The party is at some rickety old man's house in the poor part of town. Kids crowd around the front door, all fake smiles and bleached hair, nothing of real importance; they all just fade in the background. The place is blasting music, all hype and pop-y, perfect for drowning out sleeplessness in everyone's eyes and focusing their attention away from Trevor. It's these kinds of places that he could blend right into, where no one questions anything and everyone turns a blind eye away from the full cups of alcohol and the dark corner in the back where you could light up at.

Trevor sits down on a stained couch and tries to drown out the loud noises coming from the happy couple next to him.

"Jesus… they're like eating each other." he accidentally whispers aloud, but the teenagers don't hear him.

He lets his legs spread out a bit, his hand clumsily wrapping around a cup. Trevor futilely attempts to ignore just how everything around him is slowly becoming undone, the music becoming just a bit too loud, the lights being all that-much brighter. T nervously clutches his drink and takes a long swig from it, focusing his attention on a pretty girl's ass instead of his throbbing head.

But in reality, Trevor knows that he's not here for the drugs or a hook up, he's here for a distraction. It's not working. Beer after beer he chugs down, swiping cups from panting teenagers, it does nothing but blur the corners of his eyes and send fire racing under his skin. He drinks like it'll save him, but the image of that sunny day from years before keeps replaying in his mind. The wind was circling his ears, the grass underneath his back was soft, the sky was the deepest blue of the darkest ocean. Trevor lets himself be cradled by the earth, his eyes shifting to look at the gentleness that crept its way into Michael's eyes-

Trevor drops his cup out of his shaking hands, his mind floating away, moving as fast as the other dancers move away from him. Their awkward glances and floundering limbs kick-starts his brain, it panicking for T to get out of there.

T hasn't been okay since he saw Michael standing there in the mall, and now he wouldn't mind passing out and choking on his own vomit.

He runs for the open front door and out onto the road, shoving past the groups of teens gathering around the house. Trevor slips on the slushy road and bounds straight towards an alley. There's a man underneath the flickering street light, a cigarette held up between his fingers. Trevor approaches the man quickly, impossibly fast, and throws a punch square in his jaw. The man struggles to get to his feet, and that's when T jumps him, the man's head hitting the slick asphalt with a sickeningly satisfying crunch.

T has him pinned, and blow after blow he sends hurtling into the man's face, blood pooling on the ground. His knuckles painfully scrape skin every time it connects with the stranger's head, but he barely feels anything. This man probably has a family waiting for him somewhere, his perfect wife folded neatly into an arm chair, nervous when he isn't home at such a late time. His kid wouldn't wonder where his dad was; he would curl up in front of the TV and yell at his mom for being paranoid. Her straining, pretty smile would last, last way after she cocks her head at her kid and sends him to his room, last all the way into the night when she would end up sleeping alone.

The last ounce of rationality is pouring out through Trevor's fists and he couldn't stand to think even for a moment, he needs to escape the emptiness, the cold nights where he would wake up alone, his hands searching the darkness of his bed for a hint of a person that isn't even there anymore.

The stranger is long out cold when Trevor stands up, wiping his bloody fist against his nose to cover up his watering eyes. He goes slack in his legs and flips his head upwards, exhaling deeply, watching his cold breath swirl in the still night air.

It's in the dim light of the moon and flickering light overhead that he gets a glimpse of silhouettes coming towards him. They must be friends of the pulp that used to be a person under Trevor's feet. Trevor confidently raises his bloodied fists, welcoming the new challengers, but deep down he wishes nothing more than to be beat until he's dead.

And that is what happens. Almost.

The men, 4 or 5 tall ones, encircle Trevor. Maybe, just maybe, if he had an ounce of strength left, an extra ounce of anger, of anything really, maybe he could've taken these assholes on. But with just one punch to the side, Trevor crumples to the ground. The world turns into a flurry of shouting, kicking, and punching, pain exploding under his ribs with every hit. Trevor curls up into a ball, trying to protect himself from the brutality of these men. He can feel the blood leaving him and pain is simply everywhere, so much that Trevor can feel himself jolt with every kick.

Once the beating was done, he should be left there to rot, die from the blood loss and cold. He fucking deserves it, for God's sake. But he can't just let go. Trevor growls out one vicious, nasty noise that scatters the attackers like goddamn city pigeons. Struggling to his feet, Trevor clutches his side, nasty pain shooting through him with every movement, but he manages to shuffle out of the alley.

He makes it out into the street, but a few steps later he's sent tumbling to the ground, his face twisting in pain. The kids from the party start to take notice, their eyebrows knitting in confusion, but Trevor can't really blame them. He'd be confused too if someone just hobbled out of an alley, bleeding profusely, and in agonizing pain.

"Hey dog, you… alright?" an unfamiliar voice questioned from above.

"Yeah, yeah fuck off. I don't need any of your help." T snarled, his attempt to seem okay dissolving when he couldn't stop a groan from escaping through his cut lips.

"C'mon, we ain't finna leave a dude out here to die." another voice said gruffly.

Trevor suddenly got hoisted off the grimy street and was being supported by two teenagers; one tall, lanky boy and a shorter, chubbier guy. T flinched as they cautiously wrapped their arms around him and led them all back into the roaring party. Shuffling and pushing through the growing crowd, the trio manages to find an empty (albeit destroyed) room upstairs to put T in. The room is dark and dank, dust lining the windowpanes and empty shelves, trash and cans and mysterious stains seemingly everywhere. The two boys slowly drop Trevor onto a bed and allow him to catch his breath while they go find some supplies to stop the blood from leaving his tattered body.

After a few minutes of squirming on the bed, fingertips tracing aching ribs and blossoming bruises, a roll of clean bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol appear in the hands of one of guys. The taller one strolls up to Trevor and unfolds his hand, revealing a quarter of whiskey in it. He silently passes the bottle to T, who eagerly unscrews the top and takes a swig of the golden liquid.

He sputters a bit, the back of his throat burning and the drink makes its way down. "Thanks.

"No problem, homie." The stranger replies before collapsing into a rickety chair near the window.

The shorter one comes over to the bed, an alcohol-damp rag in hand, and gingerly wipes the dirt and blood off of the shallow cuts on Trevor's face. Hissing, he instinctually backs away from the rag, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. Trevor's eyes are mostly swollen shut, but with what little area he sees he scans the face of the kid in front of him. He looks youthful, roughly the same age as himself, maybe hovering around 15 or 16. A couple minutes pass and most of the blood is gone, so the kid wraps some gauze around the larger wounds on his arms.

The guy stands up and dusts his hands off when he's satisfied with the bandages. "Okay, I think I've done all I can."

The boy near the window hops up from gazing outside and walks over to the bed. "Eh, you need a ride? Me and Fatty over here were just about to leave anyway."

T snickers when the shorter boy rolls his eyes in response. "Sure, okay. Not because I need it, but I just don't wanna say no to you two lovely people."

"Whatever you say man." the lanky one says back.

The ride back to Trevor's trailer is short and uneventful. He could've, probably, walked there on his own, but in reality he was enjoying the warm air pumping through the trashed interior. The two teens in the front of the car seemed to be engulfed in themselves, eyes lingering longer on each other than the road, laughing and joking around with the other. As soon as a familiar dilapidated trailer comes into view, Trevor's hand is already curling around the car door's handle.

The creaky vehicle lurches to a stop, and T steps out into the bitingly cold air, shielding his face from the bitter wind. He turns to thank his uninvited saviors and shuffles around in the dusty gravel by the foot of his trailer, giving a weak wave as a goodbye (possibly a thank you, too).

"No problem dog! If you need a ride, just give one of us a call! I'm Franklin," the shorter one said, "… and I'm Lamar!" interrupts the taller one, sticking his head out of the car's window and craning his neck to see T.

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off!" Trevor shouted at the two boys as they lurched out of his driveway.

Running up his front steps, T pushes open the unlocked door, welcoming the shelter from the harsh weather outside. His beloved mother isn't there clearly, or else he would see her delicate frame draped across the stained couch in the main room. Sauntering into his trashed bedroom, Trevor shucks off his shoes and bloodied jacket into the dark corners of his room before he leaps into his creaking bed, freezing covers digging into his chilled skin.

A seemingly endless pain from his tattered body no doubt agonizes Trevor the entire night, ensuring that he would be walking through the hallways on the first day of sophomore year like a zombie. T rolls around in his sheets, anxiety about starting the new school year hitting him.

Oh, shit. There's only 3 more days until he's a sophomore.