Part 17: Breaking the Habit

A/N: Now that Jay's out of the way...No, I'm kidding...but he really is out of the way...This is probably going to be the most intense chapter yet because it has a lot of dark parts...I know that a lot of you liked "Things I'll Never Say" because...yeah, I know, I liked it too. ANYWAY, all you goth-y people who like dark things...this one's for you. NO, not really, I wrote it for myself. Basically, Craig's driving himself insane (not literally) and he's doing a lot of weird things because his buddy is dead...so yeah...uh...just like, read it...

"Craig, come on!" Joey called, pounding on Craig's bedroom door.

On the inside of the room, Craig huddled deeper into the corner of the closet. Joey didn't know why he was acting like this; he hadn't heard of Jay's death yet. He had gotten home just an hour earlier and had not left his room since. Finally, Joey gave up and went to bed; he wasn't going to spend the rest of the night trying to get Craig out of his room. Whatever it was could wait until tomorrow.

When 'tomorrow' was 'today', Joey was, again, standing outside Craig's room, trying to get him to come out. He didn't. That was why Joey called Sean. But, Sean wasn't home; Ellie was. Ellie could help.

She got there as fast as she could. Gently, she knocked on the door. "Craig?" Ellie said in her softest voice. "Are you okay?"

No answer.

"Craig!" she shouted. Still, no answer.

She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse and wrote "What's wrong?" on it. She pushed it under the door. A few minutes later, it was pushed back under. The three words that were written on it burned through her heart. "I miss Jay."

Ellie was at loss for words; she didn't know what she could tell him to make him feel better about Jay dying. Jay must've meant more to him than Ashley ever did, because Craig didn't do this when she went to London.

"Craig, listen," Ellie said carefully. "I know that nothing I could ever say could make you feel better about any of this, but...I want to help you. Will you open the door? Please?"

Probably after thinking it over for a few minutes, Craig unlocked the door and Ellie stepped quietly into the room. Darkness enveloped the room, and she wondered how he could've read the note she had passed him minutes earlier. Her question was answered, however, when she saw a short beam of light that peeked in from the side of the blanket that had covered the window. She couldn't see Craig anywhere; she was careful stepping around the floor; she did not want to accidentally kick him and make him feel worse than he already did. After a minute or two, Ellie was ready to simply turn the light on, but then she remembered: he wants it dark for a reason.

"Craig? Where are you?" she asked. It was getting kind of creepy in here. She was half-expecting him to jump out of nowhere and give her a near-death experience. Never happened. She didn't hear any noise, except for the sound of breath—her own. A feeling of fear entered the pit of her stomach and her heart beat faster. "Craig!" Nothing. No shuffle, no breath, no words. Nothing.

A thought struck her and she realized that she was missing one place to check: the closet. She felt around the walls until she found the closet and she slowly fell to her knees and crawled inside. Her hand groped around on the inside of the closet until it collided with something warm. It was Craig's arm.

"Do you want something?" Ellie asked Craig. Craig was not sure why Ellie was asking or what she meant. He wasn't going to tell her anything. Ellie sighed and handed him the paper that they'd written on. Craig wrote one word on it: "Paint."

Now Ellie was really confused. She wasn't sure where to find this paint that Craig has a sudden urge to have. But, she knew what she had to do. She had to find paint. "Okay," Ellie said. She patted Craig's shoulder and stood up to leave.

As Craig heard the door close to his room, he waited for a minute and then got up to lock it; he couldn't risk Joey coming into the room and bombarding him with questions. Imagining the scenario that would probably happen if he let Joey in, he rested the side of his face against the door for a minute. He felt like he was about to fall asleep, and he got onto his bed and slept. It was some of the worst sleep he'd ever had. All he could think about was Jay, and his dream was worse.

It was he and Jay, at the old house, but not doing drugs; no, not drugs. Talking. Just talking. The subject of Craig's parents came up. Suddenly, Jay said, "It's your fault, you know." Craig was shocked.

"My fault?" he said. "What're you talking about?"

"Your parents dying," Jay answered. "It's your fault. Everything that's ever happened in your presence is your fault. And now I'm dead. That's your fault, too."

Craig woke up quickly. A thousand thoughts ran through his head.

Was it his fault that Jay was dead?

No, it couldn't have been.

At the same time...

What was he thinking? What happened was a freak accident. It could've happened to anyone.

But it didn't.

It happened to Jay.

What if...?

What if Craig had driven himself to Spinner's? Would he be dead himself?

What if he hadn't asked Jay for the ride home? Could this be all his fault? Jay was dead...

Craig stood up and went to the window. He pulled the blanket covering it to the side, opened it and leaned out. It was dark and cold outside...that was how he felt inside. He got back inside, and went to his nightstand. Opening the drawer, he felt around for the almost-full pack of cigarettes that he knew was sitting alone. He picked it up, along with a lighter that he had to rummage around to find some more, and went back to the window. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned himself out the window once again; the air felt good. He couldn't see any light, even the moon, because it was cloudy outside.

He smoked half the cigarette and then put it out on the window sill. He moved away from the window and sat on the floor in silence for hours.

Eventually, he fell asleep without realizing it and woke up to someone knocking on his bedroom door. Standing up from the floor, he walked to the door and listened for a voice to recognize. Ellie, of course. "I have the paint!" she called, continuing to knock. Craig slowly unlocked the door and opened it. He winced when the light hit his eyes. Light. Something he hadn't seen since Friday. He looked at Ellie, who was holding a box and some paintbrushes. She handed him the box and he took it, setting it down next to the bed. He turned around and was almost stabbed in the chest by the ends of the paintbrushes that Ellie was holding out. Craig took those, too, and tossed them onto the bed carelessly.

He stood in the doorway awkwardly and looked at Ellie. Unexpectedly, she hugged him loosely, and Craig hesitated for a minute before hugging her back. Ellie had no idea what Craig was going through right now. Craig and Jay were nearly inseparable; they were always up to something. Ellie didn't know how the two connected, but in their special little ways, they did. She wondered how they became friends in the first place. Of course, some things would always remain a mystery.

Craig pulled back and looked at Ellie, then quickly turned back and closed the door in her face. Now Ellie knew that something wasn't going right here. But, she was going to have to embrace his problem and let it go; it wasn't her responsibility to try and make everything right. It was Joey's. Still, she couldn't tell Joey what to do or how to treat Craig.

Inside the room, Craig was tearing the paint out of the boxes. He didn't even care what color he had. He took down all the posters from the wall, carefully rolled them up, and put them in the top part of his closet. He then started painting on the walls. In the dark. He had no exact locations or straight lines. He just knew that he was putting things in the right spot. Either that, or he didn't care. Whichever one was happening, it might make one question the sanity of a certain bipolar seventeen-year-old with no real parents; a seventeen-year-old who thought he'd grown numb to anything that could happen to him for the rest of his life. But, no. He'd grown attached to Jay, and he died, too. Worst case scenario now: suicide. Actually, for Craig, that was the BEST case scenario. He wanted to die. But he couldn't. Not now.

He suddenly realized that he was driving himself crazy. But he still didn't care. He knew that he'd painted twelve percent of the room with every random color he had. He didn't know what he was putting on his walls, nor did he want to know. He'd been painting for hours, and all he'd accomplished covering was half of one wall. He looked over at the clock. It was eight at night. Already? Twelve hours, he'd had the paintbrush in his hand.

He continued to paint into the late hours of the night. A strong wind that blew at around six the next morning tore the blanket from the window. Light poured in about an hour later. Craig barely had time to notice; he was busy painting. He'd moved from the place behind the bed to the door in a very slow manner. He lost track of time as he painted. He felt weak and wasn't sure why, but figured that the feeling would fade soon so he kept going.

Growing tired, he set the paintbrush down and stretched out on the floor. He rested his head on his arms and fell asleep on the carpet. Just as he had the last time he slept, he dreamt about Jay, blaming him for his death. It was exactly like the one before. Craig woke up again and lay quietly on the floor for a moment. Then, he got up and painted again.

Finally, he was done. The light had come and gone through his window twice, and he was done. He'd gotten all around the room with the paint and now he felt satisfied. Still, something left him feeling empty. But not emotionally empty; physically empty. His mouth was longing for something, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on his door. "Craig!" Sean shouted. "Open the door!" Craig didn't know who he should listen to: Sean or himself. Hmm...this was a hard decision...Ah, who could it hurt? He walked over to the door and opened it.

Sean expected to have to break the door off the hinges, but no, Craig simply opened it. "We need to talk," Sean said, grabbing Craig's forearm and pulling him out of the room. Craig didn't verbally protest, but he meekly pulled back into his room. Sean forcefully drew him forward and Craig couldn't do much else. He allowed Sean to lead him out of the house. However, Sean didn't seem angry. On the contrary, he looked...distraught.

They went to the Dot, got some coffee, and sat down at a table. Spinner, who was heading to a table with some drinks, looked at Craig. "Hey, Craig," he said. Craig looked up and saw the drinks on the tray. Spinner stopped and watched as Craig stood and picked up one of the drinks and downed it in several seconds.

"You have to pay for that," Spinner said. Craig shrugged and took the other drink. He drank it, slower than last time, but still in a fast manner.

Spinner sighed heavily and went back behind the counter to go get more drinks for the people who had originally ordered them. Craig sat back down across from Sean, who was looking surprised at what Craig had just done.

"What's wrong with you?" Sean asked a minute later. Craig couldn't answer. Not now. He hadn't realized anything so far. He was trying to figure everything out in this small amount of time, but he couldn't. Sean looked at him and could tell he was struggling to find an answer for his question. "Craig," Sean said quickly. Craig glanced up at him and stopped thinking. "Forget about it. Really. You're gonna end up hurting yourself."

"Ellie talks about you nonstop. How worried she is about you, how sad it is about what you're going through...blah, blah, blah. Jay's parents are taking this better than you are, and that I don't understand."

Craig said nothing. What could he say? He couldn't tell Sean anything; he would just come up with more questions that he couldn't answer. He stood up and left the Dot. He walked home in the cold. He was wearing just his shirt and jeans. It was pouring down rain, and he had no jacket.

At last, he reached the house and quietly went inside. He ignored Joey and ran upstairs, locking his bedroom door behind him. Suddenly, he realized what he had not realized before.

He had to talk to someone.

But who? Everyone was probably mad at him for killing Jay. He knew that he was going to have to let it out somehow. But Joey had given up hope in ever talking to the sane Craig again, ever seeing him.

He was quiet, being lost in his own thoughts. He rocked back and forth on his bed, holding his knees to his chest. A loud knock on the door startled him and he fell off onto the floor. Did someone want to talk to him? Maybe the world didn't seem so hopeless after all! Maybe there was hope that someone might want to communicate with him! Excited, he turned the lock on his door and opened it.

His happy moment faded when he saw Joey standing in front of him. He turned away from the door and went back to his bed. Joey followed him inside and stood next to the bed.

"Sean just called. He told me everything. Why didn't you tell me that Jay was dead?" Joey asked. Craig was quiet, but he thought about what he was supposed to be trying to do—speak.

He was extremely quiet and still for a minute, and then he inhaled, slowly letting out the breath.

"Because I didn't think you'd care," Craig said. It was the first time he'd spoken in days, even to himself, and his voice was raspy. Joey sighed sadly and shook his head.

"It's not that I don't care," said Joey, "it's that I don't get it." Craig turned around and faced Joey.

"What's not to get? Isn't it obvious? Jay is DEAD. I was friends with him. When you're friends with someone and they die, it is BAD," Craig shouted.

"That's not what I meant. I don't get why you miss him. You were fine until you started hanging around Jay," Joey stated.

"I liked hanging out with Jay."

"You did drugs."

"I liked doing drugs."

"Do you have any idea how dangerous doing drugs is when you're bipolar? You could lapse into a coma! You could die!"

"Again, I liked doing drugs." Craig looked into Joey's eyes, and Joey could tell that he was being serious.

"Why?" Craig thought about Joey's question for a minute, and then answered.

"It just...gave me a displace from this hellhole of a life that I'm living," he said. He looked away from Joey and looked at his hands. Joey's heart sank and he sat down on the bed next to Craig.

"It's okay. I understand," Joey said calmly. He put his arm around Craig's shoulder. Craig put his head on Joey's shoulder and sighed.

"So...I'm not in trouble?" Craig asked after a few moments of peace.

"No, no, of course not. I mean, if you like being grounded for four weeks, then, no, of course you're not in trouble. You should enjoy the vacation you're gonna get looking at this house for the next month," Joey said. Craig was shocked.

"What?" he cried. "Grounded?"

"Yep. Better get used to it." Oh, well. Craig was just glad that he hadn't been arrested. A year of being grounded was better than a night in jail. He was also happy that it was only four weeks, and NOT a year. Joey got up and left the room, laughing.

TWO WEEKS LATER

Joey and Craig were spending the entire day cleaning the house. Joey got the upstairs, and Craig got the downstairs, which meant that Joey had to clean Craig's bedroom. What a nightmare.

He entered the room, and was almost frightened by what was painted on the walls. It was...blood. And sick things. Guns. Knives. Dead people. Joey called Craig up to the room immediately.

Craig came in. "What?" he asked.

"What is...all of this?" said Joey, still in disbelief at what was on his son's walls.

"Uh...I'm not really sure. I barely remember doing any of it," Craig said casually. "But, I do know one thing. I was driving myself insane in that room, and...it's good that Sean called you when he did."

"Okay, that's good enough. You can return to your cleaning downstairs." Craig was happy that Joey had let THAT matter go. He went back downstairs to finish cleaning the kitchen.

Joey began cleaning the bedroom that Craig slept in every night and went through the dressers. Craig had obviously tossed a pair of jeans into one of the drawers after he'd already worn them. Joey raided the pockets.

He found a small orange pill bottle. Medications. But, wait...weren't Craig's medications downstairs? On the kitchen table? He looked at the label. "Albert Manning"? What...? "To be taken no more than twice daily and only when you can devote a full night's sleep..." Sleeping pills? These weren't Craig's medications. These were his father's. His father's sleeping pills. And why...? He didn't exactly KNOW why, but he knew how he could find out.

He went downstairs, holding the bottle. Craig was just now putting the broom away. "Joey! Check it out! It's all shiny and clean!" he said happily.

"Craig, exactly what kind of 'displace' were you trying to get?" Joey demanded, holding the bottle out.

Craig snatched the bottle from Joey's hand and turned away. "Well?"

"I...I just wanted the option open," Craig said, almost inaudibly.

"This is not going to be an option anymore," Joey said firmly. He took the pills back from Craig and looked at him. Craig understood immediately what Joey was saying.

He followed Joey into the bathroom and stared at the toilet. Joey handed him the bottle of pills. Craig started shaking nervously and didn't know what he should do. Joey watched him carefully and Craig closed his eyes.

He knelt down in front of the toilet and slowly opened the bottle. He took one of the pills and dropped it into the water. He glanced up at Joey hopefully, but Joey was still expecting him to flush them all down.

He dumped in half the bottle within the next hour. He was surprised that Joey was still standing there, waiting. He expected...no, he wanted him to leave so that he could keep what was left and hide them better. Still, Joey stood. Craig's knees were beginning to hurt from kneeling there on the tiled floor, and he was growing tired. His hands shook once again, and he held the bottle two feet from the water, and tipped it. The remaining fifteen pills fell in, and Craig felt like he was about to die. He wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. But, no, not anymore. Not now that his last chance was floating around in a toilet.

But, wait! He could still take them out of the water! Um...maybe not. Joey grabbed Craig's hand and put it on the handle. Craig looked up at him and pushed down. He watched as his last way out was taken to the sewers. He didn't notice it, but tears formed in his eyes. He stood up, and Joey looked at him proudly. He didn't smile, however. No. It was more of the look of pride that a soldier would get from his commander. It was the "You did the right thing" look.

"Let's stop cleaning for today," Joey said simply. Craig nodded.

But what Craig had just done had changed his life.

Actually, it was more like he had started it.

He hadn't been able to live the way he could now—with no way out. He would have to put up with everything that life threw at him.

And with a little help, he might be able to make it.

A/N: That SOUNDS like the end. You wanna know why? Because it is! That's the end of the series! Hope you all enjoyed it! Farewell, farewell.

No, jk you muffins. I wouldn't END it like that. I have five more chapters...the next one is "All About the Wordplay", and the one AFTER that is "I'll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret". I haven't thought the other three through. ANYWAY, I KNOW that those aren't the ACTUAL names of the songs, but I wanted to put the line that the lyrics are on. All About the Wordplay is about how PMS makes a comeback for a talent show, minus Terri, and the band faces a little bit of a problem: THEY NEED LYRICS! And who better to write them than Ashley? But, Paige wants a new song, one about abuse. What does Ashley know about abuse? She was never hit. Ever. However, what DOESN'T Craig know about abuse? He knows how it felt—he felt betrayed, hated...Now Ashley needs Craig's help to write a song fit for Paige, but can they handle it?

And I CAN'T tell you what "I'll Keep You My Dirty Little Secret" is about BECAUSE if I did, then ya'll would know what happens in "All About the Wordplay". DUH! Anyway, REVIEW! DO IT NOW!