Drake desperately wanted to tell someone what had happened to him at the party. He wanted to tell them that he was sorry for drinking, that he knew he shouldn't have had that beer, but he was just so depressed and he couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to tell them about Martin, and how nice Drake thought he was at first, and how stupid he felt for trusting that stranger. He wanted to tell them about how Martin left him face-up while he did it, Drake's legs forced to wrap around his hips, while Martin told Drake how pretty his face looked when he cried.

The crux of his problem, however, was that it honestly wasn't just "someone" Drake wanted to tell—it was Josh.

Drake had been hopeful, when he'd woken up from the few hours of sleep he'd gotten. He had thought that maybe Josh would be willing to forgive him and listen to him if he just explained that he wasn't lying about what he said in their chemistry class the day before, and that he had only gone to play at the party because his bandmates had needed him, had been unable to do it without him, and he hadn't protested too much even though he didn't really want to go just because it felt so good to be needed by someone else, after all of that fighting with Josh.

Drake sat up in his bed, and saw that Josh was awake, but just lying there and staring at the ceiling. Drake cleared his throat. Josh looked at him, and Drake unconsciously shrunk back on himself when he saw the anger in his brother's eyes. Josh stood up and left the room, refusing to look back at Drake. He heard the words again—immature, irresponsible, selfish jerk. He decided not to tell Josh then after all.

X X X

Drake went into the bathroom with a change of clothes, having noticed that he was still wearing what he'd thrown on to go to the party. He decided that maybe he would do something nice for Josh, like cook for him or return that videotaped episode of Oprah he'd stolen from Josh just to make him crazy or maybe even ask him how Mindy was doing. He thought that that would be good enough to make Josh remember how sincere Drake was when he apologized, and then Josh would listen to him.

Unbuckling his pants in front of the mirror, he saw that he didn't have his underwear on and realized that he must have left it at the house, in that bedroom. He winced as he pulled the pants down, feeling a painful tugging as the dried blood and—he almost gagged—semen on the pants made it hurt to take them off. Drake suddenly stopped short as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. There were two bruises visible, one on either side of his hips, each in the perfect shape of Martin's hands.

I bet you're a whore. Don't you want me to fuck you? You're a fuckin' tease, kid, and you had this comin'.

Drake quickly pulled his pants back up, resigning himself to remain in those same clothes until he could successfully manage to change without having to look at himself. He decided not to tell Josh then, either.

X X X

He went all Saturday without saying a single word to anyone, in the end. When he was called to dinner, his mother took in his rumpled clothes, mussed hair, red-rimmed eyes, and downcast air and told him to go upstairs, get into his pyjamas, and she'd have someone bring him some soup. Drake had just smiled at her softly, thankful not to have to sit in his usual seat across the table from Josh, and had eagerly taken the opportunity to go upstairs to their bedroom, where he changed into pyjamas as ordered, then glanced at the jeans once before balling them up and throwing them under his bed. He laid down and fell asleep.

Drake was unaware of the fact that every movement of the man in his nightmares was showing up in reality as whimpers and twitches, and he was equally unaware of the fact that he was crying in his sleep. When Walter entered the room bearing tomato soup courtesy of Audrey, he took one look at his son and stood there for a while, running his hands through Drake's hair, rubbing his back, and speaking softly, soothingly to him until the boy had calmed somewhat, no longer crying.

Neither Drake nor Walter were aware of Josh standing in the doorway, watching them.

X X X

On Sunday, Drake paid the neighbor kid five bucks to let him hide out in the treehouse for the day. He took his guitar, and a notepad, and his phone, and some Mocha Cola, and holed himself up. He sat in the treehouse, trying again and again to play something, anything, but none of it sounded right. Eventually, about two hours into his self-imposed isolation, he gave up on his music for the day, laying on his back as he remembered when he and Josh had to rebuild the treehouse, and it fell over, and how he and Josh were stuck in there for hours together. He felt tears sting his eyes.

He got a phone call from two of the three other people in his band. He ignored both of them.

Gradually, the snippets of memory Drake had been trying to suppress overtook the thoughts of him and Josh, and his brother's face was replaced by that terrifying stranger's, and his brother's laughter, his brother's jokes were replaced by his laughter, his deprecating words. Drake cried.

He got a phone call from Megan. He actually answered.

"Y-yeah?"

"Where are you?" snapped Megan. "Mom and Dad have been looking for you for like an hour now." An hour, thought Drake. I've been gone since dawn, and it's the afternoon, and they've been looking for me for an hour. Huh.

"I-I'm... tell them I'll be home i-in a little bit," Drake managed to choke out. There was a pause.

"Are you crying?" asked Megan. Drake laughed, but it sounded fake and wrong even to his own ears.

"N-no."

"Are you sure? Because it sounds to me—" Drake hung up, and smiled at his sister's concern. He rolled onto his side, then, and cried out softly in pain as he put pressure on his bruised hip. He cried again.

X X X

Sunday night, about two hours after his conversation with Megan, Drake walked into the house. He waved his guitar and notepad at his parents, claiming an emergency band practice, before escaping upstairs. He was about to go into his room when Megan stopped him.

"Hey boob," she said, and Drake turned, careful to keep his face angled so that he was mostly unseen, because he was sure he had track marks on his cheeks from his tears.

"What, Megan?" he asked, and his voice came out dull and lifeless, and he felt very frustrated and angry, suddenly, at the fact that he couldn't even lie convincingly anymore.

"This thing with Josh is really bothering you, isn't it?" Drake couldn't help it—he laughed.

"Yeah," answered Drake. "That's it." Before she could say anything else, he was in the bedroom with the door firmly shut behind him. He saw Josh sitting on the couch, reading some book that looked vaguely familiar. Drake thought maybe they were supposed to be reading it for English. He sat down his guitar and notepad on his bed, and then turned to study Josh for a moment. His brother looked calm, almost serene—Drake smiled slightly, pleased with himself for using such a good word, but the smile quickly disappeared when he had to stifle the urge to tell Josh about it. He rubbed his hands on his jeans, feeling suddenly nervous and clammy.

"Hey, Josh? Could... Can I talk to you?" he asked, finally screwing up enough courage to get the words out. Josh glanced at him, then waved the book in the air.

"Kinda busy," he answered, sounding a little annoyed. Drake bit his lip, feeling his stomach beginning to churn. Josh was still mad. He was still "done."

"Just for a second? It's kind of important," Drake tried to insist. Josh sighed noisily.

"So is school, Drake, even though I realize that's a foreign concept for you. Would you please let me focus right now? I need to read this," he snapped. Drake swallowed harshly around the lump that had spontaneously formed in his throat.

"I—yeah. Sorry, man," Drake said, voice just barely louder than a whisper. He climbed up the ladder to his bed, curling up into an awkward ball, trying to avoid all of the places that hurt, but finding that he couldn't. When Audrey came to tell them that dinner was ready, Drake pretended to be asleep. He tossed and turned all night, not getting even a moment's rest.

He never saw how, just after this apology, Josh had opened his mouth to speak, then shook his head, returning to his book.