Generally, when I went for walks, I would end up at one of three places. The first was the Stop N Shop for smokes, the second was Wendy's house, and the third was Dunkin Donuts. I had at least enough cigarettes to get me through the day, and option B was of course non-existant at this point, so ten minutes later I found myself sitting in a pink and orange booth, slowly making my way through a chocolate eclair. And because all my friends are predictable losers like me, Phil showed up only minutes after me, and joined me at my table.

"You look hung over as hell," he said, snatching a glazed donut from me.

I sighed and took a look at him, bloodshot-eyes, hair a greasy mess and still stuck in yesterday's t-shirt. "You're not looking so peachy yourself, pal," I grumbled with a mouth full of eclair. I sighed and looked out the window. The world looked harsh and desolate through the unwashed glass. "And get your paws off my donut, fucker."

Phil laughed but kept shoveling the donut in his mouth all the same. Ah, the bonds of friendship. So fucking eternal. "So, you off work today, too?"

"Until eleven. Why?"

"I'm taking a little trip to Montreal in about an hour." Phil smirked and licked the sticky clear glaze from his fingers. "I'm gonna sell some shit. Thought you might like to tag along."

It's kind of depressing to know someone so well you feel like you know everything they're going to say before they say it. Phil was like a Pink Floyd album that had been put on repeat for the past six years. Nothing ever changed about him, except maybe for the gradual decline of healthiness in his face. He looked tired. I sighed. "Phil, man, you know I'm not into that shit."

He pouted. Like we were still thirteen years old or something. "Aw, come on, Cameron. You're such a snooze. All you ever do is sit at home. You could use a little excitement, buddy. And you damn sure could use the extra cash. Working the night shift ain't gonna pay the bills, man. I know this guy Frank who can hook you up with some shit, give you some contacts. It's easy money..."

"Everything doesn't have to be easy, man." I was surprised by the firmness in my own voice. Damn. There it was again. That psycho-parent tone. I almost sounded like a fucking adult. "I may be living on the edge of Shitsville, but I at least want to be able to say I make an honest living. This isn't junior high, man. I can't get involved with that shit. I've got Sean to think about. And I'm not gonna be working the night shift forever. I'm trying to line up some interviews. I'm just in a rut right now."

Phil shrugged it off, grinning widely. But I saw the disappointment in his eyes. He'd really been hoping I'd tag along. I guess it was lonely, the cycle he lived in. He sold drugs to make money to buy more drugs. While I saw the appeal of this escape, I couldn't let myself get suckered in. I hadn't come that close to the bottom. At least not yet. "Okay, okay. I'll get off your case. Just let me know if you change your mind." He reached forward to take my last donut. I moved quickly to smack his hand away. He laughed. "Dude, chill out. Christ. You've been so uptight since you got back, man. It's killing me to see you like this."

I stared dully at him. "Oh, yeah. You seem real torn up about it."

"No, I'm serious. You need to get out of the house, meet some people. When's your next day off?"

"Uh... Thursday, I think."

"All right, Thursday night, we're hitting the town, man. No excuses, no whining. Oh! Dude, I think we can get into the Dead Sexy Tired show. You'll love them, they kick ass. We are going to get you drunk and laid and that's the end of it." He reached out yet again, yanking away my donut, and jumped out of the booth before I could stop him. "Catch you later, man."

I hung my head and sighed, shoving the rest of my eclair into my mouth. I wondered to myself just how much truth there was to the saying, "You can tell alot about a man by the company he keeps."

When I got back home, the mess my wasted friends and I had left had been completely cleaned up. Ellie sat casually in the middle of the spotless living room, idly flicking her red lighter. She held the flame to the loose white threads of her frayed jeans, watching them burn.

"You know what they say about kids who play with fire," I said to her with a sigh, tossing my jacket onto the couch. "They wet the bed." It was the same thing my mom used to tell Sean and I when we tried to blow things up in the back yard. Ellie ignored my comment and continued to be fascinated by the glowing orange fire. She brought the lighter to the tip of her index finger, the flame dancing against her skin. I edged closer to watch. "Jesus fuck. Doesn't that hurt?"

She continued to watch her flesh burn and shook her head. "Nah. I play guitar alot. My fingers are pretty much calloused over. I can't feel a thing."

What a mother fucking weirdo, I thought to myself. I looked around the room. "Where's Sean?"

"He's out back working on my car."

"Again?"

"It's a shitty car. I thought we established this."

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe Sean's just a shitty mechanic. I hope you know the two of you are next to worthless."

"Yeah, Tracker, and you're a real winner, aren't you?"

Ouch. I was all about putting this stupid girl in her place, but I had to stop myself. Getting into an argument with a freeloading little girl wasn't something I felt like being a part of just then. I suddenly felt very tired. I simply shook my head and turned to walk away. "Don't burn the house down," I warned as I left the room.

I left through the back door and found Sean, huddled over Ellie's engine with his brow furled in heavy concentration. "Boo," I snapped.

Sean jumped slightly, then turned around to glare at me. I had to smile. It was almost funny the way Sean always looked at me like I was the last person on the planet he wanted to see. "Good one," he spat with the iciest of sarcasm. He returned to his girlfriend's car, tuning me out as usual.

I sighed and plopped down on the steps. I rested my elbows on my knees and buried my chin in my hands. I watched Sean adjust the timing belt. He was doing it wrong. Man, fucking idiot. How could he not realize he was doing it wrong? I opened my mouth to correct him a few times, but bit my tongue. I figured, let the kid fuck it up. If I tried to tell him he was messing up, he'd end up twisting it around so that somehow it was MY fault he was doing it wrong.

"Did you come out here for a reason?" he asked me. "Because I'm kind of busy."

I had to squint my eyes against the sun to look at him. I found myself staring at the back of my brother's head like always. Sometimes I felt like I'd forgotten what his face looked like. I'd been away from him for almost a year, and now that I was finally home, he seemed intent on hiding from me as often as possible. "Nah," I said flatly. I had nothing better to say than nah. "No reason. Just kickin' back."

He mumbled something I couldn't understand into the engine of the car. I shook my head. Just being around him got me exhausted. If only I had a book of translations for teenage grunts and eye-rolls, I just might have the patience to make sense of him. Sean, the enigma, the big whiney baby, the bully, the unstable one. He had this way of making the simplest things into huge complicated issues. Drama followed Sean like stink on a wet dog. For awhile I felt sorry for the kid, but once he started living with me full-time, I began to realize half of his problems were all his fault. I mean, if he wasn't such a douche all the time, things might be a little easier on him.

"Look, Seany, I'm sorry about the guys," I said. And I really was sorry. Sorry Sean was such a baby. "I won't let that happen again."

Sean shrugged indignantly. "Don't be sorry. It's your house. Seeing you passed out like a drooling drunkard actually brought back some memories. Felt like I was right back in Wasaga."

Ouch. Pull the Mom and Dad card why don't you. "Yeah, well, this isn't Wasaga. It's never going to be like that. I know you and I aren't the same as we used to be, Sean. But I hope you know me well enough to know I'm never going to let things get that way. That's not how I roll and you know it." I hoped he knew it. I hated to admit that maybe I was trying to prove myself to Sean, but something inside me made me want him to know it.

He shrugged again and looked at me with his weary eyes. "Yeah, I guess." He turned back around and buried himself in the car engine yet again. I got up and went back inside, leaving the space between us just as empty as it had been before.

As soon as I walked into the house, I found myself face to face with the redhead. She was grinning broadly with geniune approval. "What?" I asked with a sneer.

"You talked to him."

I rolled my eyes and walked away from her. It occured to me that it was time for another round of Tylenol. Just my luck, though, she followed me as I walked to the bathroom. "I don't know what you're so giddy about," I told her. "He's still pissed off. Sean's always pissed off. There's no way around it."

She leaned against the doorway, still smiling, as I reached into the medicine cabinet. "I know. But you really did make a difference by talking to him. Really."

"Whatever, Red." I pulled out the plastic bottle of Tylenol, and as I did, a small strip of metal tumbled off the shelf and into the sink. I looked at it for a moment before picking it up. It was a razor coated in dried blood. I heard Ellie's breath catch sharply. I watched as the color drained subtly from her face. Her eyes flitted away from me, staring at the cracked paint of the doorway moulding instead. "What the fuck is this?" I asked disgustedly, spitting the words right into her face.

She shrugged. Didn't even bother to deny it.

I shook my head and held the razor out for her to take. "Look, kid, I've told you before you're not my responsibility. Don't you ever bring this shit to my house again. You got problems, you keep them at home, got it?"

Her eyes returned to mine, cold amber-green staring into me. The initial fear faded from her expression and I found myself facing the same Ellie I'd seen a few weeks ago at the convenience store. Dangerous, careless, bold. She had lifted the veil of demure she constantly hid beneath. There was no bull shitting with me and she could sense it. She took the razor from my fingers and nodded slowly as she slid it into her pocket. I felt prickles on the back of my neck, suddenly creeped out by her. I poured two Tylenol into my hand and dry-swallowed quickly, then left the bathroom and retreated to the sanctuary of my room, the only teen-free place left in that shithole.