And I need you now tonight

And I need you more than ever

And if you only hold me tight

We'll be holding on forev–

I blindly slammed my hand against the cheap clock radio lying next to my pillow. What a fucking terrible song.

I woke up that next morning with the sheets thrown off my bed, heat resonating off my skin. My whole body was on fire, having not opened a window last night. I was too preoccupied with the thoughts spiraling out of control in my mind to think about something as pointless as staying cool as I slept. There were some more important things in my god-forsaken life right then.

I grabbed the sheets off my floor and wiped the back of my neck, damp with sweat, then against my better judgment, stood up and started walking out my bedroom door. I pulled my wife beater down to cover my stomach as I made my way into the kitchen and towards my makeshift pantry. It was actually a bunch of plastic boxes I'd thrown together. I pulled out some white bread for toast and opened up the bag to discover mold growing rampantly through bread, bread I'd bought less than three weeks ago. And I had no cereal either. Shit. That meant real grocery shopping. I rummaged through bags of chips and packages of Ramen noodles to find the last strawberry Pop-Tart package. I grudgingly threw them in the toaster and glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:08, it told me, as it had for the past month and a half. I looked at the microwave clock. 11:43. Jesus, I'd slept late. It was pretty funny how I'd been looking for a job. Like I could ever wake up in time for that shit. Not that I would get a job in the first place–not a fucking soul in Degrassi that's willing to look past a criminal record like mine. If that's not ignorance, I don't know what the hell is.

I grabbed my Pop-Tarts out of the toaster when they were done and flopped down on my skanky, musty little yellow couch. I flipped on the TV for some Saturday morning cartoons. I found it difficult as fuck to concentrate on some show I'd never seen before, when all I could do was lick my lips and hope they still tasted like him. There had never been a memory before then that I wanted to relive so desperately. I wanted to make it last longer, or explain and make him understand. But more than that, I wanted him to want it, to join me and block out the world. Instead, I killed it. I took my own moment and stabbed it square in the head. Why the fuck did I have to think so much? I suddenly had forgotten about how much I wanted that kiss, and started thinking about his feelings. His feelings, like I ever gave a fuck about his feelings until then.

Hours passed as I sat, my eyes clinging to the television set and the mindless cartoons, eventually fading into real shows. More things I could control popped into my head: who Sean might tell, the rumors, the further destruction of me. I faced every bastardly little thing before this head-on, taking no prisoners. Everyone else's screw-ups, I could deal with. My own screw-ups ate away at me. I couldn't take much more of this miserable life. I eventually fell asleep with the TV on mute, to the sound of my refrigerator humming.

A distant buzzing noise invaded my lonely dream. It got louder until I recognized it as my doorbell, and dragged myself out of the dent I'd made in the couch. No one ever came over my house. All my friends and all the people I'd met quickly realized my place was shitty for parties: tiny, no space to do anything. It could've been Alex, coming to pick up the clothes she'd left here almost a month ago. Or Towerz, I'd borrowed some money from him recently. Or it could be

"Hey," Sean said, without the friendly tone that the word usually entailed. My heart did fucking flip-flops, as he just stood there, without his usual beanie cap thing, leaving his hair exposed. I avoided eye contact, which only drew my eyes to his lips, anyway. I held the door in its place and waited. I saw him roll his eyes for a second before revealing a duffel bag that had been thrown over his back. "I need to stay the night."

I stared. What, was my apartment suddenly the Motel 8 or something? I didn't just let people come in and sleep in my house for no good reason. I wanted a full-length story as to why he left his own house and why he couldn't go over anyone else's house, and why he'd finally come to my house and–

But Jesus. It was Sean. Barely sixteen years old, and as fucking much as I hate to admit it, has lived a rougher life than me. Things always worked out in my favor. When I left my mom, my friends were right there to pick me up. When I was bored and all alone over the summer, I just happened to meet Alex around town. I'd heard about this kid's criminal record, both here and in Wasega. Major shit when he was still twelve. I couldn't deal with that in my memory.

"Yeah, whatever," I said curtly, letting him walk by, closing the door behind him. He threw his duffel bag down by the bedroom door, and started walking towards my kitchen. I finally noticed that outside my window, the sun had set on the world, just as I felt energized and ready to go out and live. Once again, timing proved to be the biggest bitch after all. I followed him into the kitchen, where he was already digging into an old bag of Cheetos. "Yeah, just, make yourself at home," I said dryly, before grabbing a TV dinner out of the freezer and shoving it in the microwave. I leaned against the counter and faced Sean, eating Cheetos like he hadn't had a decent meal in days. "Why you here, anyway?" I usually didn't care about offending people, especially not friends. But for some reason, this situation seemed delicate. Like we were all made of glass and the smallest pebble of an insult could shatter everything. He looked up with those eyes, seeming so much more human when the rest of him wasn't veiled in gray.

"Stuff," he shrugged. That was all he said. It was as if he knew my current condition and state of mind, and that I wasn't going to press him for anything. "You know, just gets boring. Lonely." For a second, there was my sympathy in my eyes. I quickly brushed it away. "No plans tonight, I'm guessing?" he said with a smirk, causing my heart to twitch in my chest. I hid it with a fake sort of scowl.

"What makes you say that?" I asked, glaring. He cocked his head at me, then laughed, shaking his head.

"Nice PJ's, man." Shit. Again, I hid my embarrassment–something I would never show to the world–and chose to fight fire with fire. I didn't really think anything of it beforehand.

"Yeah, well, nice hair," I said, as I reached over at ruffled the soft mess of hair. "Did you comb it yourself?" I was grinning. We both were in the seconds beforehand, I was sure. But as my hand retreated back to balance my weight against the counter, his smile was nowhere near the same as mere seconds before.

"Yeah," he said, the happiness slipping away, giving in to discomfort. "I should get to bed, I havethings to do tomorrow." He wrapped up the Cheetos bag and placed it back in the pantry before making his way to the couch. On his way there, he didn't even bother to turn around as he said, "Night, Jay."

I licked my lips one final time.

"Yeah. Night."

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[A/N: Yay for the yayness? I would just like to say that my story is very opening for uh, questioning. Suggestions, too, if you feel so inclined. But I'd actually really like people to question things in a review. I'll probably either answer it in an author's note next chapter or it will be answered eventually in the story. Either way, please review because I am another review-hungry loser. Feed my low self-esteem. Thank you.]