knees and eased himself onto the mattress. He groaned and held his breath as he turned onto his side; there was absolutely no way that the skin on his rear end could rest comfortably against the sheets.

Drake let go of his breath, and with it, a tear left his eye and dripped across the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes in hopes that maybe he could sleep and escape the excruciating pain for just a while.

*END FLASHBACK*

Drake opened his eyes wide when he heard a loud crash. He found himself laying on the couch. Martin looked at him when he noticed his sudden movement.

"Is it too loud?"

Drake moved his eyes to the TV. He couldn't remember falling asleep. "How long was I out?" His voice was strained as he pushed himself up.

"Do you remember who was in the Chamber Of Secrets?"

Drake shook his head. He suddenly recalled that he and Martin were having a Harry Potter marathon.

"Then probably around an hour or two. I don't think it was too long." Martin glanced at his watch. "Let's go grab some dinner. I'll fill you in on what you missed, and then we'll come back and start the third one together."

Together. That sounded nice. He and Martin usually had nothing to do with each other unless his father was in a pissy mood or just bored and looking for a punching bag. Maybe this really was a new start. Maybe Martin was going to clean himself up. Drake had to admit that he'd been skeptical at first; maybe it was all only wishful thinking. But so far, they'd gotten along pretty well. In Drake's defense, it had only been a little longer than two Harry Potter movies ago that Martin had vowed his sobriety, so Drake wasn't so sure how long it would last.

Martin huffed. "I'm stuffed. You want the rest of this?" He wasn't as full as he pretended to be, but Drake had scarfed down his own meal in a record-breaking amount of time, and now that Martin was starting to sober up a bit, he noticed just how tiny his son was, and he realized that it wasn't okay.

"You're not gonna eat it?" Drake asked even though he'd already picked up his father's sandwich.

Martin shook his head. "Where's Mindy at today?"

Drake covered his mouth with his hand as he chewed his food, but he spoke anyway. "Her mom just died. They're getting the funeral arrangements ready."

"Shit. What happened?"

"Car accident." Drake didn't really want to talk about it. He felt bad because he told Mindy he'd go to the funeral tomorrow, but he had absolutely no intentions of showing up at all.

Martin saw the way Drake averted his eyes and realized that it wasn't something he cared to discuss further, so he asked, "How's Fonzie? I haven't heard him meowing lately."

Drake still kept his eyes low. "He got out. I left my window open," the boy admitted. He instinctively tensed up in case his father lost his composure. "I didn't mean to."

"He knows who feeds him. He'll come back."

This comforted the boy, but he pondered if Fonzie would, in fact, remember where he gets his food. Mindy had taken care of him a lot, and some of the money his father had given him for the kitten went towards Charlie. Sometimes, Drake forgot to feed the poor thing and even forgot he was around. His drug use was on the rise lately, and his memory was almost extinct.

Drake finished up the rest of his father's sandwich. Just watching him, you would think it was the tastiest thing he'd ever eaten when, in fact, he still couldn't really taste much because of the Triple C's he'd taken the night before. He wasn't exactly hungry, but he wasn't full either. There was just a hallow feeling in his gut, and no matter how much he put there, it still felt empty. However, at the same time, he never really cared to eat. The boy assumed it was all part of the numbness, which had both positive and negative side effects. For example, he hated never being satisfied hunger-and-taste-wise. But during the winter when it begins to get chilly, Drake could walk down the street to Walmart with no problem because the changes in temperatures didn't feel as severe to him as they actually were.

"I'm gonna go ahead and pay," Martin said.

"I'm gonna go smoke then so you don't have to wait for me," Drake said as he slid out of the booth.

Martin pushed open the door, then stepped outside, squinting at the brightness of the sun. He found his son standing off to the side of the building with a cigarette between two fingers. The boy had his phone to his ear.

"Fuck," Drake mumbled to himself when he pulled the phone away. He took a drag, then turned and noticed his father.

"You ready?"

"Yeah." Drake wasn't finished with his cigarette, but he still had a fear of keeping Martin waiting. He dropped it onto the sidewalk, then stepped on it. He let go of a cough, then followed his dad to the truck.

"Who was on the phone?" Martin asked.

"No one," Drake said as he closed the door, which creaked loudly. "I mean, I was trying to call Josh, but he's been ignoring me."

"Why?" His questions continued. "He found out about you and Mindy?"

"Yeah."

"Do you love her?"

Drake hesitated, for the sudden question threw him off. "I mean, I love her. But I'm still in love with Meelah."

Meelah. Martin remembered her. Besides Mindy and Rhinestone, she was the only other person that Drake ever brought over to his house. He liked her, he supposed. She kept quiet.

*FLASHBACK*

Meelah sighed as she looked down at Drake. He was laying down with the comforter pulled up to his chin. He'd been gazing off at nothing in particular since she'd climbed through his window. The boy acted like this on occasion. Some days, she'd meet up with him, and he would look completely out of it, and not in a druggie kind of way. It was like he was hurting emotionally, and she hated seeing that look. He hardly spoke, and what short responses he did mutter came out quiet and monotonous. He wasn't much company, and he just wanted to be alone, but Meelah would never let that happen. When Drake was alone, he would think. He would just keep thinking until he filled his brain with everything that was wrong - everything that made him feel angry and scared and humiliated and ashamed. And he'd keep it bottled up and - if Meelah wasn't there to intervene - he would see no reason to get out of bed and do anything with his life.

"They haven't hit yet?" Meelah asked, referring to the Triple C's she'd given to her boyfriend upon arrival.

He didn't answer. He didn't have the energy to. Besides, she knew the high hadn't hit; it'd only been twenty minutes. However, the eerie silence was just beginning to get to her, and she didn't know what else to say.

Meelah stood and walked over to the radio, then turned it on. Next, she decided that she wanted to lay down, so she moved over to the side of the bed against the wall. She tugged on Drake's shoulder so that he'd turn over and face her. This caused him to wince with pain and it suddenly brought him out of the trance he had seemingly been in. She quietly apologized, then pulled his head against her chest and softly kissed his hair for comfort.

Drake hadn't answered his phone in the past few days. Even if the boy was busy or mad, that was unusual behavior. Meelah thought it was safe to assume that Drake had been given the "basement treatment." She knew that being locked in the basement was his least favorite punishment, and it'd definitely taken its toll on him. He didn't talk about it much. He didn't need to. She could see what he was feeling from the expression he wore on his face.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and just before Drake was yanked out of her arms, she felt his muscles tense with fear.

"Ah!" Drake cried when his severely beaten body hit the floor.

"I'm so tired of hearing that god damn radio all day long!" Martin yelled.

Meelah stepped in. "You haven't heard it until now because you've had him locked away in the basement!"

"This is none of your fucking business! You stay out of it!" Martin wound his foot back angrily before crashing it into his son's bruised ribs.

"Gah!"

The pained expressed on Drake's face enraged Meelah. She stood, then pushed Martin, who stumbled backwards drunkenly. "Leave him alone!"

The man then violently shoved Meelah, causing her to fall back onto the mattress. Drake pushed himself up, then moved over to his radio. He snatched the cord out of the wall, then stood there, weakly clutching his ribs as the room filled with sudden silence.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he said breathily. "Are you happy now? Just chill the fuck out."

Martin gave off a short chuckle through his smirk. He grabbed his son's hair, then pulled him close while looking at Meelah. "You see that? I just shoved you, and all he does about it is unplugs the radio because I told him to. Fucking lousy little pussy boyfriend is too scared shitless to stand up for you."

Drake wiggled himself out of Martin's grip, and when he was finally free, he shoved the man's hand away, but his father's free hand came up and collided with his face. Drake found himself with his stomach against the carpet before he knew what had hit him. His lip was busted and bleeding, and his vision was slightly blurry. He moved his hands to block his head as he helplessly awaited Martin's next move, for the ringing in his ears caused by the slap was rattling his brain.

"Pathetic," the man taunted before storming out of the room and slamming the door.

Drake pushed himself up slowly. He looked at himself in the mirror, then wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt weak and embarrassed, just like he always did whenever Martin would start pounding on him in front of Meelah.

"I wish you would stand up for yourself." The girl's voice was hard and filled with frustration.

"It would just get worse if I fight him."

"But at least you'd have your dignity," she spat.

Drake paused, hurt by her words. He met her eyes in the mirror's reflection. His were watered over, and his voice was quiet. "I am so tired," he said. "I am so tired of fighting. And I am so scared."

He wasn't tired of fighting his father; he never did. That's not what he'd meant. He was tired of fighting with his lack of motivation. He was tired of forcing himself to get out of bed every morning when he saw no point in it. He was tired of fighting with his dark and depressing thoughts. He was tired of being alive. And he was scared that things were starting to get to the point where he might actually do something about it.

*END FLASHBACK*

Drake panted for air as he spat the taste of vomit out of his mouth. All that fucking food he'd eaten was now coming back up since he'd chased it all down with several Triple C's after arriving home. He suddenly regretted the big meal, but Jesus, he was starving. He was so malnourished that even the numbness of his pills weren't taking away his hunger. Everything was wrong. Everything was a fucking mess, and Drake was just beginning to take notice.

He never used to use this often - maybe two to three nights a week. And he'd considered himself to be an addict back then. And recently, it was every fucking day and night that he would use. What does that make him now? How had things gotten so bad?

Every single day he found himself hurling his guts out for Charlie, cleansing himself of everything except for the powerful chemical. And you'd think that he would get tired of throwing up, but no; he loved it. The nausea, the taste, the familiarity, the comfort. He wasn't sure he could go without it. And that's fucking crazy! It's insane to want to throw up until your insides are sore. But he associated vomiting with the Triple C high, and any friend of Charlie's was a friend of his, too.

Drake was losing control more and more each day, and pretty soon, he wouldn't have any left. What then? He couldn't go back home like this. Everyone would catch on immediately. He looked like complete shit. His mom would send him off to rehab the second she laid eyes on him.

And half the time, the pills wouldn't even work on him because his tolerance was so high. What was he supposed to do when it got to three boxes? Or four? How was he supposed to buy all those at once? How was he supposed to keep hiding this?

Drake's Journal Entry

I got it. My master plan. I'm gonna get clean. But for real this time. And I'm gonna get a job. And I'm gonna get my GED because fuck high school. It'll be easy now that I know which way I'm heading. And that way is forwards, in case you were wondering.

Like, Charlie just showed me so much shit. I can't even wrap my head around it. But life is more than just being holed up in your room high out of your mind and terrified that your father will bust the door down. There's so many other fucking people out there - people that have no fucking clue that I exist. I can't even fathom that. I live in my own little world where I'm the center of existance, and so does everyone else. We all live in our own seperate little worlds, and we sometimes peek at the other worlds, and all we do is judge. Our worlds are supposed to collide and be one gigantic universe or whatever the fuck it is. I'm not Bill Nye The Science Guy except for I am on Tuesdays between four and five p.m.

I think Charlie just showed me this really secret map that only the government has their hands on because they don't want us to come together and out-strong them.

On his face is a map of the world.

Drake took a drag from his cigarette, then breathed out the smoke through his nostrils. He leaned against his windowsill weakly, for the pills were still greatly in his system. The young man lazily held the phone against his ear, and that familiar ringing sound drifted through his head. Fucking Josh. He wasn't even giving Drake the chance to say he was sorry. Drake knew he didn't deserve it. He never did, but Josh always forgave him anyway. This time was different however. Drake had fucked up the only real relationship that his brother had ever had. He feared that, just this once, maybe he'd gone too far.

"Hey, you've reached Josh's phone."

"God damn it, Josh." Drake hung up the phone, then set it down on the windowsill. He took another hit from his cigarette.

The door opened suddenly. Drake turned and saw his father.

"I really wish you wouldn't smoke it here. Even with the window open, it's starting to smell. Go on the porch from now on, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Drake said quietly before tossing the cigarette into the yard.

Usually, Drake would argue or say some smart remark or something, but this time, he didn't. Martin noticed that his son had never quite been the same since he'd been let out of the basement. He wasn't as courageous or bratty or prideful. The man moved across the room, then placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. Drake froze and his muscles tensed. It was a learned habit. Martin noticed this, so he pulled back.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Drake glanced at him with a forced smile before averting his obviously dilated eyes.

"I'm gonna watch the next Harry Potter movie. You wanna join?"

"Uh, nah, I think I'm just gonna hang in here for a while." Drake would've liked to spend more quality time with his father, but he planned on getting clean, so he wanted to make the most of this Charlie night. "Thanks for taking me out today, though," the boy said, stopping Martin before he left the room. "It was nice - just me and you."

Martin nodded with a small smile.

"Kinda like old times," Drake said quietly.

Things weren't suddenly perfect in their relationship just because his dad had gotten sober. Martin still held a lot of blame, and Drake's heart still dropped with fear at the sight of the man. But things were better. Maybe it was amendable after all.

When Martin was gone, Drake stood. He started to close the window, but suddenly something jumped up onto the sill.

"Fonzie!" Drake picked up his kitten, then scratched his head. "You've been gone for-fuckin'-ever!"

"Meow."

Drake's Journal Entry

I've been riding the waves
Fighting the winds
Waiting for someone to save me

I've been fighting against
Current events
Waiting for someone to save me

What will I do in the morning
What will I do in the morning

New song coming soon. Probably not really. I can't write shit anymore. Songwriting was a Charlie thing, and if I quit using, I don't think my brain will be able to create new things anymore. So if I don't finish it before the end of this high, it's probabaly never gonna get done.

Fucking Fonzie's back! Ayyyeeee.

So Mindy just texted me. She said, "comer ovr." Incorrect spelling. No capatalization. She's fucked up on Triple C's, and that really pisses me off. Charlie is MY thing that I shared with her, and I enjoyed sharing him with her, exept now she's taking him from me completely.

I don't think I can continue to be around her if she doesn't quit. I feel like I'm married to Charlie, and she's taking my husband away from me. I'm not gay, exept I am for Charlie and maybe Jim Sturgess. (Definitely Jim Sturgess). But every time I look at her now, I just wanna eat her face off because she pisses me off so much.

Sail on
I could never bear the thought of you
Sail on
I could never bear the thought of him alone with you

What will I do in the morning
What will I do in the morning

I am so scared and doubtful about getting clean, but maybe I can win Meelah back, and maybe that thought will help me a little. I have to get my shit together. Like, it's just not possible to live a successful life with Charlie. I've used so much this summer that I can't muster up the brain power to figure out high school work, much less GED and college shit. And I hardly have the energy to get out of bed. How the fuck will I ever get a job and buy my own car and house? I always thought I could do it later. I could figure everything out later. But I'm nineteen, and I'm not ready for shit. It makes me panic a little inside.

To be honest...I don't think Meelah will ever get back together with me. I think that ship has sailed. I think I'm getting clean too late. I think I fucked up too much. Exspecially after that horrible shit I said to her about her dad being dead. What a dick.

I mean, and I like Mindy. I could see myself with her if she got clean, too, maybe. But that would destroy Josh. I love her, but I think I just can't move forwards with anyone because I'm so stuck on Meelah.

I think we should sail away into the ocean blue
I'll plot a course for me and you
Your other captain had you lost at sea
I'll make it better for you and me

'Cause you know and I know
That everything gets better with time
'Cause they know and we know
That everything gets better with time

Drake awoke when Fonzie clawed at one of his toes, then bit down with his sharp teeth. The boy moved his feet, shooing the kitten off of the bed. However, Fonzie got more aggressive and assumed that his owner was playing with him.

"Fuckin' stop it," Drake groaned tiredly, hiding his feet under the comforter.

This did nothing to stop the cat. Fonzie's teeth bit through the cloth as if it wasn't even there. Drake pushed himself up, then groaned again as he rubbed his eyes. He picked up the phone. 5:44. He'd slept all fucking day.

"Meow." Fonzie rubbed his head against the boy's arm, but was ignored.

Drake unlocked his phone, then saw that he had missed several calls and text messages from Mindy, who was no doubt wondering if he was coming to the funeral. He set the cell phone back down, then grabbed some clothes and went into the bathroom.

Drake carried a handful of items, then placed them on the conveyor belt for the cashier to scan.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Good," Drake said absently.

"Meow."

Drake cleared his throat as an attempt to cover the sound of the kitten he had hidden in his backpack.

The cashier began scanning the items. A couple cans of kitten food, pineapple, and grapes. (Although he no longer used, his taste still hadn't returned to him yet, and the juicy fruits were absolutely amazing on his tongue).

"Meow."

The young, blonde cashier squinted her eyes at him with a smile. She knew what he was hiding. "Is it just the one cat?"

"Yeah."

"Boy or girl?"

"Boy."

"What's his name?" she questioned with interest.

"Fonzie."

"Ayyyeeee." She pointed her thumbs up to imitate the signature move of the former Happy Days character.

Drake let go of a chuckle. He was feeling very dry and monotonous due to the withdrawals from the Triple C's, but he forced it because, had he not been so physically and mentally exhausted, he might have actually liked this girl.

"I have two cats. Kit Kat and Gray Cat."

Drake forced a smile again. This store was a lot different than Walmart. He'd avoided Walmart because of Charlie, and instead, he'd went to the grocery store across the street. The cashiers were super nice. They had a bigger variety of food. It wasn't as crowded. Things were slightly more expensive however. The only Triple C's they had were locked in the pharmacy. Plus, it was the expensive brand. Drake felt more comfortable here because he'd never purchased his drugs from this store. He actually almost never came into this store, so it held no memories.

"Your total's $10.28."

Drake grabbed the twenty that his father had given him, then passed it to the girl. After he got his change, he thanked her, then grabbed his two bags. When he stepped outside, he walked around to the side of the building, then pulled off his book bag and took a seat. He grabbed one of the cans of cat food, then lifted the tab and pulled it open.

"Meow."

Drake set it next to him on the concrete, then pulled his bag closer. It was already unzipped so that Fonzie could breathe, but not enough so that he could jump out. Drake opened it, then pulled the kitten out and placed him in front of the food. As he ate, Drake pulled out a cigarette, then leaned against the wall. His legs were absolutely exhausted. Coming off of Charlie didn't mean much except for extreme tiredness. He didn't feel like moving a muscle. The walk here had been hard enough. Now he was going to have to walk back. All he wanted was to go back to sleep.

"Hey, Drake, what's up?" Ricardo opened the door wider, then stepped to the side, allowing his friend to come inside.

"Do you have any weed? I've called Roland a hundred times and he's not answering."

"You didn't hear? He got busted a couple days ago."

"What? Shit."

This news saddened Drake slightly. Roland was a good person with a potentially successful future. He was taking several classes whilst holding multiple jobs and selling marijuana on the side for the extra cash. He'd never done a bad thing in his life, but now he was facing years of imprisonment just because he needed to pay for his schooling.

"I gotta head to work," Ricardo said. "Julio's upstairs. Help yourself to the weed."

"Thanks."

"Are you staying the night?"

"I don't know. Things have calmed down a lot at my dad's."

"That's good." Ricardo seemed surprised. He grabbed his jacket from the hook behind the door, then put it on and gave the boy a friendly pat on the bicep. "Alright, I'll see ya later."

When Ricardo was gone, Drake went into the living room. He moved over to the fireplace, and sitting on the mantle was a decorative Indian-style box. He opened it, then pulled out a bag of marijuana. A large bong shaped like a flame was located nearby. It was a mixture of red, orange, and yellow, and it was probably the coolest one that Drake had ever seen. He assumed that it was new because Ricardo's old bong was half the size, and the glass was nowhere near as shiny.

With the weed and bong in hand, he headed upstairs. He opened the door to Julio's room unannounced. "Hey, man. What's up?"

Julio's eyes popped open with alert. "Jesus, Drake! Can't you fucking knock?! You'll give somebody a heart attack!"

"Whoa, I'm sorry. Chill out."

Julio had just recently moved in, so there wasn't much in his room except for a TV, a closet, and a couch with a small table next to it. Drake took a seat there, then placed his backpack next to him. When he opened the small plastic bag in his hand, he noticed that the seeds had already been taken out of the weed. He started packing the bowl.

"Where's Mindy?"

"Her mom's funeral probably. I don't know. Or at home." Drake had recently started to realize that he and Mindy were somewhat of a "couple" in a lot of people's minds, and that whole thing needed to be broken up before Josh got home. The young man reached into his pocket and fished out his lighter. He held it over the weed, flicked it, and inhaled, allowing the smoke to fill the bong. The bubbling sound that it made soothed him because, to be honest, the whole idea of sobriety kind of unnerved him. Drake lifted the bowl up, and as he breathed in again, the smoke went into his lungs. He held in his breath and spoke in a deep, strained voice. "Don't you have practice today?" At this time a couple months ago, Drake would be arriving to share new ideas and renovate old ones.

"Canceled."

"Why?"

"Stavros' grandma. Remember?"

"When's he coming home?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

Drake squinted his eyes at his friend. Julio had seemed harsh and short with him since he'd walked through the door. What the fuck was that about?

Drake started coughing. He held out the bong. "Here."

"No, I'll pass."

"Come on."

"I'm not feeling good right now."

"It'll make you feel better," the boy tried, still coughing between his words.

"Drake," Julio said firmly. "No."

The boy shrugged it off. "Okay. Fine." He backed off then, just like he always did when someone suddenly spoke with a serious voice that reminded him of his father's.

Julio closed his eyes and rested his head against the pillow again. Drake got the feeling that his presence wasn't wanted. And it wasn't like when he got kicked out of the band. He deserved that. Julio and Stevie really had no choice. But right now, this felt different. It's as if Julio didn't like who he was as a person - as if suddenly Drake was too annoying and immature for him. Suddenly, Julio seemed a lot older and serious, and something about being here reminded him of his father's hatred for him and made him feel rejected.

At the same time, Drake knew that all of these emotions were just in his head. The weed was making him think way too much into things. At the thought of weed, Drake picked up the bong again and took another hit.

"Bro, so I wanted to show you this new song." Again, his voice was deep as he held in his breath. "I mean, it's not actually new. But it's new to me." Drake pulled out his cell phone. When he unlocked it, he saw that he had another text from Mindy.

Mindy: Thanks for being there for me today. Glad to know that you'll return the favor when I need something.

It was sarcasm, he could tell. His mind went back to the first time he'd tried to get clean. He'd wanted to prove to Meelah that he could, but he'd ended up relapsing the next morning: his birthday. Mindy had been there for him, and she'd promised that she always would be there for him. And she was. She always gave him money and rides and she kept him sane. And not once had he repaid her or even truly showed his appreciation. He was a user - not only of drugs, but of people also. He was just like Charlie; he squeezes every last drop out of people until they no longer serve him, then he moves on. Just like he'd done to Josh.

He was pretty sure it was hereditary for the men in his family to act that way. His dad was the same way, and although his grandfather had died while he was still young, he'd heard bitter stories spat from Martin's mouth about him. He was told that he looked a lot like his dad's father, which sucked because Drake was sure that that was part of the reason Martin seemed to despise him so much. It was beyond Drake's control that he had similar features as the man who would brutally beat young Martin Parker.

Drake then tried to visualize his father in his shoes. However, it was hard to picture Martin curled up in a ball in the corner getting lashings from a belt as his eyes flooded with tears. He couldn't imagine seeing the man so vulnerable, even as a child. And if it was all true, then why the hell would he treat his son the exact same way that he hated being treated?! Shouldn't any dad want his son to have a better childhood than he had?

And why was Megan so fucking special? That's not fair. She was Martin's little angel. Even now, Drake was jealous of her, and she would never know it. When Drake was little - sometime after the divorce when his father started drinking a lot and would lock him in his closet during his weekend visits - Drake would sit there all alone in the dark. Sometimes if he pushed his ear against the wooden door, he could hear Megan and their father watching television or playing hide and seek. (Martin's room was always out of bounds, and just to make sure that she never found out about Drake's true whereabouts, he kept a lock on the closet door in his bathroom that was too high for Megan to reach). Drake could always hear how much fun they were having. He could hear it in his voice - how much he loved her. The boy was good at knowing what his father was feeling. All the weekends he'd been locked away were spent listening to the tone of his voice. His dad used to talk to him like that. Now every time he spoke to Drake, his voice was harsh and loud and filled with hatred. Now he could usually tell the difference between when his father was just pissed at the world and when he was actually ready to throw some punches.

And even still, after all these years, Drake would try to stay out of his way. Even though he wasn't locked in the closet, he would hide away in the bedroom the entire weekend until Megan kicked him out. Technically, it was her room. Her posters were hanging up. She had clothes that she always left there. The room had a girly touch. And when he was forced to leave, Drake tended to go for a walk, also known as a Charlie run, or he'd sit on the porch. Martin still got a few good punches in when Megan was there, but he never did it in front of her. Drake really only ever got a good ass beating when his sister stayed at a friend's for the weekend or had a birthday party to go to. Now that he was by himself the whole summer, Martin didn't have to worry about discretion, and just being around his son made him drink more, and therefore caused him to be more violent.

Drake blinked and suddenly felt like he had come back into his head. He couldn't remember exactly what he had just been thinking about, but he knew it involved his father somehow and he felt sad. Straightaway, he recalled that he was in Julio's bedroom, but he didn't remember forgetting that fact. He was sure that he'd just been so deep in thought that he hadn't been focused on his current surroundings.

Julio's room was a pretty good size, but that could've just been because he'd just recently moved in and hadn't made the room his own yet. Honestly, Drake hadn't been in this room much. Before Julio, it had been the guest bedroom. It still looked the same for the most part, but now that it was Julio's, it suddenly had some sort of significance. This room used to be just another room, but now it was a piece of someone. Julio would gradually start filling it with posters and his clothes would be all over the floor. It was like Julio would be painting the room with his own personality. And he was sure that they'd be making several pot-fueled memories in this room. It now meant something of importance, and in the future, Drake would enter this room and feel comfortable, and they'd laugh at the old times.

It was strange how things could suddenly become important. Take Charlie, for example. He was probably the most important thing in Drake's life. He was the boy's sanity, his stability, his decision-maker, his creative side, his thinker, his motivator. Before they first met, Drake had been fine, but now that he'd gotten a taste of what it was like to have Charlie, he was useless without him.

Mindy was another good example. Drake used to hate her with a passion, but now he didn't know what he'd do without her. She supplied a lot of his Charlie money. She made him not feel so lonely anymore. She made him feel accepted and kind of like he wasn't a waste of space, which brought him back to the text that she'd sent.

Drake erupted into a coughing fit. A thick cloud of smoke left his lips. He suddenly remembered that he'd been holding in his breath this entire time. He was pretty sure he'd been lost in thought for about fifteen minutes, and he pondered how he was still alive.

"I just completely went so far inside of my brain that I forgot what I was doing," Drake said when his coughing subsided. "That was actually super scary, to be honest. I thought I was dead." He looked down at the cell phone in his hand, then it suddenly came to him. "Oh, shit. I was gonna show you this song." Before he could forget again, he opened the YouTube app. "Mindy showed me this band." He started typing in the song title, then clicked on it when it came up. He played the video, then turned his phone so that it would make it full screen.

Music started playing. A guy on a bike rolled into the middle of the shot. Drake had watched this video plenty of times, but it just now seemed strange how short the bike was and how large the wheels were. The guy was wearing a red beanie, and his hands and neck were black. It was weird, but Drake loved the look of this band. Every band needed to have a look that made them stick out. He started to wonder what their band's look had been back before he was kicked out, but the singer's voice interrupted his thoughts.

I wish I found some better sounds no one's ever heard
I wish I had a better voice that sang some better words
I wish I found some chords in an order that is new
I wish I didn't have to rhyme every time I sang

I was told when I get older all my fears would shrink
But now I'm insecure and I care what people think

My name's Blurryface and I care what you think
My name's Blurryface and I care what you think

Wish we could turn back time to the good ol' days
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out
Wish we could turn back time to the good ol' days
When our momma sang us to sleep but now we're stressed out

We're stressed out

Sometimes a certain smell will take me back to when I was young
How come I'm never able to identify where it's coming from
I'd make a-

"Can you turn that off?" Julio said grumpily.

"You don't like it?" Drake had been so sure that these lyrics were right up Julio's alley. However, he didn't receive a response. Drake recalled the unwanted feeling he'd had earlier and asked, "Did I piss you off?"

Again, there was no answer.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

"I'm having a fucking panic attack! Will you just shut up?!"

Drake shrunk against the couch then. The weed intensified his emotions, and his current one was fear. He spoke slowly as if just saying the wrong word would send Julio's fist flying like Martin's always did. "Dude, you're really starting to bring me down."

"No one fucking asked you to come here!"

"Well, fuck you, too."

Julio's breathing became louder. When Drake thought about it, he was sure that the volume had actually been the same the whole time and he was just now taking notice.

"Why are you having a panic attack?" he asked. This wasn't like the Julio he remembered at all.

"I don't know."

"Like, should I do something right now?"

"I really just kinda wanna be alone."

Those words were a stab to Drake's heart. He felt like this was his last stop. His dad never seemed to want him around. Mindy was pissed at him. Meelah didn't want to be with him. Josh hated him. His mom had left him here all summer. Ricardo had been too busy to hang for a while. Stevie treated him like the scum of the earth. And now his best friend wanted him to go away, too.

"I really think you should take a little hit." Drake held out the bong. "Like, just a lit-"

"I already fucking told you no! Just fuck off!"

"Jesus," Drake said quietly. "Whatever." He stood, grabbed his book bag, and exited the room. Like the douche bag that he was, instead of slamming the door, he left it open knowing that Julio would keep thinking about it until he got out of bed and shut it himself. He carried the bong down the staircase, then went into the living room. He plopped down on the couch, set the bong onto the table, then dropped his backpack onto the floor.

"Meow."

"Oh, shit!" Drake whispered to himself. He grabbed his book bag, then unzipped it and pulled out his kitten. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" He spoke in a high-pitched voice just like pet owners often do.

"Meow."

Drake felt super bad about leaving the cat inside of his bag for so long, so he petted him intensely with both hands to make up for it. "I love my little Fonzie. Yes, I do."

Julio paused when he entered the living room. Drake was laying on the couch asleep. Fonzie was stretched out on his chest. SpongeBob SquarePants was playing on the TV. Julio picked up the remote, then turned the television off. He set the controller down, but it was a little too loud because Drake's eyes shot open. Julio watched as his friend blinked his eyes and tried to figure out where he was. Drake was the type of guy who woke up in new places all the time. He was constantly bumming a couch for the night.

Drake's voice was strained. "Oh, shit. How long have I been out?" He picked his cat up, and Fonzie stretched in his hands as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

Julio took a seat on the recliner. "I don't know. A few hours maybe."

Drake pulled his phone out of his pocket. 8:58. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. The Triple C's from last night were starting to leave his system, and he was feeling extremely tired. The weed also contributed to that.

He saw on the screen that he had a text from Mindy again.

Mindy: C you tonight?

It was a code. Mindy never used incorrect spellings. She wanted to have a Charlie night. Drake was tempted, but he really wanted to actually try to get clean. He put his phone away, leaving the text unanswered.

"So look," Julio started awkwardly. "About earlier - what I said - I wasn't trying to be a dick."

Drake shook his head. "You know what, I don't even remember anything, so it's cool." It was a lie. He did remember. He just hated apologies, even if they were directed towards him. He saw that Julio was making the attempt, and that was good enough.

"I just felt like you were pressuring me to smoke, and I didn't want to."

Drake tended to push drugs on people without meaning to. He knew that it was a flaw that he had, and he wanted to change it. "I'm sorry."

"I've been having a lot of panic attacks recently, and I thought weed would help, but it's just been making things worse and I get really bad anxiety, so I stopped smoking. And when I'm panicking, I just kinda wanna be alone."

"I probably shouldn't have just invited myself. Everything's just been kinda weird ever since I left the band, and I'm just trying to go back to how things used to be and not have harsh feelings. I just..." Drake stopped himself. He found it harder to be open about things when Charlie wasn't with him.

"What?"

Drake shook his head. "I don't know."

Julio still seemed to be waiting for him to speak, so he did.

"I want to get clean. I mean, I'm going to get clean. But when I don't have Charlie, I just...I feel really alone." Drake looked down at his lap. He suddenly hated how weak he'd just made himself look by admitting these feelings. However, had he said the same exact words while under the influence of Triple C's, he would've felt just fine. "I..." The boy became occupied with a loose string on his jeans. "I think I waited too long. I think no one believes in me anymore."

"Prove them wrong," Julio said simply. To be honest, Julio had also lost hope in Drake. For the past couple of years, he'd witnessed his friend becoming a little too far gone on the stuff, and it was hard to picture him as a sobriety-loving person. However, what he thought didn't matter. He believed that Journey was probably the worst band in the world, yet everyone knew who they were.

There were so many more words that Drake wanted to get off his chest: I'm tired, I'm embarrassed, I'm scared. But he didn't have the courage, so he kept them inside and forced a small smile as he glanced up at his friend. "Yeah."

Author's Note: Eh, pretty uneventful, but I just wanted to get something out there. I've been having a hard time with this story. I kind of know somewhat direction I wanna go in, but nothing is set in stone, so all suggestions are welcome. Maybe it'll give me inspiration to write more. Not sure my heart's into this too much anymore, so if it sucks, just let me know because that's okay. I'm kinda not a fan of this chapter that much, but I'm excited to see what you guys get out of it and what parts don't interest you.