A/N: The more reviews, the more people look at the story.

Disclaimer: See chapter one.


Secrets

Chapter Three: Drip

...

Drip

Drip

Drip

The shower faucet drips.

It falls on me.

Slides.

I soak up the cold.

Colder

Colder

Colder

It fills me to the brim.

And it spills.

Down the drain.

Drip

Drip

Drip

Down the drain.

So it's been a week since I've talked to shy girl. After our little lunch encounter, she just mumbled a 'thank you' and walked away. Why did she say thank you? I'm nothing special to be thanked for. Really, I'm not. Even as I sit here, with another rubber ball I bought, throwing it against the wall, I know I'm definitely not worth it. I feel like I'm not worth the trouble, not even the words formed by her lips.

Nothing.

Why do the tears fall? Why does my heart have to break when I see my parents and brother? Why do they not have to care? Why do I keep hurting myself? Why? Why?

Slice

Serenity.

Slice

Shades of red.

Slice

Cry.

"Booze," Jake says. "I want more booze." And I give him a dirty look. "Lil," he slurs. "Can you get me some more booze? I like—I like really want some." He leans against the wall. "So, uh. Would ya...would ya get some for me?" I flinch as he steps close to me. "Lil, you're my buddy, right?" I don't nod. "Good." His head droops. "S-see ya later, sis." And he stumbles off out of my room. I shake my head. What happened to him? No, I know what happened to him, my parents happened. But what's the point about thinking about changing the unchangable?

There is no point. And yet it's always on my mind—the inevitable. Dear God, I need a distraction. What do I usually do? What's that thing I'm obsessed with...? No, not cutting. I did that already today. I don't want to drain all of my blood out. But that other thing...the thing I wish I could do. The thing that like half of the world listens to...Music! Wow. I'm slow.

I shuffle through my drawers and find my iPod. I grab it and collapse on my bed. I don't even turn the electronic on, I just stare at the celling. It's white, and it seems—lonely? Wait, no. That's ridiculous.

I need that distraction.

I press the power button and shuffle through until I find the song Mayday People In Planes. One of my favorites.

The sounds invade my ears.

Getting nothing done
I'm getting nothing done
Failing all my friends
And I'm failing everyone

I love your stranglehold
I need your stranglehold
Just squeeze until I go cold

Help me! Help me!
You know me better than I knew myself
Mayday! Mayday!
Send angels, I'm a danger to myself

...and it goes on.

I love this song, simply. They lyrics are so plain in truth that I can't help but relate myself to them. Couldn't someone just squeeze me until I go cold? Couldn't they just take me away from this—all of this? All of this crap, I don't need it. Someone save me, someone fucking help me! Send fucking angels or whatever you want. Just get me out of this hell-hole. Someone help me.

Save me.

Beep!

Pause

Beep!

Pause

Beeeeeeeep!

"-Shut the fuck up, Oliver! I'm coming!" I shout out the door. Of all the days it chooses to blizzard, today has to be the day. Thankfully, Oliver's letting me catch a ride with him—except he's not so nice about it. Which isn't even like him, either. He's usually this really sensitive guy, and if I didn't know it, I just might think he's gay. But, no. He's hit on me before. That's a road he definitely doesn't want to go down again.

"-Lilly. If you don't get into this car in the next ten seconds, I'm leaving." He honks his horn. Again. I shut my eyes, closed. Again. I notice the flaws in my house as I walk out and the slight embarrassment I feel when I know that Oliver's seen them all. Again.

I walk out the door, ashamed.

Again

"The answer is the square root of five...but that kind of drags on forever," Shy girl Miley, says.

"Very good, Miley," Mr. Frost acknowledges.

"Yeah..." she mutters, and sinks low in her seat. So, she's in my...wait, this is science. Why are we doing math in science?

What?

"Okay, class," he starts, and grabs a stack of papers. "That's enough calculating for today. Do these worksheets for homework, they've got more practice problems on them." He offers a stack to a poor soul to pass around.

"Mr. Frost." I shoot my hand up. "Why do we have to do math in science?"

He leans his head up, almost smugly. It's like he doesn't know that his nose hair is just right there, staring at you. "Why do we question our teachers?"

Touché

I scrunch my nose. "Uh, you answered my question with another question."

"That's the point." He crosses his arms. "Figure it out, you're a smart girl, Lillian."

Right...

I think I need to crack my knuckles. This silence is too quiet, it's so quiet, that it's loud. Does that make sense? Does it have to? Oh whatever.

I think I'll crack them anyway.

(insert knuckle crack noise)

No, that didn't make it any less awkward. In fact, I think I just got a look of disgust from brown-haired math savvy Miley. My bad.

She's sitting with me again. We have our own little table at the end of the cafeteria. It's quite deserted, actually. Except for those kids smoking over there. But they don't really matter, much. Though Miley seems to be oddly uncomfortable around them. Well, I've never actually seen her comfortable. She's just so...tense all the time. I almost want to give her a massage—only to relieve her tension, of course.

"Th-thanks for letting me sit with you, again," she mutters quietly, her brown curls cloud me from seeing her face.

I raise my eyebrow. "I don't get it. Why do you keep thanking me?"

She seems taken back. "W-well, I don't know."

Sigh

"Well, I'm just a person. I don't see why you need to thank me." I lean back in my seat, casually.

"Okay, I won't thank you anymore," she mumbles. Well, now I feel bad. She's like a sad little puppy. I've always wanted a puppy, but for some reason, I think it would die in my house. It would drink some wretched alcohol and boom, dead. I wonder if Miley has any animals?

"Uh..." I grind my teeth. "Where are you from?"

Miley looks up, a little confused. "T-Tennessee."

"Wow, that's a long move. Why would you want to move to this boring ol' Oregon town?"

"It's uh, complicated..."

Complicated, eh? Well, her personal life is her personal life. It's not like I'm just jumping on tables shouting that my family consists of alcoholic's...

"What's there to do around here, you know, for fun?" she asks, biting her lip at the end. Fun? There is no 'fun' here. The only thing is parties, and well, I'm not such a fan of those, considering my almost mental breakdown last week. It never occured to me, but that party was on school night. That's unusual...

"There is no fun," I say flat out. "It's work, and then it snows. If you like snow, then, good for you. But I don't, it's like wearing weights around your shoes. It's always slowing you down." I shiver.

"Oh." She blinks.

"Yeah..."

"That's too bad."

I scoff. "Tell me about it."

...

The door slams, and I hear feet scuffing along the floorboards. Slurred speech is muttered, and bottles are clanking. I cover my ears, blocking out the sounds. The sound of clanking bottles, it's like a call time. It's like a due date, or a signal to go to war.

There will be gunfire.

And eventually

Death

...

One

Two

Three

...Nothing...

Okay, maybe I'll count backwards.

Three

Two

One

...Nothing...

I'm waiting for the sound of someone throwing up.

It's only a matter of time.

After all, it's my house.

There's three drunken people, it's amazing the bills get paid. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the power went out at some point. Do my parents even go to work? I haven't seen them. Maybe we're living on our savings...?

The next time one of them is sober, I'll be sure to ask them. But who knows when that will be?

Because all they do is drink.

And it drips.

Drip

Drip

Drip

It drips down their throat.

And the tears. They

Drip

Drip

Drip

Down my face.

It's only a matter of time before I run out.