Disclaimer: Characters and past storylines are property of their original owners and creators. I own nothing, except in the case of the odd original character or two.

Author's Note: Well, I really am in to this story, so, I thought that I would continue. Here is Chapter Two! Enjoy!

Taylor struggled to put the key in the lock on front door of the apartment, as he tried to keep his hold on Matty. Taylor had made the mistake of mentioning going out for a few drinks after dinner, an idea that he had regretted making immediately after the words left his mouth. His friend had jumped at the idea, and the result was a fairly intoxicated Matty Demaret.

"Taylor, you know what, man?" Matty began, as he staggared through the now open front door.

"What, Matty?" Taylor asked, tiredly. He knew what was coming, as it was the only thing that Matty had been talking about since his third beer. He released his grip from Matty's waist, and sat down on the couch.

Dropping on to the couch, right beside his best friend, Matty began to speak, again. "I'm glad that you were here, today," he said, slurring several of his consenants. "If you weren't, I just might have opened that letter."

"No shit," Taylor said, dryly, as he tried to put a little room between himself and Matty. As it was, Matty was almost sitting in his lap.

"Yeah, well, I think that I made the right choice. Wouldn't you say that I made a good choice today, Tay?"

"Yeah," Taylor replied, mentally cringing at being called "Tay". "Sure, man."

A few moments of silence passed, as Taylor began to grow uncomfortable, positioned between Matty, and the arm of the couch. He was about to say that he was going to bed, when he heard a faint, muffled snoring sound. He looked over at the man beside him, and discovered what he had already thought that he would find; Matty had fallen asleep.

With an exhausted smile on face, Taylor carefully rose from his position on the couch, and made his way down the hallway, toward the laundry room. A moment later, he returned, carrying a large blanket, which he set on the arm of couch. He bent down, and gently turned Matty around, so that he was laying on the couch, rather than slouching. Fetching a small throw pillow from the armchair across the room, which he placed under Matty's head, Taylor retrieved that blanket from where it lay, and gently covered Matty with it.

When he was sure that Matty was going to sleep until morning, Taylor turned out the living room light, and headed for his bedroom, upstairs. As he began to ascend the stairs, Taylor began to think about the night. He was worried about Matty, which, as of recently, was becoming a rather unusual occurrance. Since they had moved in to the house, or, apartment, as Matty called it, Taylor thought that things had been going smoothly. Matty was getting his life on track, getting away from the family business. He had even found a job, one where it did not matter that he was the only son of Benny Demaret. Things were actually beginning to look up for the kid.

Then, that damned envelope had come. In one night, Matty had sunk back in to the feelings that Taylor had thought that he had gotten past. The entire night had turned in to what Taylor feared was Matty trying to drown his feelings in alcohol, something that he hadn't seen his best friend do in years, not since they were nineteen. Taylor scoffed, as he thought about that night. Matty and his father had argued, most likely about how Matty would never amount to anything, and the first place that Matty had gone was to him.

Unfortunately, that didn't stop the already drunken Matty from trying to drown out his sorrows in even more beer, and various liquors. Taylor had not let Matty near any of them, which had only mad Matty angry. At the time, Taylor thought that it was too bad, in a sarcastic sense. As he reached his bedroom door, he still felt the same way.

Opening his bedroom door, Taylor stepped inside, and shut the door, behind him. He kicked off his shoes, as he pulled off his demin jacket, which he dropped on to the floor, right next to his shoes. Without bothering to change, Taylor got in to bed, and closed his eyes, hoping that, when he awoke the next morning, everything would be all right, save for Matty's hangover.

-o-o-

Taylor was sitting on his living room couch, watching baseball, when the phone rang. He got off of the couch, and walked in to the kitchen. Picking up the phone, he gave and irritated greeting.

"Yeah," he said, coldly.

"Taylor?" came the quiet, scared sound of Matty's voice.

Taylor immediately went in to full alert. "Matty? What's wrong?" He heard a sniffle, followed by the sounds of Matty, as he cleared his throat. "Matty?" Taylor urged, wanting to know what was up with his friend.

"Nothing, Tay," Matty said, tiredly, and Taylor caught that he was slurring his words. He knew that his friend was drunk. Besides the slurring of his consenants, Taylor knew that Matty was drunk, because he would have known better than to use the name "Tay".

Taylor sighed. "Matty, where are you?"

"I'm not sure." There was a pause. "I'm at some bar called Frannie's, and there's a gas station across the street. It's called, uh - ."

"Don't worry about it," Taylor assured his friend, as he reached toward the table for his car keys. "I know where you are. I'm on my way."

"Taylor," Matty said, quietly. "I wish I were dead."

The words sent a shudder of cold up Taylor's spine, as he could only guess what had happened with his friend, earlier. "Matty, just stay where you are. I'm coming for you." He paused, giving Matty time to comprehend everything that he had just said. "You got me, Matty?"

"Uh-huh," Matty replied. "Yeah, I've got it."

"Okay. I'll be right there." Taylor hung up the phone, grabbed his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair, and made his way out of the house. All that he could think about was getting to Matty, before he did something stupid.