A/N: I'm sorry for all of the problems with this chapter (accidentally removing it, posting it again, blah blah blah). It's a long and boring story, so I won't bore you with it. Suffice to say that I am a total idiot when it comes to all this technical stuff, and the site-wide log-in problems weren't helping any (I was just about ready to pull all of my hair waiting for everything to be fixed!).

As for the chapter, I hope you like angst, because you're about to be covered in it. Also, you may need to go back and refresh your memory about what has happened in previous chapters, especially for Bender and Allison's sections.

Thanks for the lovely reviews. I appreciate everyone taking the time to drop a line. Enjoy this chapter.

Chapter Seventeen: When I Step Outside of Myself

9:29 P.M.

Bender pushed Davis out of the way and stepped out onto the sidewalk. About ten feet away, Billy was sprawled out on the ground, eyes closed and face bloody. A girl in a black leather jacket and a short denim skirt was crouched over him, tentatively brushing a lock of brown hair away from his face. When Bender walked up to them and squatted down beside his friend, the girl looked up, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry. I was about to go get someone, but I didn't--"

"What happened?" Bender interrupted.

The girl hesitated. "I don't know. I didn't--"

"I said, what happened?" Bender repeated, more forcibly this time. He looked up at her face, past the false eyelashes and the deep red lipstick, into her eyes.

She was scared.

"I…" She bit her lip, and a fleck of lipstick rubbed off onto her tooth. "This guy…he had a knife. He had it up, you know, up against his throat."

Bender rolled Billy's head over to the side so that he could see the small, red cut on his neck, then took Billy's face in his hands, unsure of what he was supposed to do. He patted Billy's cheek a couple of times, but nothing happened. "Billy," he said loudly. "Billy." Bender turned back to the girl beside him. "Did he say anything?"

She nodded. "The other guy was threatening him. I didn't hear all of it, but he said something about how he needed to learn respect or he would get himself in trouble some day." The girl swallowed deeply. "He said that, um…he said this was just a warning and that next time it would be for real."

Bender looked away from Billy's red, swollen face and back at the girl. "For real?" he echoed.

The girl nodded.

Bender looked up at Davis, who was standing on Billy's other side, hands tucked under his arms and eyes darting back and forth between Billy's unmoving body and the back of the girl's head. When he saw that Bender was watching him, he stopped and looked down at him, his eyes filled with worry.

Bender turned back to the girl. "Who was it?"

The girl's eyes grew wide, and she paused, then shook her head slightly.

Bender swallowed deeply. "Blonde guy?"

The girl's eyes widened even further, but she didn't respond.

Bender pushed on. "Leather jacket?"

The girl let out a tiny, almost inaudible whimper. Bender looked back at Billy's face, then down at his own hands, with the traces of dried blood on his palms and fingertips. He stood up.

"Take care of him," he said to Davis. "Try to wake him up. If he doesn't wake up in a few minutes, call 911."

Davis's eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

Bender didn't answer, just walked over to the club's side entrance, yanked open the door, and disappeared back into the club.

9:30 P.M.

At about 9:30, Allison woke up to the sound of the front door slamming. She opened her eyes, wiped them with the back of her hand, and glanced over at the floor in front of the couch. Her brother's LEGO castle was still sitting in the middle of the floor, but he was nowhere in sight.

Allison stood from the couch and climbed the stairs to her bedroom, which was empty. Her sister was probably still downstairs in the office, which she believed was "significantly more conducive to organization and rational thought" than the bedroom she shared with her younger sister. Allison had no idea how this was possible, but she assumed that it probably had something to do with her.

She spent the next hour listening to music and straightening her side of the room. Earlier in the evening, Danielle had thrown a huge pile of clothes onto Allison's bed, most likely because they were taking up space on Danielle's half of the room. Allison used the smell test to divide the clothes into dirty and clean piles, then threw the dirty clothes into the hamper by the closet and dumped the clean clothes into a pile at the foot of her bed.

At about eleven o'clock, Allison turned off the light and climbed into bed, burying herself under the covers. She laid there for a long time, staring out the window next to her bed, looking at the full moon. It looked so close, like she could reach out and pluck it from the sky. She wondered how far away it really was, how many thousands and thousands of miles separated her from it's rocky surface. Danielle would know, probably. Not that she would tell Allison anything anyway, if she did.

Allison sighed and pulled the pillow closer to her chest, leaning her cheek against the soft fabric and breathing in its slightly musty scent. A few minutes later, the door to her bedroom creaked open, and Danielle walked in, stepping quietly. She shut the door behind her and walked over to the closet, where Allison could hear her changing into her pajamas. Finally, she closed the closet door and climbed into bed. Allison closed her eyes and listened for the sound of her sister's soft, measured breaths, but it never came. After a few minutes, she heard a swift, sharp intake of breath, followed by a muffled sob.

Allison opened her eyes, blinking a few times to help them adjust to the darkness. After a moment, she could see the hazy outline of Danielle's body, her knees tucked up against her chest, her shoulders shaking. Every few seconds, she would let out a choked sob, followed by a shallow sniffle. Mostly, she was quiet.

Allison laid there for a long time, watching the moon rise higher and higher in the sky. She remembered the boy in the vice principal's office, how he had doubled over in his seat, his face caving in from some unknown anguish. She remembered the raw, choked expression on his face, the way her stomach tightened painfully in response. She remembered her own uncertainty, the way her words caught in her throat and her feet felt glued to the linoleum flooring, preventing her from moving.

After a few minutes, Allison turned over onto her side so that she was facing the window, pulled the pillow tighter against her abdomen, and tried to go to sleep.

9:32 P.M.

By the time Bender got back to the table, Janie had gone, leaving Zeke and Christina alone with two empty glasses of beer and half a dozen empty seats to choose from. Zeke was sitting in his original seat, talking a mile a minute, wiping his sweaty hands against his dark blue t-shirt. Christina was sitting quietly, watching him talk.

Bender walked straight up to Zeke and grabbed his shoulder. "Have you seen Damien?"

Startled, Zeke turned around. "Damien? No, why?"

Bender clenched his jaw. "I'll explain later. You sure you haven't seen him?"

"He's at the bar."

Bender and Zeke turned to look at Christina, who was watching them calmly. "He's buying a drink," she explained, nodding in the direction of the bar.

Bender turned to look. Damien was leaning against the wooden counter, passing the bartender a dollar bill. The man handed him a beer, and Damien walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Bender turned back to Zeke. "Go out the side entrance. Something happened to Billy, and Davis needs your help."

Zeke's eyes widened. "To Billy? What happened? Why does--"

Bender shook his head and started moving away from him. "Just go. Make sure Davis doesn't fuck it up." Before Zeke could argue with him, Bender turned away and pushed deeper into the crowd.

Damien was lounging at a table in the club's farthest corner, alone. Bender walked up to him and, without bothering to say hello, grabbed the collar of Damien's leather jacket and hauled him out of his seat.

"What the fuck did you do?" he growled.

Damien didn't say anything, just smirked. Bender tightened his grip on Damien's jacket and slammed him into the wall.

"I'm not fucking around! What the hell did you do?"

Damien looked down at Bender's fingers, which were still curled around the flaps of leather, then back up at Bender. Bender hesitated, let out a shallow breath, and released him.

Damien adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "Thank you. That's much better."

Bender felt his hands curl into fists. "Why'd you do it?"

Damien's lips curled into a smile, a friendly smile that released a dimple and showed his teeth. His eyes were as cold as ice. "I'm sorry, but you're going to have to be more specific. I don't--"

"Fuck specific! He didn't do anything to you!"

Damien held up a hand. "Actually, that's not true."

Bender paused. "What could he have possibly--" Then he stopped, thinking back to their lunch period in the bleachers, when Billy had called Damien a prick and stormed off to practice skateboarding on the ramp. He remembered the way Damien watched him leave, his eyes as stony and cold as Bender had ever seen them. He remembered the way Damien had then turned towards Bender, his lips curled into an ironic smile, a puff of cigarette smoke escaping through the gap. "Because he called you a prick?" Bender asked, flabbergasted. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Damien's smile disappeared. "I don't kid. And if I wanted a good fuck, I certainly wouldn't ask you."

Bender shook his head in disbelief. "He's just a kid. He's not even a threat to you!"

Damien shrugged. "Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it."

The anger rose high and swift, and before Bender knew what he was doing, he had Damien pinned against the wall, one hand around the other man's neck, the other cocked at his side, ready to strike.

"You don't mess with my friends, do you hear me?" He shouted. "You pull shit like that again and I will--"

Click.

Bender stopped speaking, but his eyes never left Damien's face. Damien cocked an eyebrow expectantly, and Bender clenched his jaw. After a moment, he removed the hand from Damien's neck and took a step backwards to give Damien some space. Damien took his time collecting himself, using his left hand to rub his neck and straighten his collar while his right hand kept a firm grip on the switchblade in his hand.

Damien took a small step forward and looked down at the knife. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. What will you do to me?"

Bender narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything.

Damien nodded. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got a way with words? I mean, those were some great lines. 'You don't mess with my friends!'" Damien shouted, mimicking Bender's tone. He laughed. "What a great line. Do you mind if I use it someday?"

Bender sneered. "I don't know. Do you have any friends?"

Damien laughed. "Another zinger! Do you have any paper, because I want to write some of this down!"

"Fuck off."

Damien nodded slowly, pretending to take this under consideration. "You know, I think I'd rather not. And, to answer your other question, I do have friends. Lots of friends. And they do whatever…"

He took a small step forward, drawing close to the table.

"I…"

He raised the knife into the air and stabbed it into the top of the chair in front of him.

"…tell them."

Bender sucked in a shallow breath, and Damien took a moment to let his words and his actions sink in. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I think we're done here, don't you?"

Bender started to say something, then forced the comment and his pride deep into his stomach. He nodded.

"Good." Damien smiled. "It was nice talking to you. Maybe next time you'll let me buy you a beer before you try to jam your fist down my throat."

Bender narrowed his eyes, refusing to speak. He turned to go, and Damien started rummaging around in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes. Instinctively, Bender saw his window of opportunity. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and plucked the knife from the top of the chair. Damien glanced up from his cigarettes, but it was too late.

"I hope you don't mind if I take this," Bender said, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

Damien narrowed his eyes, but managed a tight smile. "No, go ahead." He shrugged. "There's more where that came from anyhow."

Bender nodded. "You're right. There is." With saying anything else, Bender stuffed the knife into the pocket of his denim jacket and walked away.

1:37 A.M.

Brian went to bed early on Friday night, too exhausted to think about homework or his sister or the fact that he would have to spend nine hours at school the next day doing absolutely nothing. He laid there for a long time, going in and out of consciousness, in and out of sleep. He woke up once to hear his parents arguing quietly in the room next to his, his mother's shrill, indignant questions in sharp contrast to his father's patient, defeated responses. Brian didn't even try to figure out what they were arguing about. He was pretty sure that he knew the answer anyway.

Despite his exhaustion, he woke up several times during the night, too tired to stay awake but too restless to fall asleep for real. When he woke for the last time at 1:37 in the morning, he let out a sigh of resignation and pulled himself out of bed to go to the bathroom.

When he was finished using the toilet, Brian turned on the cold water in the sink and splashed a handful onto his face. He looked up at his reflection in the mirrored medicine cabinet door, at the pale, weary face staring back at him. His eyes met their reflection, and he tried as hard as he could to see beyond the soft blue circles edged in white, past the cornea, the pupil, the lens. He tried, but couldn't get far enough, couldn't reach all the way down to the core of his person to get to the part that really mattered.

After a moment, he reached up and opened the medicine cabinet door. Deodorant, extra razor cartridges, hair gel, his sister's Barbie toothpaste, and, in the back, a large bottle of Aspirin.

Slowly, Brian reached up and took the bottle of Aspirin from the shallow metal shelf. He held it in his hand for a moment, memorizing the way it felt against his fingertips, wondering how many pills were in the bottle. The front label said there were 100, but a few had already been used. There were about 80 pills left, or 75.

After a moment, Brian heard a soft rattling sound coming from somewhere nearby. He blinked, realizing that his hands were shaking and that the pills were moving around in the bottle, clanking against one another. Brian quickly put the bottle back on its shelf and shut the door to the medicine cabinet, letting his hand rest against the edge for a few seconds to make sure that it was closed. He took a couple of deep breaths, and his fingertips to slid away from the glass, flopping against the sink with a hollow thud. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, draining the already quiet room of all sound.

If the fire alarm hadn't gone off at that precise moment, if he hadn't been so scared of being alone…would he have gone through with it, or would he have chickened out, like he always did?

Brian gripped the cold, rounded edge of the sink and leaned forward, closing his eyes. He took a few ragged breaths and looked back up at the mirror, at the pale, sweaty face and the bloodshot eyes. He stared at his reflection for a long time, desperate this time to get a glimpse of something that he could hold onto. But there wasn't anything like that behind his eyes or behind the reflection in the glass. Just a bottle of pills and a tube of Barbie toothpaste.

Taking one more deep breath, Brian flicked off the bathroom light and walked back down the hall to his bedroom.

A/N: I will post the final chapter as soon as I get around to writing it. ;) Please leave me some feedback, alright? Thanks. : )