I awoke the next morning to a pair of pleasantly warm, bony arms binding my chest. Chuck was pressed tightly against me, and I could feel hot wisps of his gentle breath brushing my shoulder. I couldn't remember the last time I felt so comfortably warm, if ever. This was beyond feeling human again; this was something entirely new and unlike anything I've experienced before. I wanted to stay there forever, but my thirst got the best of me.

I tried to gently wriggle out of Chuck's embrace, though it proved a challenge as he held me tightly. I began to carefully pry his fingers from my shirt, but they tightened and he quickly pulled me back against him. When he emitted a breathy grunt, I knew I had woken him up.

I squirmed in the boy's grip until I had turned around enough to see him. He was breathing unevenly now through his teeth, and he drove half his face deeply into my chest. To my surprise, he seemed upset.

"Hey, are you okay?" I whispered, grazing his messy red hair with my fingertips.

A quiet moan rippled in his throat, as if he were in pain. He curled against me and sobbed softly, whispering: "Mama…why can't you get up? No…Mama…I wanna see Darius. Take me to see Darius." There was a long pause before Chuck began to shiver, causing my body to vibrate. "Mama…wake up…"

He was having another episode, but this one was different. It wasn't violent and fearful—it was forlorn and tragic. And I was sure that I was hearing a memory of his mother's death. It never occurred to me that Chuck actually witnessed his mother dying, and the very thought frightened me. I never even heard how she died, or how old he was when it happened.

"Don't go, don't go…" Chuck fidgeted as he cried into my shirt, and I couldn't tell if he was talking to me or if he still trapped in the memory.

"Chuck, I'm right here," I whispered reassuringly.

He craned his head slowly to look at me, his eyes dull and flooded with tears. "Don't go."

"I'm thirsty," I explained. "I need to go to the kitchen and get some plasma juice. You can come with me, if you want."

Chuck shot me a curious glance, then eased his way to a sitting position atop the bed, but he didn't let go of me. His head drooped and his cheeks became filled with a pinkish tone, as if he suddenly became shy. As surprisingly adorable as it was, I had no idea what was on his mind or what he was trying to do. But then he balled his fists around wads of fabric in my shirt and began fidgeting with them. Just as he did this, he muttered in a barely audible whisper: "You can…you can d-drink from…m-me."

I frowned at the sudden idea. "Huh? Drink from you? Are you sure?"

"Please," he begged, tugging at my shirt.

"Easy, easy," I said, wrapping my hands around his and urging his fists off my shirt.

Chuck loosened his grip and released my shirt with ease once I had a firm hold on him. But then he yanked one hand free and brought it up to my face. His frail fingers grazed my cheek before his thumb penetrated my lips and slipped inside my mouth. I was frozen with confusion as Chuck rubbed his thumb across my teeth, and then he slowly closed his grip around my cheek and pulled me toward him. This is when I regained enough of my senses to grab his wrist and put an end to his actions. He seemed perplexingly eager to offer me his nutrients, and I wanted to oppose out of fear of hurting him. But how could I say no? I hadn't fed off of a Sim in awhile, and the packs of plasma juice were beginning to taste rather gross.

"You're really sure about this, huh?"

When Chuck nodded quickly, I shrugged off my confusion and leaned in, pulling his shirt collar to the side. I could hear him exhale against my ear, and he sounded so contented. I decided that if I did it quickly that it would be less painful, so I plunged my fangs into his neck and drank quickly. I was taken aback yet again by how delicious his plasma tasted—it was so sweet with a much more vibrant flavor than anyone else who had offered themselves to me. However, I was able to keep my common sense just enough to know when enough was enough. Chuck was breathing rapidly the entire time, so I detached from him the second I had finished.

I leaned back with content, having not been so satisfied after a feeding in a long time. "Man, that's good. Thanks, Chuck."

Chuck stared at me expectantly, as if he wanted me to do something, and then his stomach growled.

I stretched slowly and rolled out of bed. "Come on," I told Chuck. "Let's get you some breakfast."

Chuck scrambled out of the bedsheets and followed close behind me. I led him to the kitchen and opened up the fridge. There were still some leftover pancakes from the previous morning, so I set them on the table for him.

As Chuck wolfed down his breakfast, I took notice of the clock. My heartbeat quickened when I realized how late it was, and that I was supposed to return to work after my extended weekend. My boss had told me to take as much time as I needed, but I couldn't bear to miss another day of work. Being a Workaholic and everything, it was hard on my nerves when I missed work.

"Oh man," I muttered. "Chuck, I have to go to work."

"Huh?" Chuck squeaked.

I had already made my way down the hall and began throwing my pajamas off to get dressed into my chef's uniform. Chuck dashed after me and leaned against the doorframe, confused and frightened.

"Don't worry," I said quickly, making my way to the door. "I'll only be gone a few hours."

"No…" Chuck began to whimper. "Maria…she's gone! Where's Maria?"

I inhaled sharply. As much as it pained me to hear Chuck regressing back into his dark thoughts, I had no time to help him at that time. I was going to be late for work as was, and I had to think of something quick. I gently took hold of Chuck's arms and tried to comfort him. "Hey, it's okay. Maria will turn up eventually. Maybe you can look for her while I'm gone."

Chuck didn't even seem to hear me. "Mama…wake up…Father, she won't wake up…"

I sighed, then wrapped my arms around him in a gentle embrace. "Please don't shut me out like this."

"Don't go…" he squeaked, about to cry.

"It's just for a few hours," I reassured. "Look…" I detached myself from him and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, flicking on the TV. "Why don't you watch some TV until I get back?"

I felt like I had no time for a response, so I set him down on the couch and hurried out the door. In retrospect, it probably would have been less of a hassle to just take Chuck with me. It was clear that he didn't want me to leave him by himself, and I was expecting to return home to a destroyed apartment like the first time. But at the time, I couldn't think of a plan fast enough. I didn't know what I'd do with Chuck at work—I couldn't let him hang out in the kitchen, and I didn't think it was a good idea to keep him in the restaurant for that long to begin with. I couldn't imagine what would happen if he came into contact with total strangers, and what Kai had said the day before secretly frightened me. What if the media was a huge issue? Would Chuck be at risk? Would it really ruin the reputation that I had built up for so long?

These fears are what kept me from taking Chuck with me. When I finally did arrive at work, I apologized for being late and rushed to work in the kitchen. The entire time I was in a daze, my movements frantic as I tried to cook the dishes fast enough that I might catch a break to get my thoughts in order. But alas, it was a busy day at the restaurant and the orders piled up behind my back. As the day wore on, I grew steadily more panicked, and I wanted more than anything to return home to Chuck.

I can't really explain it, but whenever I was away from Chuck, I always became so nervous. I thought about him constantly, trying to battle these confusing feelings that only seemed to float to the surface when he wasn't around. It was almost as if Chuck was becoming a biological need, or an addiction of some kind. Sometimes I wondered if he felt the same way, and therefore he was reluctant to be separated from me.

The minute my shift was over, I rushed out the door. By this point I felt incredibly antsy, and all I wanted to do was to go home. When I exited the restaurant, I saw Kai sprawled across the bench as usual, his bare feet propped up on the armrest.

"Steve!" he barked. "Back at work, I see."

"Yeah…" I muttered.

"Did you finally get rid of the alley kid?" he asked.

I became irritated. "He has a name, you know."

"Well, did you?" he asked, pretty much ignoring me.

"Ugh," I snarled. "You're being such a jerk, you know that? Ever since I first took him in, all you've done is basically ask me to get rid of him."

"I'm trying to look out for you," he protested, standing up from the bench. "I worry for your reputation."

"Why?" I demanded. "What business is it of yours?"

"You're my friend," he said. "I try to look out for you."

"Well, I try to look out for the 'alley kid,'" I retorted. "What about him? Does he just not matter?"

"I never said that," he argued.

"That's been your entire attitude the past few days," I complained. "Can't you have some sympathy? Can't you understand what he's been through in life?"

He sighed. "I want to understand, Steve. I really do. But if the media gets—"

"Screw the media!" I barked. "We're talking about Chuck here. He witnessed his mother's death, his father was abusive, and he's lived on the streets for years without so much as an optimistic look directed toward him. I'm probably a godsend to him at this point. And if you take one look at a Sim whose life was filled with nothing but trauma and rush to call him mentally retarded, then I'm not the one here who needs to worry about his reputation."

Kai fell silent, his face expressionless. I angrily turned around and got into my car, then sped off into the night.

When I opened my apartment door, everything was eerily quiet except for the TV, which had been left on. I wandered into the room, but Chuck was nowhere in plain sight. However, as I wandered deeper inside, I spotted him. The window was wide open, and he sat perched on the sill. My heart dropped like a rock. I knew he was going to jump, to plummet twenty-two stories to his death.

He slipped. I screamed.