Song: "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" by Harold Arlen and E.Y. Harburg, popularized by Judy Garland. Don't own it, of course.

Final Words: Here it is, the last chapter. This fic has been such a trip to write because while it takes place only over a single weekend, I've had to incorporate the events from a year and a half of Manny's life. Not to mention the fact that it's taken me several months to get it done. I know the timeline is probably confusing. My advice to the reader: Read it over from the beginning. It will probably make a lot more sense. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed.

o o o o o o o o

I have found myself in so many unbearable situations that few things really faze me any more. But as I trudged down the road with nowhere to go, having just hurt one of my only friends in the worst possible way, I couldn't help but notice how low I'd sunk. The rain slammed down so hard I couldn't see two feet in front of me. I was soaked to the bone, wearing practically nothing and freezing my ass off. I'd forgotten all about my shoes in my hurry to escape the party, and now my bare feet crept along the cold wet concrete.

I soon heard the low roar of a car engine and a tacky, dented-up sports car pulled up next to me. The driver's identity was concealed by the darkness and thick rain, but the window came down and I saw Dean's face, grinning stupidly. "Get in," he said.

"Fuck off," I spat through chattering teeth.

He laughed, soullessly, echoing through the empty night. "Get in the fucking car, baby. Where else are you gonna go? Haha, you don't even have any fucking shoes."

It was already so, so cold, and his laughter was like shards of ice, pinning me down. I was so tired of him, of his voice, of his fucking face. But damn him, he was right. In that moment I was more alone than I could ever remember being. I was miles from home, from any safe place. No one was coming for me. There was no one I could call. I had nowhere to go but the passenger's seat of Dean's car. He chuckled harshly as I shut the door and put on my seatbelt. He struck his foot on the gas and we sped away from Paige's house.

Warbled death metal crooned from the radio as I rode with him, far away from the clean suburbs of Paige's neighborhood and to the other side of town, where the buildings were cracked and the alleys were dark. Dean drove with only one hand on the wheel. The other held a lit cigarette and waved excitedly around as he rambled, recalling meaningless and unfunny stories. You could tell he'd done heavy drugs over the past few years by the way he talked. He was completely without focus, but he was always laughing. He liked the sound of his own voice. I tried to tune out him and his horrible music. I stared intently into the merciless rain, silently trying to exist somewhere other than that smelly car with him. Numb, Manny, I told myself. Just be numb. Do whatever it takes to get through tonight.

He pulled into the empty parking lot of Sherman's Grocery and we got out. We went to the side of the building, beneath the cheap plastic awning, where a tall man in black sweats was waiting. His face was a stone scowl as he and Dean spoke, pretending as though I was just a piece of scenery. I tried not to follow the conversation; I was numb. I was so far from caring that I even found myself letting Dean hand over all the pills I had in exchange for a lousy hit of heroin from the shady man. A mercy bargain, the man said through his scowl. Dean thanked him and took my hand, leading me to the other side of the glowing blue Pepsi machine.

We sat on the algid sidewalk and I watched as he went through the tedious, ritualistic motions of making the powdered substance suitable for injection. His crazed eyes were alight with joy. This was the first thing I'd noticed all night that actually seemed to catch his attention. The rest of the world, it seemed, was merely a blur that passed by him. He was on constant edge, and now that I saw him like this, I pieced it all together. This was what drove him. This was what it meant to be a junkie. Nothing else, not even a good lay, was worth anything to him. He just wanted this. He was endlessly chasing it.

My stomach turned as I watched the thick needle plunge into the pale flesh of his arm. His eyes rolled back. A pleasured moan escaped his cold, purple lips. I could have thrown up. He sank into a peaceful state as he sat there, soaking it in. I could feel the drug coursing through him, traveling through his veins by the beating of his heart, just by watching his face. He turned to me with a foul smile and mumbled, "You gotta try this, Manny. I promise, promise, promise you'll feel better."

A shaky voice that didn't sound like mine came out of my mouth and told him there was no way I could do that. He laughed, that awful laugh, and it rang through the rain and the empty parking lot. That laugh, that smile, that thin, punctured arm. I wanted to cry but I couldn't because I had to stay numb. I was numb as he stroked my hair and laughed and made nonsensical promises. Numb as he touched my arm and found a plump vein. Numb as he smiled and gently guided the needle into me. A tear fell from my face and he laughed again, and I wished I'd had the strength to say no.

Soon those regrets were forgotten. They melted away, along with everything else I knew. When it hit me, when it took over my senses, everything suddenly became so clear. I understood Dean. I understood him perfectly. I knew exactly how he slept at night. I now knew why it was so easy for him to walk around with that arrogant smile, completely untouched by all the wrong he had done. Dean was untouchable. And now I knew why.

I was in another world. I had never known that a state of being so completely free of pain could exist. Guilt was utterly absent from this place. My mind was drowning in a tranquility so pure I could never capture it, even if I searched forever for the words. It was freedom. Complete freedom. Baptism. Rebirth. Dismantlement and reconstruction. I felt clean in a way I thought I'd never be able to feel again. For years I'd been buried in darkness, but suddenly I felt like there was nothing in the world but light. The pureness I felt was boundless. Do you know what it's like to feel like you will never ever hurt again? All I KNEW was hurt. No other existence seemed even remotely within my reach. But as I laid my head against the buzzing Pepsi machine I saw hope. I was pure again. I was sinless. I was bare. I was free.

I don't know what happened to Dean. I didn't give a fuck what happened to him. I just tried to sit perfectly still, and soak up all the perfection of this moment that I could. It was too much. Too much right for me to swallow all at once. I had believed for a long time that drugs couldn't fix me, but now I saw how wrong I was. I felt whole. I felt real. I felt like I could never get enough of this feeling. Heroin tasted like happy. There would never be anything more beautiful in my life than that moment of overwhelming bliss.

But reality. Oh, reality. When it came, it came fast and hard. I first felt the sun, blaring, and the sticky air of the afternoon. I opened my eyes slowly and saw the dirty ground I'd slept on. My cheek was pressed hard against the asphalt. I was exhausted beyond reason, like I'd been to Hell and back. Hands were touching me, shaking me, saying my name loudly.

I tilted my head and squinted my eyes against the sun to see him, hovering over me, brow furled in ambiguous concern. His face relaxed somewhat when he saw that I'd woken up. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice gruff as usual, but caring all the same.

I nodded slowly, even though the answer was actually a firm hell no. I held out my hand to him and he took it, pulling me off the ground. "Where am I?" I said softly. All my anxieties over the day before trickled down the inside of my mind like a waterfall. God I hated waking up. It would always bring me back to the life I hated, to the skin I could never shed.

"You're at Sherman's, on Seventh Street. You uh, looked pretty dead there."

I nodded, slowly, taking in the scene. "Yeah... thanks, Sean." I reached for my hair, thinking I would smooth it out a bit, but then I realized how absurd that was. There was no smoothing over the mess I was. I couldn't imagine how broken I looked to him. Did I look like a girl who'd spent the night on the street, in the rain? Did I look like a girl who'd fucked a rapist in her best friend's bed? Did I look like a girl who'd shot up heroin with a lonely junkie? Just how bad did it all look, on the outside? How deeply were my crimes etched into my skin?

"You don't have any shoes on."

I frowned and looked down at my purple-polished toenails. "I know," I said, leaning against the soda machine. I brushed my toes against the concrete. "These aren't even my clothes. Do you have a cigarette?"

He wrinkled his nose and spit a wad of snot and saliva sideways to the ground. "I don't smoke." He picked up a large brown bag of groceries from beside his feet. "Are you... gonna be okay?"

It was such a funny, meaningless question. Would I be okay? No, never. Reality would always wake me. I didn't know what okay was any more.

"I'll be fine. I've got some cigarettes in my bag..." As I glanced around I became aware of the absence of my bag. I searched the ground and spotted it at last, several feet away, half of the contents poured out of it. Dean had taken my headphones, my cigarettes, my wallet, two Radiohead CDs, and a pack of strawberry bubblegum. Probably more, too, but I carried so much crap around with me I couldn't possibly expect to keep track of it all. With a heavy groan and I got on my knees and began to scoop my life back up.

I heard Sean exhale slowly, almost reluctantly. "My house is just up the street, you know. You can come with me... get cleaned up, use my phone."

I slid my bag on my shoulder and slowly came to my feet again. I shifted my weight for a moment and looked at him. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's chill. No problem."

"Thanks."

As we trodded across Sherman's parking lot, Sean warned me to watch out for broken glass. I said thank you. The walk down the block was filled with an unusual but almost comfortable quiet. I knew this street. I remembered it well from grade seven, back in the days when Sean and I were friends. Walking down this street with him was like stepping through a time portal, bridging the gap of the high school years that had separated us. Except, time was impossible to undo. Nothing could change the countless things that had made us into different people and drawn us away from grade seven simplicity.

When I was twelve, walking down this street, it would have been incomprehensible to me that I would someday have slept with this boy. Granted, the details of that night were blurred by a river of alcohol. Fuzzy pictures of his skin and lips, the vague memory of touching his hair... being found by his screaming girlfriend, and the extreme difficulty I had trying to string words together when J.T. demanded an explanation. Only empty, nothing pieces remained in my memory. It was the damage, the aftermath, that lingered in the places that mattered.

Sean took me inside his house. He lent me a pair of too-big black sweatpants and a white t-shirt. I used his phone to call Craig, who was more than bewildered when I asked him to come pick me up at Sean Cameron's house. But he was used to my madness, and he didn't ask questions, he only said he'd be about twenty minutes.

I sat in Sean's kitchen, waiting as he put away his meager groceries. It consisted of the widest variety of microwaveable foods I'd ever seen. I surveyed his house, littered with pizza boxes and unwashed dishes, dirty laundry and the inescapable but tasty stench of boy. It wasn't so bad, I thought, though it was undeniably the home of a teenage boy living on his own. A shithole, by definition, but it was his all the same. He called this place home and he felt safe and happy here. I tried to remember what that felt like.

When he was finished, he glanced at me and a spark of fear danced briefly in his eyes. He wasn't comfortable with me here, I realized. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with me. I wanted to let him know that nothing had to be done with me. I was a crasher, I was used to this, I knew how to stay out of the way until I'd gotten what I needed.

He offered me a soda and I accepted, and we drank Dr. Pepper together in uncertain silence. I asked him how he'd been doing and he said fine. He asked me the same question and I said fine. What remarkably boring lies.

"Anything exciting going on in your life?" I asked, examining the circle of condensation my soda can had left on the table.

He looked back at me, dead expression on his face. "Nope. You?"

"No. Same old, same old."

Sean laughed dully. I felt the weight of his eyes on me. "Waking up passed out in front of a grocery store is just part of the routine, then? I'd hate to catch you on an off day."

I wasn't sure if I felt hurt by that or not. I wasn't sure if he'd wanted me to feel hurt or not. I shrugged. "You know Manny Santos. That bitch is crazy."

"Yeah. I've heard." He got up and grabbed a giant bag of M&Ms. He poured some out on the table for me without being asked, showing a good knowledge of women, and then began popping the rest into his mouth one by one as he leaned against the counter. "But I really don't get it. What the hell's wrong with you, Manny? What are you doing to yourself?"

It was a startling and troubling question to be asked. I had never thought of this, any of this, as things I did to myself. They were just things that happened. I had lost control a long time ago. "Don't start in on me, Sean. You don't know me, so don't try and pretend to understand anything in my life. You've got plenty of your own shit to deal with I'm sure, why try digging through mine? Or maybe that IS why you're digging through mine. Out of booze? Figure because you found me passed out I must have a hook up?"

"Funny, Manny." His face had tensed and reddened. He was clutching the countertop. It was so easy to push Sean's buttons. That temper of his. I remembered when his temper used to scare me. I used to be so scared for Emma, worried Sean would lose it and go crazy on her. But now his anger intrigued me. I wondered just how much he knew about real pain. "I've been sober for almost a year. Unlike you, I knew I had a problem, and I did something about it. I got help. That's more than you ever did."

I laughed tiredly. This was not the place I wanted to be. In Sean Cameron's shithole, explaining my shithole life. He didn't know a damn thing. "Are you kidding? I've gotten more help than I ever wanted. I can't turn around without being helped. I shove so many pills down my throat every day I feel like I'm going to fucking choke on all the help I get."

Sean rolled his eyes. "That's not help. That's just a good excuse to fuck up all the time and not have to take the blame."

"Oh, what do you know?" I shoved a handful of M&Ms into my mouth.

"I know that there are two kinds of people in this world. People who deal with their problems, and people who don't. See, your parents have got lots of money, right? So they can pay for you to get therapy or medication or whatever. But some of us have to live in the real world, and in the real world, no one gives a shit if you're sad or imbalanced. In the real world you just have to get over yourself and live your life. You can't just sit around and feel sorry for yourself and wait for pills to fix all your problems."

"Oh, fuck you. My life is just a little more complicated than that, okay? You think I just like, feel bad all the time for no reason? I've been through alot of shit, okay, shit worse than just being poor. You don't even know."

"Pshh. Try me."

Was he kidding? There was so much. "How about my dead brother? My psycho parents? My abortion?"

He shrugged. "Shit happens. Doesn't mean you just have to shut down and stop trying."

"I have been trying." Had I? "Every time I try things just get worse."

"And taking pills is going to make it better?"

"YES, okay? It might not seem to make any difference to you, but it's all I have. I feel like shit ALL the time. But at least when I'm on the meds, I feel like I have at least some solace. You just... you don't know. You don't know what I'm like when I lose control." November. November. The tears I shed that month were haunting me. Why was Sean doing this? Why did he just HAVE to ask questions? He didn't understand that the answers were forcing me to face all the things I tried to forget.

"Like what? How bad could it be?"

I was silent. Numb.

"See. It really isn't that bad. You're just trying to make things harder than they really are."

"Am I?" I picked up a red M&M and stared at it for a minute before I put it in my mouth. "Do you know why the finally put me on meds? What finally broke me, and made my parents realize I needed help? Last November, I went after J.T. with a knife."

I heard Sean's breath catch slightly. Good. I was glad I'd said something that big, tough Sean Cameron couldn't shrug off. But I wasn't glad. Because it was something I'd been trying to forget so long. I'd said the words I'd tried to convince myself for a long time weren't true. Now I was shaking as I tried so hard not to think about what I'd just said.

I saw all of it in my head, the blood, the screams, the tears. I suddenly remembered what a horrible person I was at my worst. I suddenly remembered why it was so much easier to be numb. I ate more M&Ms. I focused intently on the chewing, chewing, chewing. Grinding chocolate between my teeth, need to bite my tongue. My fingers began to itch.

Sean watched me. "Why?"

Why? There is no why. I don't want to think about it. Nibble, nibble. Shaking. Itching. Can't breathe. Can't feel. Don't want to. Chew chew chew. Scratch. Don't want to be here. Want to be somewhere else. Want to feel something else. There's nothing else to feel. Chew. Swallow. Exhale.

Let it out, Manny. Just let it out.

"I don't... I mean, it wasn't on purpose. I was out of my fucking mind. They told me that, later. All those nightmares I'd been having. I couldn't stop thinking about Philip, and the baby... Everytime I closed my eyes I saw blood. I saw dying. I stopped eating and sleeping. I'd gone without food or sleep for three days. I was just... delirious. And I was so tired, but I was afraid to close my eyes. I was just... I don't know. I felt like I was dying. I kept waiting and waiting to die but it never happened, and I was starting to lose it. I knew I'd fall asleep soon and I didn't want that to happen. So that's when... you know, I got the knife, and... and I was really going to do it. I was ready to end it. I try to tell myself I wasn't really going to do it, but I think if J.T. hadn't walked in when he did... I just wanted to die, you know? And I was just, out of it, you know, and when J.T. tried to stop me I turned on him... and the knife... it went right through his arm... I still don't think I've ever said sorry."

I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. I watched as my tears fell onto the uneven table, into the pile of colored candies. For a year I had tried not to relive that day. In a sea of pills and lies and sleeping around, I had tried to drown myself from those memories. Every day after November, I tried to start over. I kept trying to reinvent myself, but all the garbage I tossed over my shoulder just piled up behind me. I dragged it through the streets with me everywhere I went, like a bag lady. I couldn't look back. I could never look back. I had to numb myself from the past and move forward.

But that didn't fix anything. By hiding from the pain I only made it worse. I had to turn around and face my mess. I would never get better if I didn't accept the heartache, and let it out. I understood that now. With my secrets spilled all over Sean's table, I saw that it was so much better to let it out.

Sean's hands came down on my shoulders, holding me as I sobbed. They were strong mechanic's hands, hands that had worked through many problems. They kept me still. They kept me breathing.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be."

I cried the whole time I sat there, and he kept his hands there through it all. When Craig showed up I wiped my tears and Sean walked me to the door.

"Are you gonna be okay?" he asked me, leaning against the pane of the doorway. He glanced at Craig for a moment, sitting in the front seat of his car.

Again with the "okays." It was too far away for me to grasp just yet. I shrugged and smiled. "Maybe. You know, I like you, Sean. You fuck up alot. I think I can relate."

He raised his eyebrows. "Gee, thanks."

"No problem. So maybe... we should hang out sometime."

There was a pause as he exhaled, probably contemplating the potential danger of hanging out with the resident psychoslut. But he nodded and said he'd call me sometime. It is awfully hard to say no to me, after all. I thanked him for the hands and the candy and the Dr. Pepper, and I slid into the familiar passenger's seat of Craig's car.

The sun was golden in the sky as we rode to Craig's house. It was hard for me to believe that only last night the skies had been filled with an angry storm. Kids were playing in the park.

"So," Craig said, turning Pink Floyd down just a bit. "You and Sean, eh?" He tried to keep a straight face, pretending to pay very close attention to the road. As if the idea of "me and Sean" only vaguely interested him.

I smirked. It was cute to me, almost comforting, that Craig still had the slightest bit of possessiveness over me. I knew his imagination was running wild, assuming no doubt that I'd spent the night at Sean's.

I rolled down the window and ran my fingers through my hair. "Yeah, maybe," I responded. The air tasted so clean.

Craig scratched his ear. "Oh. Cool." He turned his music back up.

A few minutes later we arrived at his house, where my car had been waiting since Friday night. It had been such a long weekend, and for once, I didn't dread going home.

"Thanks for the ride, Craig."

He scratched the back of his messy head and put his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, no problem. Anytime, Manny."

I walked over to him and touched his hand. "I think right now you just might be my only friend left in the world. I need you, you know? I think right now I'm going to need you more than ever. I hope you'll always be there for me. I love you."

His eyes were bright with concern, but the confusion on his face told me he didn't really understand. It wasn't that important that he did. Craig never understood what kept us connected. But he was always there, inexplicably, and that's what I was counting on.

He nodded. "Anytime."

I didn't hang around any longer. I hopped into my car, kitty key ring in hand, and searched the cluttered glove compartment until I found a cigarette. I let my hand drape over the open window as I drove away, smoke billowing out as sunshine fluttered in. I cranked the volume of my stereo and Michelle asked me in her bittersweet croon, "Are you happy now?"

The answer to that question would take years. There was so much shit yet to hit the fan. But for once, I could see beyond the depression. Far, far on the horizon was the faintest possibilty of actually being okay. And that was enough to make me smile. For the moment.