A/N: Thank you for your comments and support! They give me life!

Chapter Twenty-Four: Turning Tides

It's amazing what you'll find

When you just open your eyes

Sometimes love can leave you blind

But still you try to cover all the lies

And ignore all the signs

Sometimes love can leave you blind

We never acknowledge the consequences for our behavior. And maybe that's the problem with falling in love at sixteen.

Reno and I tried to pull away- for a week. But like a rubber band, we just snapped back together with more intensity than before; taking advantage of the school wide, parent wide, distraction that stemmed from Sephiroth's car accident. All talk through the crimson hallways exclusively dealt with him. His recovery in the hospital. The future of his baseball career. If he would ever return to school. One fractured rib. A dislocated shoulder- his pitching arm no less. Concussion. But he was lucky. The car hit him on his right side when he, according to witnesses, charged for Roche. Too doped up to realize that car plus body doesn't end well for the body. He landed hard on his shoulder, but avoided a potential spinal injury or death.

I cursed his luck.

I went to visit him the week Reno and I decided to pretend we weren't completely obsessed with each other. More so to get a feel for his mentality. Did he remember that day at all? When he raided my mother's medicine cabinet? When he made bold accusations about my relationship? When he basically threatened me. Called me a shit stain. Continued to exercise his control over my entire life.

I found the shell of my vocal tormentor. Laying on the bed, eyes glazed over and glued to the ceiling above him. Arm in a sling, torso wrapped with bandages. He threw enough of a bitch fit at the doctors, they prescribed him oxycodone for the consistent pain. I narrowed my eyes at the pills on his nightstand. And he asked if I wanted one, said it would make me feel as good as him. But I declined.

His lips curved into a smile. And that's all he said.

Some girls approached me with concerns, knowing we're best friends. Cissnei, with her gelled hair in little spirals, checked on me during our Spanish class. Telling me if I needed anything to please let her know. Hell, even Aerith asked how he was doing with a strained tone, and pursed lips, and rolled eyes.

He was fine. He's not that easy to kill.

The week after, once the dust settled and no one proved to be wiser, Reno and I went back to our normal routine. Except now, picking me up from my house to go to school. And if anyone noticed how often we were together, they didn't say anything. Not when we smoked our cigarettes outside his car before homeroom. Not when we walked to our language classes together. Or when we vanished for an entire lunch period. Or in physics when we cracked jokes, got detention together at least twice, and had to copy Proverbs 14:3 100 times.

By the mouth of a fool comes a rod for his back, but the lips of the wise will preserve them.

We were riding a high and we were destined to fall. That's what happens, when your sixteen and stupid and dumb in love.

If I had to guess, the gentle tides began to turn on Reno's birthday. We got over confident. But my focus engulfed by the drive to make his birthday special when I discovered his parents weren't going to celebrate. So I presented an idea. And he never took a second to consider. Just jumped on the offer.

My mother started going to her parents house on weekdays to care for oma after a fall. Whether or not that's true, I never asked. I didn't care. The house now empty during the week. And on his birthday, on a Tuesday, I got dressed for school as normal. Bid my mother farewell as she finished up her makeup in her bathroom and got into Reno's car- where we drove around the block, hiding down a side street and smoked a cigarette until we saw my mother's car fly past us. We called the school, pretending to be our parents, made up some excuse for our absence. I'm sick. And he has an appointment. Parked the car in the garage so no one would see it and get suspicious.

We had the entire house to ourselves.

I pulled him into my room, and locked the door to keep the demons out.

We stayed connected with lips, and teeth, and tongues. And I shivered every time his hand brushed along bare skin. I changed a maybe from a month ago to a yes. And he asked me if I was sure until it was almost not sexy anymore; but everything he does is attractive from his gentle tone when he whispered against my ear, to his rough touch on my hips and shoulders. We melted into each other. And I sang his name like it was the only song I knew.

Tangled in each other's embrace. My head on his shoulder so I could reach and kiss along his neck around the chain I had bought him for his birthday. Because he's definitely a chain guy. He responded by dancing his fingers along my arms. And commented on the muscles underneath. And told me this was the only future he wanted. Us, together, under the morning sun. In a shared bed. That I'm his endgame. Always. All the time.

That's how easy it is to fall into a false sense of security. At no point throughout the day, while we laid in my bed and talked about our dreams for the future, did we consider that some people might find it suspicious that both Cloud Strife and Reno Sinclair were missing from their normal spots in class.

On the latters birthday.

We didn't even notice a shift immediately. The next day, business as usual. Some whispers when we walked down the halls, but nothing alarming. Like a game of telephone, it starts off innocent enough. But by Physics, I noticed Cissnei and Elena turn in their seats, give us a curious look, before resuming their hushed conversation. I looked over at Reno, who leaned in his chair, tapping a pencil against his lips. He moved his blue eyes to me, and shrugged. I thought about asking him flat out- but Hojo started scolding the girls and class resumed.

And when I went to bring it up in the car on our way home, a text robbed me of my attention:

Family meeting today when you get home from school.

I arched an eyebrow. Both impressed that my dad could use a cell phone and that he called a family meeting.

"Something serious?" Reno asked, leaning over the seat after he put the car in park in front of my house.

My mind scrambled. What if the school called? Inquiring about my whereabouts yesterday? I can't imagine Reno and I were convincing parents, though his impression of his father was spine chilling and I never met the man. And if that's the case, then what will Reno be walking into when he heads home? I thought about telling him to drive somewhere far. Make that dream of running away together a reality. We don't need the car, the money, the royalty. What's the price of privilege in our case?

He waved his hand in front of my face, "Yo, you good?"

"Yeah," I flipped the phone shut, "Dad called a meeting." He knew what that meant; no hopping over the breaking fence to hide in the basement, smoke cigarettes until our lungs collapse, and play video games until he's called back for tense dinners. I turned to him,"Do you think you'd be able to sneak out later?"

"To see you?" he smirked, "of course."

I kiss him slow; savor the taste of reds.

Both the color and the brand.

And when I pulled away, a sense of finality followed.

Which I brushed off then.

I walked inside to an unusual scene. Instead of the normal, my mother sprawled on the couch with her bottle of vodka and bottle of pills. My parents sat in the kitchen. My dad in his business suit, hands folded on the table and looking at the blank wall in front of him. My mother, next to him, turned to face my father, her hands in her lap. Head down. Her light brown hair actually blown out into loose waves that framed her face. I stood in the threshold of the kitchen. Right next to the empty wall where a family portrait used to rest.

My dad told me to sit down, in a voice cut with sadness.

I told him I'd rather stand. Like a stone wall.

My mother told him not to argue with me.

And he didn't, so I knew before he even uttered the words that this was serious.

He looked at my mother, and she turned away. Not before a few tears managed to escape her concrete eyes.

"Your mother has to go away for a while."

Pause.

Everything stopped.

I swear even the world paused its frantic spinning. And I wonder why everytime they say this, it sounds like the first.

"Where is she going?"

I'm eight again.

No one responded. Not at first.

My dad kept looking at my mom as if she was going to say something. Finish what he started. But sobs began to expel from her body. He sighed. Said with frost on his tongue, "She's...going on a vaca-"

"I'm not a kid," I snap, "tell me the truth."

He cleared his throat, never once looking at me. Focusing on his folded hands instead. "A treatment center in Florida," he swallowed hard as my mother hid her face in her hands. "To get help."

"For how long?"

"A month...for now." He brought his blue-green eyes onto me. I stood there, and I know he wants me to react- expected me to react. But I gripped the messenger bag across my body, until I felt it dig into my palms. My other hand in my pocket ready to call Reno when I can be excused.

I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to say? She's hysterical now. Barely able to breath and it cuts me like a knife.

"Can I go now?" I asked.

"That's all you have to say?" My dad's tone edged.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Do you have anything to say to your mother?" Louder. Like the cocking of a gun.

I don't have anything to say to her, but I have plenty to say to him. About his false position of power in this family. About the high horse he sits on while he tramples over the rest of us. That maybe he should go away for a while, too. I look over at my mother, hiding her broken eyes behind her hair and hands. "She can't even look at me," I clenched my teeth, "What am I supposed to say? She can't even look at me right now?"

"Bastian," she sobbed, "leave him alone!"

My father threw his hands in the air, "I can't fucking win in this family!"

She removed her hands, her face red from the tears and red from the fire that burned in her. And I thought about how red was the color I felt when I kissed Reno. And I want to be with him and not here, in this kitchen, in this house. Or on this island.

"Can I please go do my homework now?" I pleaded.

"No, we need to sit down and discuss this as a family."

"I don't want to talk," I looked at the ceiling, because I couldn't stand the sight of them. "I want to do my homework."

"You're mother leaves tomorrow-"

I stopped listening.

I walked away to a familiar tune of my parents shouting voices. As my mother defended my actions and while my father condemned. I locked myself in my bedroom. And I was so broken, I didn't even call my boyfriend to come put me back together.

He showed up anyway, when our houses were silent, and he brushed my strands of hair with his fingers, and told me that everything will be okay. That this was for the best.

My mom left the next day, due to be out the door by 6:30am. My dad was going to go down with her to Florida, drop her off at the center, then immediately fly back. My mom insisted I not be present; her attempt at protecting me. She hugged me, her tiny arms crushing my ribs, and I realized how short she was compared to me now. Her head under my chin. She gripped me like it was the last time she would ever see me, and I wondered if it was. They were running late because she refused to let me go. And I kept shaking my head because I could smell the alcohol on her.

She made promises.

And I didn't have the heart to tell her I've heard this all before.

When I was eight and ten and thirteen.

She told me how much she loved me. That things will be different now.

She released me finally when the chill in my dad's voice became impossible to ignore. And she couldn't keep the tears from falling when she exited the house.

"Are you okay alone?" he questioned, his tone prickly as we never addressed the argument the night before.

"Reno's at the back door already," I said.

He hands me money, "Why don't you get him some real pizza tonight."

I narrowed my eyes, "You assume he's coming over later?'

"He's always over."

I shrugged, not really acknowledging that fact. My friends are usually always over.

"Things are going to change around here," his voice attempted to come off commanding.

And I managed to hide the smile. "Whatever."

My dad slammed the door on the way out. And I swore I heard glass breaking from somewhere in the house; another portrait perhaps. Poetic. I went to the back door to let Reno in- the red-head leaning against the wall of my house, smoking a cigarette, and looking at his home across the way with a venomous expression that shifted when he turned to me; eyes sparkled against the new morning snow.

"Things are going to change around here," I mocked my father.

Reno smirked, "God, if I had a nickel."

"Thought there was no God?"

He flicks his cigarette into a pile of ice, "Not here, no," he grabbed my face, his gloves cold, and pulled me into a rough kiss, "just us."

I thought about cutting school again. Taking over the empty house like we did on his birthday. Thinking back, maybe we should have. My dad was finally right about something: things are going to change around here.

Hard not to notice the stares at school as the month wore on. A slow burn, though. But we stopped sharing lunch together as a result. He hung close to his Shinra buddies, I remained alone in the bathroom. Back to the original routine. Then we did away with some of the after school visits. He needed to go to the gym, practice for baseball. I found alternative ways home and sat in my basement playing video games or guitar until he called after 9pm to talk. I'd be sitting in the balcony upstairs while he hung half way out his window so we could capture glimpses of each other.

And even with him a yard away, he spoke with the same morose tone as when he went to Tennessee. And I should have known, he felt just as far. When I tried to get answers for why he sounded blue, he would snap like a rabid dog. To back off. I found myself pinching my lips shut; and it was starting to hurt.

But the weekends became a welcome reprieve. The Seph Incident blared a negative light on the Saturday night activities of the Staten Island youth. And considering six members of the baseball team were involved in such a infamous event, the school stepped in- anyone in sports caught at parties with underage drinking and especially with drugs, instant expulsion. Parents panicked. Curfews enacted.

But with Reno and I literally sharing a backyard, those rules didn't exactly apply to us. My dad didn't mind Reno's company in our house- and his parents' willing ignorance towards their older sons activities- meant we were able to continue our relationship, in the privacy of my home, without the peer pressure or FOMO.

It wouldn't last long though. I had a feeling at the Staten Island Saint Patrick's Day Parade, during the first weekend of March. We met up early with my friends, and Rude who still thought he had a shot with Tifa. Reno had been distant that whole week, I didn't see home once after school. Tryouts were that Monday, and I knew how important it was to get his arm prepared. And now, with Sephiroth benched, they needed another excellent player. I put on the supportive boyfriend hat, even when I felt rejected during school when he barely acknowledged me and a bit jilted when he missed a phone call. But he made up for it that whole weekend.

I don't even think he went home once. Slept in my bed those two nights. Running home when day broke to grab more clothes and make an appearance. And I didn't ask why the shift? And didn't tell him that dramatic change in tone was jarring.

And on the day of the parade, Reno wore his fitted leather jacket and a Boston Celtics shirt- and I cracked a joke about him being from Massachusetts in a past life. I had a Dropkick Murphys top over a black thermal. Cid and I used green hair spray in our blonde hair, that gave us clover colored streaks in our hair. It looked terrible. The bagpipes roared. Drunk fathers stumbled in and out of the bars that lined the street. We stood on Forest Avenue, behind our group of friends. A little warped from the booze we consumed at some guy's house where we pregamed.

To my surprise, Reno reached over and pulled at one of the standing green strands of hair. "Nice hair," he grinned. My heart fluttered when he touched me. And I returned his smile. He dropped his hand, shoving both in his pocket, "We look like Christmas."

Cautious, I pretended to flick a piece of dust from his own spikes of red. He didn't tense. Or flinch. His cheeks warmed, and not from the alcohol. And he chuckled so soft I almost didn't hear him over the sounds of a parade. "That's the worst thing you've ever said to me," I joked.

He rolled his eyes back to our friends. He curled his lips in and almost like the mask shifted, I saw the flash of sadness. "I can't wait for the day I get to hold your hand whenever I want."

"Me to." I nod.

Now I understand what he meant when he said: it's not going to be easy being kept a secret.

Because it was becoming impossible.

And I knew from the chill that descended around us, things were going to have to be different.

I hate it.

Sephiroth returned to school. Still bruised, but not broken. His smile dripped with poison as he traversed the halls with girls on his heels, asking if he needed help. Scarlet, also in track two, became his note taker. And I assume something more, from how she walked with him from class to class. Head held high. Her straight blond hair dancing down her back as she walked next to him. Cissnei unfortunately got stuck with them, holding Sephiroth's books for him while Reeve held Scarlets, both shuffling behind them like wounded puppies.

I would stand by my locker with Cid and Barret, the three of us just shaking our heads at the spectacle. And when they were distracted, I would turn behind me where Reno and his group congregated. Reno's back against a locker, eyes focused on the window across from him. Rufus bitching about something to Tseng as the group walked past them. Rude and Elena hovering around. Reno, as the weeks progressed, had a broken look on his face. I noticed his friends would direct their conversations to him- and he would shrug in response, or grunt. His eyes never leave the clear glass in front of him. And I couldn't see his eyes, but I imagined they would glow under the sun; like when he looks out the open window of my room while black smoke drifts from his lips.

I couldn't help myself. My lingering stare on his form. Uniform a mess. And like he could feel my eyes, he moved his own towards me. Swallowed something that wished to pierce his tongue. And then he and his group leave.

I never told him how this simple rejection was like dynamite to my self-esteem. Coupled with his lack of attention during the classes. His abandonment from our lunch meetings. Even physics. All business. The quiet jokes a thing of the past. I dove into the margins of my notebook and wrote all the synonyms for sad as if it helped. And then pathetic scribbled in black ink, and that's exactly how I felt.

And I held those feelings like a gun in my chest. Because I could tell he was stressed over something from our tense phone conversations and I didn't want to be a burden. But it all boiled over the surface by the end of the week. After feeling his absence for days, we talked on the phone. And I wanted to ask him why he suddenly couldn't hop the fence and smoke some weed and have a face to face conversation with me. I leaned against the balcony railing, on the cold floor, smoking a menthol. I could see him from his bedroom. The orange light illuminating his form while he sat on his window sill, looking away from me.

I asked how his day was.

I got a fine.

I asked how practice and tryouts were going.

I got another fine with more of an edge than I liked.

I asked what was wrong?

And this time he snapped, "I'm fine. Jesus Christ."

"I swear, if you say fine one more time, I'm going to lose it," I bark back.

I watch him throw his hands in the air. "What do you want me to say?

"I want you to tell me what's been going on with you the last few weeks." I counter. He shakes his head. "You've been avoiding me-"

"I'm not avoiding you," he shouts, "shit. I see you all the time."

"You don't talk to me."

"I'm talking to you right now!"

But that's not what I meant. He hasn't asked about my mom in a week, when that was a constant conversation. Making sure he remained up to date with her progress and how that was affecting me. I longed for the weekends where I laid my head on his lap while he ran his fingers through my hair, and told me how proud he was that my mom went to rehab to make herself better. And would calm my protests of her repeated failures. He hasn't checked in on my school work, which I know isn't his responsibility. But my motivation started to wane without him. And I just wanted to know why.

"You know what I mean," I grumble.

"No, actually, I don't."

"You're not going to sit there and tell me you haven't been distant the last two weeks. You're not going to make it out like I'm the crazy one. I get it, you don't even have to tell me. I know we are getting looked at differently at school. I know why you stopped spending time with me at lunch, or driving me, or even acknowledging me in any of the classes. But I don't understand why you're so cold, right now." I feel my heart shrivel in my rib cage.

He doesn't say a word immediately. I look at him, his elbow propped on his knee and fingers in his red hair. He lets out a sigh. "It's nothing."

"You sound like a fucking girl." And I know that's a nerve.

He jerks back, "Fuck yo-"

I hang up the phone. Jump up and see him staring at his phone, probably cursing at it, before looking over at my yard. I flip him off as I stomp back inside, slamming the door behind me that it shakes the entire house. And I just hope my dad's engrossed in the basketball game he's watching downstairs, that he doesn't try to investigate.

My phone starts vibrating again. And I pick up, not really knowing if it's the fight I want or the conversation.

"That's fucking mature, Cloud," Reno's voice peirces the phone.

"If you're not going to talk to me, what's the point?"

"I am talking!" He exclaims, his voice cracking ever so slightly that I feel a ping of regret.

"You're talking but not sayin' anything."

"How poetic."

"You can't avoid this," I huff, "I know you don't like talkin' about shit, but you're acting different and I don't know why."

The pause on the other end screams. But he just responds with. "How many times do I gotta say it's nothing until you drop it?"

"It's not nothing," I whisper and hate the way my voice crumbles.

I wonder if this is how my parents' fights started. One withholding information while the other tries to pry it out of their throat. It feels as fruitless. He doesn't say anything. And I can't tell if he's my mother in this role, and I really don't like the idea that I'm anything like my father. So I lock up everything in my chest.

"Are you going to come over tomorrow?" I ask, trying to divert the subject.

"I can't," he responds, "I have shit I gotta do."

I let out a bitter laugh, "Of course you do."

"I can't fucking win with you tonight," he mumbles. And now he sounds like my dad and I bristle with anger.

"You're giving me shit to work with, so I guess you can't."

A silence that rocks the foundation embraces the call. I pinch the bridge of my nose when the headache from my clenched jaw makes an appearance. I can also hear Reno struggling to find something to say; harsh breaths. Almost like he's opening his mouth to give me something to hold on to, but stapling his lips shut just as fast. I wonder if I should just tell him that his sudden withdrawal adds insult to injury paired with my mother's departure and the questioning looks flung at me during school. That he isn't the only one of us that's clearly going through something. But I ask. He doesn't.

"I have to go," he utters.

I roll my eyes and my smile feels like razor blades. "Bet you do."

"Gonna keep givin' me shit?"

"Whatever, Reno."

"Yeah, whatever, Cloud."

He hangs up first this time. And I pretend he didn't say my name like it blistered on his tongue.

So, I lay in bed. And think about how only a week ago, when I had him shuddering underneath me and rolling his eyes back just from the friction from our bodies, and he said my name like it held all the secrets of the universe.

I woke up to three missed calls. One voicemail. I know you don't sleep so answer your phone. Fuck- I love you, you know that right?"

The desperation in his voice made my heart rumble back to life. But when I called him back, I got his voicemail. I hung up the phone. I didn't want to speak to the machine. I waited an hour, hoping he would call back, but the minutes ticked away the crushing silence. So I called one more time. This time I left a voicemail: We really need to talk. Pause, I love you too.

Nothing.

I wait for my dad to leave for golf. Or whatever he does on Saturday's now that my mom is gone. Our strained relationship hits an all time low since he returned from the airport. We never spoke. Not over stiff dinners at the table. Leftover Chinese or pizza. The occasional home cooked meal we received from Tifa's mother once she found out. He didn't even ask how school was going. The one comment he made, surprised that Reno hasn't been around. And I wanted to punch him in the jaw for even bringing that up. I don't know whose silence is more devastating: Reno or dad.

Once my dad leaves, I go to my backyard. Sit on the rusted white chair that faces the red-heads house. The cloudy day casting muted shadows along the white brick. The entire house dark- he's not home. And I try not to feel lost. I pull out a joint to smoke my troubles away. Hiding fractured eyes behind sunglasses that I don't need. Or I do need. Every inhale rips through my throat, and the pain alleviates the turmoil that destroys me from the inside. And I think of all the synonyms for alone.

I look at my phone again.

The time stares back.

I wonder when I became this other guy who needs constant attention. But I open the phone and text him- promising myself this will be the last time I reach out today.

Wat ur doin rly fuckin suxs. I dun no wat u want from me n e more.

Something wet in my eyes. Why does this hurt so much and how can I make it go away for good?

Sneakers approaching shatters the silence. But I know from the aloof walk the owner of the sound. And I'm glad I'm hiding these glass eyes behind sunglasses.

"Yo, fucker," Sephiroth walks over to me, yanks another white lawn chair over and helps himself to a seat. This scene seems familiar. Except there's a frigid breeze that carries the smell of rain and snow. Like it doesn't know if it wants to be winter or spring. And I'm wearing a black hoodie with Korn across the chest- not my favorite, because that one currently remains with my boyfriend- and black jeans that lack holes. But I feel as vacant as I did at the end of summer.

"Guess who got his car back, finally," he smirks.

I shake my head and pass him the joint, "The luck you have makes me sick."

He shrugs, "Yeah, but you're the one who reaps the benefits."

I look over at him. Seph's sitting up, shifting uncomfortable in his seat, winces of pain flash across his face everytime he moves. I take some satisfaction in his distressed look. "And how do I reap anything you sow?"

"I'm here to drive you around, aren't I?" he passes the joint back.

"I didn't ask."

"Didn't have to. You looked like shit the last week."

I don't like that he took notice. Surprised, actually, that he even acknowledged my expression in the first place. "Don't feel like goin' anywhere," I take the joint back, "and since when do you care?"

"This shit again," he leans back slowly, gritting his teeth until he's comfortable, "I knew I should have taken a whole pill."

"Still on that?" I ask, "it hurts that much?"

"I fractured a rib, bro, yeah it fucking hurts!" He snaps, then takes a quick look around the yard. At the scattered chairs, copper tables that should be white, the closed pool with the cover coming undone- displaying the toxic green water that ripples against the wind. "Where's your best buddy?"

"Cid has a lacrosse game," I say in a flash, "Or did you mean Barret? He's visiting his grandparents."

A slow chuckle leaves his lips, "I mean Reno."

I bless the glasses on my face that don't reveal how tight my eyes become. But curse the reaction. The way everything seems to dispel. Like it falls into a black hole. Stretches out and then turns to dust. I count the synonyms for numb.

"Don't know," I pull out a cigarette, "gym? Practicing for baseball."

Sephiroth grumbles, "Don't mention baseball to me."

And I smirk as I light the cigarette. His suffering distracts me from my own issues; but I note the sad truth of our friendship. We enjoy each other's pain. And maybe that's why he's sitting near me, now demanding I give him one of my cigarettes, because I'm the only other friend in his life doing worse off than him. So, I hand him one of my menthols, noting out loud that he must really be upset if he's smoking a cigarette during baseball season. And he tries to kick me in the leg, but yelps in pain instead.

We sit in silence. He fishes his phone from his pocket and starts looking through his contacts- I'm assuming finding someone better to spend his time. I continue to rage in my head at the lack of sounds coming from my own cell. I stare at the still water of my pool. I notice a cigarette, one I drowned back in the summer, bobbing at the surface, water logged and brown. And wonder how I ever had hope in the first place. When I don't relate to anyone. And if this dream is turning into a nightmare, just wake me up.

"Yo," Sephiroth calls over, "party at Johnny's tonight."

I spark another cigarette after I finish the last one. And I recall my first conversation with Reno in his car. "Yeah, that's what I want to do tonight- go to fucking Johnny's peice of shit house."

Seph grits his teeth to stop the laugh. "Yeah but this is the last party. His dad stopped paying the mortgage; he's gettin' kicked out."

I scrunch my face, "Bummer for him." And even if Johnny spoke too loud and too much and lacked tact, he wasn't a terrible person. A lost soul amongst other lost souls. That wander the island like ghosts looking for meaning. We're all phantoms here.

"They'll be bitches and hoes," he stresses.

"Oh word?" I exaggerate my tone, "you convinced me."

My phone vibrates in my pants once.

So I know it's just a text and for some reason, that infuriates me.

I snatch it from my hoody pocket. And scan the words on the screen.

Well talk tom.

I think I crack a tooth. From how hard I clenched; or it's probably in my head. The pain that shoots through my skull a bullet. And I even consider asking Sephiroth for one of his pretty pills to make me feel absolutely nothing. I've never felt this frustration before. And think of all the words for fury.

"Yo. Seph," I shove my phone back in my pocket, "Actually, I wanna get fucked up tonight, bro.."

And his lips stretch far across his face. Canines sharpened. His eyes so dilated they look blackened. Like a vortex. Like oblivion.

"That's what I like to hear."