Sorry, Charlie

by CHOOSELIFE

Third story in the Charlie series. This story picks up two and a half years after Drake's last overdose. Ricardo has forced him to clean up his act, but still Drake can't seem to get away from his past. Everyday is a fight to stay clean and now that he doesn't have his favorite red pills, his depression and anxiety are just as hard to kick as his drug addiction.

2. The Relapse Chronicles

Ricardo rapidly banged his fists against the door. If Drake wasn't here, than he had no idea where else to look. He had texted him when he saw that he wasn't in bed, but he didn't think much of it. However, when he didn't return his phone calls the next day, he'd started getting worried and called Clementine, who said that she hadn't seen him. He feared that his friend had relapsed, but he allowed him one full day before he went into full-blown panic. When he didn't show up to work on Thursday, he knew that something was wrong.

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door whipped open to a "Jesus, what the fuck?!"

"Where is he?" Ricardo pushed past Tad. "Drake?"

"The fuck?"

"Drake!" Ricardo searched each room, with Tad protesting the whole time.

"Get the fuck out of my house!"

When his search came up short, Ricardo confronted him. "Tell me where he's hiding."

"I can assure you that that lousy bitch isn't here."

"Excuse me? What did you call him?"

"Did I fucking stutter?"

"I thought you two talked everything out."

"Is that what he told you?" Tad chuckled. "Wow, is there anyone that slut won't lie to?"

"You didn't...make amends?"

Tad seemed to be enjoying his genuine confusion a bit too much. Seeing Drake hurt someone else made him feel much better. That dumb little shit was burning the only bridge he had left, and thanks to all the karma gods, Tad was getting to watch it first hand.

"I can't believe he would lie to me," Ricardo said to himself.

"Hey, welcome to the club."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Tad held up his hands in surrender, but he wore a giant smirk on his face.

"What did you say to him?!"

"I told him the truth. I told him that everyone would be better off if he killed himself."

"You son of bitch!" Ricardo gave him a hard shove, then stormed out the front door.

---

When Tad found his way to that familiar clearing where he and Drake had "made love" for the first time, he saw that, like expected, Drake was there. The shivering boy was sobbing into his knees. There were at least ten open boxes of cough medicine lying around him. Tad accidentally stepped on one of the plastic packages and a loud crunch! emanated from it. Drake's head whipped up at the sudden noise, but when he saw who it was, his face contorted and he hid his head again.

"What, you've come to gloat?"

"As a matter of fact, I have."

"Go ahead. There's nothing you could possibly say now that could make me feel shittier than I already do."

Tad shrugged. "I'd like to give it a try." He looked at the empty medicine boxes again. "You took all of these just now?"

Drake didn't answer. However, he'd only taken three. The others were ones that he had taken since he'd left two nights ago. "How did you find me?"

"Your friend came barging into my house an hour ago thinking that I was hiding you."

Drake covered his dripping eyes with shame. "God, I really fucked up."

"No kidding."

"I can't believe I did this again."

Tad shrugged. "But it's no surprise, right? I mean, you had to have known... You couldn't possibly have believed that you were capable of staying clean forever."

Nine fucking months. That's how long he had been sober. All of that progress, in the blink of an eye, had vanished, and starting over seemed like too hard of a feat to take on again. He didn't want to be this way, and he knew he needed help, but he couldn't go back to Ricardo. He couldn't face him again after this. Who else did he have in this world?

Hoping that there was still some deeply-buried bit of compassion left in Tad's heart, he said, "Could you...maybe give me a ride? Help me get into a rehab?"

Three years ago, Drake would've shut down this very same notion. He could remember the countless times that his family had begged him to get professional help and, each time, he'd refused. Now he was desperate.

"I'm not gonna do that, Drake."

Despite his disappointment, he wasn't all that shocked. Why would Tad help him after he'd not only broken his heart, but also stomped it into the mud afterwards? However, it didn't make him any less upset.

"I really need help. I can't stop using."

What he needed was Ricardo — someone willing to put his own life on hold, someone willing to put bars on his window, someone willing to spend every waking moment with him glued to his hip, someone willing to listen to his constant negativity and whining, someone willing to sacrifice time and energy to force him to clean up because he knew he couldn't convince himself to do it on his own.

Tad's knees cracked as he pushed himself onto his feet with a huff. He brushed off his Khakis. "You know where to find me if you need money and I still have almost a full package of all those boxes of pills from the dark web."

Drake dropped his head between his knees to hide the disgust that was plainly plastered on his face.

"I can't help you with anything else." He started making his way back from the direction he'd come, then he said over his shoulder, "Better find some shelter. Looks like it's gonna rain soon."

Just as Tad walked away, Drake felt a drop of water land on his forearm.

---

A bell jingled when Drake opened the glass door as if the sound of his wet shoes squeaking against the floor wasn't loud enough to alert the motel receptionist of his arrival. He walked up to the counter and, although he was dripping water all over the floor, the employee didn't seem to care. Drake peeled away the bangs that were glued to his forehead and pulled at the shirt that was plastered to his skin, causing a suction noise.

"Can I get a room for the night?" He sniffled, then wiped away the rainwater residing under his nose. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket, then passed his debit card and driver's license over. When a large notebook was pushed towards him, he picked up the pen that was chained to the desktop and signed in. Moments later, he received his cards back.

The receptionist handed him a key that had the number nine on it. "Check out is at nine-thirty."

Drake thanked him, pushed open the glass door, then made his way to his room. Since the pathway leading to all the doors of each room kept him dry via the overhead roof, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He was so cold that his fingers were shaking and the rainfall gave off so much wind that his nimble hands had trouble flicking the lighter. Finally, the end of the stick caught fire with a quiet crackle, the sound of which was drowned out by the storm. Drake let go of his breath slowly as he leaned his head back, then bent his knees with his back sliding against the wall until he was squatting. He took another drag, then wiped away some of the wetness on his face despite the fact that his soaked hands made it counterproductive.

He was fully aware that he could've just as easily made his way to a rehabilitation center instead of some seedy motel, but he knew he couldn't get clean unless someone forced him to. Also just as easily, he could phone Ricardo, but he was so disappointed in himself and he knew Ricardo would be, too. He didn't think that he would ever be able to face him again. He knew that his friend must be super pissed. All that time clean — and now he'd blown it. He couldn't start again. No way. It was virtually impossible.

He took another drag, then let go of a shaky breath. He felt so anxious. This was his second night in a motel room. That, along with the cough medicine, cigarettes and his dollar menu diet, had taken up a majority of the cash that he'd had in the bank. He knew that this would be his last night sleeping with the luxuries of a bed and blanket and roof over his head. He had to stop wasting cash on motel rooms and instead make sure that he had enough to keep a steady supply of Triple C's.

Drake hadn't heard the sound of room number eight's door open over the loudly pouring rain that relentlessly beat down on the pebbles and stones making up the parking lot, but when he saw a man walk by, his eyes followed him to a nice-looking car — a newer model and shiny even under the dim moonlight. It definitely stuck out in this particular part of the city, and the man looked just as out-of-place. He wore a nice suit and had an expensive gold Rolex on his wrist. He quickly got into the driver's seat to hide from the rain. Drake was blinded by the sudden flash of headlights, but soon, the car was gone, leaving him in the shadows again.

"Hey there," a seductive female voice said.

Drake turned towards the room that the man had just left and saw a woman standing there. She had messy, tangled, long brown hair. Her thin, chapped lips, discolored teeth, sunken cheeks and dark eyes immediately gave her away as an addict — most likely methamphetamines based on the sound of her teeth grinding. She looked close to sixty, but was probably in her thirties or forties. Basically, she was Drake from the future if he continued down the road he was on.

The young man was quick to turn his head when he saw that her robe stood open and she had no clothes on underneath. "Hey," he said back, keeping his eyes on the ground out of respect.

Seeing his discomfort, she tied a lose knot in the robe, then moved closer and rubbed his shoulder with her hand. Her middle and pointer fingers walked across his skin, up his neck, and then she brushed his hair away so that she could see his face. "How about some company?"

"I'm good. Thanks."

She was still touching him when she squatted in front of him, her robe hanging open despite the half-assed knot. Now he made eye contact to avoid looking at her breasts.

"You're a handsome one, aren't you?" She bit her bright red bottom lip with something that sounded like a moan. "I'll do you real good. Come on. It'll be worth your while."

"I don't have any cash on me." He knew that would get her to go away.

She frowned, then sighed. "What a shame." She pushed herself back up, then made her way back to her room. "What a damn shame."

Drake tossed out his cigarette butt, then stood and used his key to open the door to room number nine. He stepped inside, then flipped on the light switch. The bulb was dim, but Drake saw a full-sized bed covered with a stained comforter, a television that looked older than he was with a missing remote controller, and the largest roach he'd ever seen climbing up the peeling wallpaper. He closed the door, then immediately went over to the heater and flipped it on. He cupped his hands over his mouth, exhaled hot air into them, then rubbed them together, hoping that the room would warm up soon.

The young man made his way to the bathroom. He wasted no time before he pushed back the shower curtain and turned on the hot water. He stripped out of his clothes, then hung them out flat over the curtain rod so that they could dry out. He grabbed a towel and washcloth and tossed those over, too, then he stepped into the tub, allowing the scalding water to warm his shivering body.

---

Drake sat nude on the corner of the bed. His clothes were long from dry, so he'd probably have to sleep without them tonight. It was pretty pathetic that he didn't even have a quarter for the dryer in the laundry room. He took comfort in the heated room as he flipped through the channels on the tv. The picture was bad and had black and white static on every screen and the sound was warped, but Drake hated the silence. It only reminded him of how lonely he was.

As if that wasn't enough, as he turned to the next channel, he saw a familiar face. It was his step-father Walter giving out the weekly weather report. He stopped and listened to the sound of his voice. God, Drake missed him so much. He wanted nothing more than to be able to go back home and give him and the rest of his family a giant hug. If he had not of fucked up so badly, they would've been delighted to help him get into a rehab and he wouldn't even have fought them this time. He absolutely hated himself for relapsing — hated himself for letting things get to this point again. It wouldn't be long now until he became a twin to the lady in room eight next door. He had been there before and he knew that he would soon be desperate enough to go back again.

"And now back to you Sandra." And just like that, Walter disappeared from his life once again.

It wasn't until later when he was trying to go to bed that he realized he hadn't even heard what the weather would be like tomorrow. He prayed for sun. Just once, he hoped his luck would turn around.

Although he knew it was a horrible idea, Drake picked up the room phone and dialed his girlfriend's number. She didn't usually answer strange numbers, so he didn't hold his breath.

However, she did answer. "Hello?"

"Babe?" His voice came out meekly because he knew that he was going to be yelled at.

"Drake?! Oh my God! Where the hell are you?!" She sounded more worried than angry, which was shocking because it was Clementine after all.

"I'm so sorry."

"Where are you?"

Drake looked around the dingy hotel room. Everything was covered in dust, the room smelled musty, and he was pretty sure he saw a mouse scurry across the room earlier. Similar to his life, it was a broken, worn-down mess. Just like this room, Drake had rats in his body, and they were relentlessly gnawing at the chunks of his brain, destroying everything he had learned about working towards sobriety, cherishing his relationships and bettering his life.

"Baby? Just tell me where you are, and I'll come get you."

"I love you so much." He sniffled. "I'm just so sorry," was all he said before he hung up the phone.

He couldn't handle talking to her because he felt so guilty, but he wanted her to know that he was okay and safe and she would relay the message to Ricardo as well.

He felt like shit as he rested his head against the pillow and pulled the comforter under his neck. He knew that he was hurting everyone who had ever loved him by doing what he was doing, but he couldn't get himself to stop. His life was an absolute train wreck and he knew it. He let go of his breath, then reached up and turned off the lamp, leaving him with only the light from the television and the buzz coming from the heater...and moments later, the constant banging of bedposts against the wall accompanied by his neighbor's loud moans and vulgar words. However, this didn't keep him awake. He was so tired from having to walk around the city all day that he wasn't even going to get high tonight. For the first time in a while actually, he slept soundly through the night.

---

(1 week later)

Drake was laying on the hard ground in his usual spot at the park. He had been awake for quite a while, but he was out of drugs, out of cigarettes and out of cash, so he found himself remaining unmoving despite the fact that he needed to figure out his next move. He was cold and hungry, having not eaten in...how many days has it been? He hadn't showered since that night at the motel room, so even he couldn't stand the smell of his own putrid stench even though, since it was early December, his nose was constantly draining and he was running a fever on and off. Snot was dripping across his cheek. He wiped it away, then rubbed it off on his filthy, ragged jeans and sniffled.

Here're your options, Drake. You can either continue living like this, but since you're out of cash, you'll have to resort to thievery, begging and your all-time favorite, prostitution. You'll get to keep Charlie, get some food in your stomach, and maybe even afford a place to sleep if you really put yourself out there. If you work at it, things could actually be pretty okay. You and Charlie could live your twisted, drug-addled fairytale dreams together.

Or you can make up your mind and get clean right now: go to rehab, clean up, get a job, start over. Very difficult, but still achievable. You don't want to be like this forever. You need to get help. If you check yourself in, you won't have to worry about food or shelter or warmth. It's all automatic. Plus, maybe taking the initiative to sober up again can convince Ricardo and Clementine to forgive your ungrateful and undeserving dumb ass. God, you've really screwed this one up.

Drake sneezed, then groaned in a whiny manner at the pain in his pounding head and aching body. He didn't want to move, but he knew he would have to whether he chose to go to rehab or to Walmart to re-up. He pushed himself to his feet, his stiff bones popping left and right. "Mmm..." He took a step, beginning his long and slow journey to either the new beginning of his life or the beginning of the end of it.

However, around an hour later, he found himself at neither Walmart, nor rehab. He looked up at the familiar house with hope, then dragged his exhausted feet across the yard and up to the front door. He pressed on the bell.

Ding dong!

Moments later, he saw the blurred image of a woman through the glass. She looked just as confused as he was.

She unlocked the door, then opened it only by a couple inches. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Um..." Drake had his arms wrapped around himself, which made him look tinier than he already was. "Who are you?" He wasn't rude about it — just genuinely at a loss.

"I'm sorry?"

"Is this..." He looked around. Surely he had the right house. I mean, it wasn't that long ago. "My mom lives here."

The lady squinted her eyes, then shook her head. "No..."

"I don't...I don't understand." He was getting closer and closer to tears by the second.

"Honey, who's at the door?" Suddenly, a man appeared and opened the door even further to see for himself. "Can we help you?"

"He said his mom lives here," his wife whispered to him quietly.

The man immediately dubbed him as a junkie because who in their right mind would knock on a stranger's door at almost six in the morning? "I'm sorry. You've got the wrong address."

Drake lifted himself up on the tips of his toes to see over their shoulders. "Please, is she in there? I'm her son. She may have mentioned me. Her name is Audrey."

Unsure of what sort of behavior the young man was capable of, the husband stepped closer and pushed him back with one hand. "I would like you to leave our property."

"Mom?" he called. "Mom?"

"I'm gonna need you to leave now before we call the police," the man warned.

Drake backed off at this. He looked absolutely heartbroken, which seemed to lower the scared wife's guard a bit. "She's really not here?" his voice cracked.

"No one lives here by that name."

"We just moved in about three months ago," the wife added. She no longer saw Drake as a threat when she noticed the tears in his eyes.

"She didn't leave, like, a phone number or address or anything?"

"No, sorry," the man said.

His wife added, "And the previous owners were a young gay couple. Maybe she had given it to them. I'm not sure, but they didn't leave a forwarding address either."

Drake was crushed. He apologized for being such a bother, then turned and made his way back up the street. How could they do that? How could they just abandon him like this? Now he would really never see them again. They could be anywhere in the world right now, and he would never know. He knew that he couldn't have gone with them, but to know where they were would've been nice. At least, it wouldn't have felt like they were hiding from him.

Well, one thing was for certain. Rehab was definitely out of the question.

---

Drake felt so sick to his stomach that he was resorting to this again, but he had no other choice. He was heartbroken, and he just wanted to get fucked up and forget about the betrayal from his family. Unfortunately, he needed a little bit of cash for that. He sniffled, then wiped away the remaining tears and took a breath. Stop being a bitch. No one finds whiny ass babies attractive. He nervously combed through his hair with his fingertips, unsuccessfully trying to make himself look hot or cute or handsome or whatever the hell was wanted of him. He knew he was a fucking mess. Why anyone would possibly want him when he was like this was completely at a loss to him, but he was just thankful that they did. He reached up to press the doorbell again, but before he did, it opened. Standing before Drake was another boy close to his age. He was clearly very gay and, even clearer, very addicted to meth.

Drake's face expressed his confusion. "Um, I'm..."

The boy smiled as he looked Drake up and down with what felt like x-ray vision. He wore a look of satisfaction and a mischievous grin. "Drake, right? Tad said you'd show up sooner or later."

"I..."

"Come on in, sweetie." The boy opened the door wider and allowed him to step inside. "Babe, he's here!" he called.

Drake was immediately uncomfortable, and it showed in the way he presented himself — completely silent with his arms wrapped around his thin body.

"I'm honestly surprised you held out for so long. We both had our bets. Obviously, I lost." He held out his hand. "I'm Kyle by the way. I'm basically the replacement you. Sometimes he even likes to call me Drake when we're fucking."

Drake couldn't tell if he was just super talkative and blunt like Rhinestone or if he had recently used meth. Probably both. For some reason, his presence made the boy second guess his decision to come here. Despite the fact that Kyle was probably here for the same thing, Drake was embarrassed to be seen this way by this stranger. He'd thought that it would've just been himself and Tad.

Speaking of Tad... "Drake," he said as he rounded the corner. "Jesus. It's early as hell."

"Yeah, I just..." He swallowed. If he wasn't so desperate, he would turn around and leave.

As the man stepped closer to him, his nose turned up. "Christ, you reek!"

Drake hung his head with shame. "Sorry."

"Kyle, why don't you fix up a bath for our guest?" To Drake, he said, "We'll wash your clothes for you."

"Come on, sweetie." Kyle grabbed the boy's hand, then led him into the bathroom. "Go ahead and undress." He turned the nozzle, then held his hand under the freezing bath water.

Not wanting to disobey for fear of pissing either of them off and being kicked out without drug money, Drake began stripping off his dirty, ragged clothes.

Kyle looked in his direction. "How long did you stay with Tad?"

"Not long," Drake answered quietly. "You?"

"Four or five months. Something like that. Honestly, I don't even know anymore." It made since that his days ran together because the meth kept him awake sometimes for a week at a time. "You got your scar covered," he noticed.

"Um, what?"

"Tad told me about...you know."

Drake pulled off his underwear, then stood fully exposed in front of the stranger.

"Don't even worry about it. I was raped when I was younger, too." He added, "By my uncle, though."

"Oh," was all Drake could think of to say. He wrapped his arms around himself once again.

Kyle noticed this, so he grabbed a bottle of bubble bath and poured it into the water, then gave Drake an understanding smile. "To help you relax."

Fucking bubble bath? What a joke. Nothing short of Charlie could calm Drake's nerves.

His host had a keen eye, and nothing seemed to get past him — most likely because he used to be where Drake was. "Look, you kinda need to get rid of that wounded puppy dog face before you get out. Tad's not gonna like fucking you if you don't look into it." He shook the water and bubbles off of his hand when the tub was filled up with warm, soapy water, then he stood. "I've got something that could help. You know, down there. You've just gotta work at looking like you wanna be here up here." He placed his hand on the young man's cheek, then offered another kind smile.

When he was gone, taking Drake's repulsive clothes with him, Drake got into the tub. He let go of a shaky breath as he allowed the water to warm him and slow his heart rate. This was the same tub that he had tried to kill himself in. In retrospect, slitting his wrists probably wasn't the best way to go. Hanging would've been much faster, and he probably would've succeeded with that one. He was just so scared of drowning and being strangled, like his father had so often done to him.

It wasn't too late to call all of this off. He could always leave. Despite how pushy he was, Tad would never grab him and hold him down and force him to do anything. But if he left, what then? He'd be right where he started, with no cash, no drugs — nothing.

Going back to Ricardo just seemed like such a bad option. He knew that he could. He knew that Ricardo would always accept him back with a warm hug, but he didn't deserve this. The man had sacrificed so much for Drake just to go and fuck it all up in one night. He couldn't bear the guilt of ever forcing Ricardo to do it all again and again and again because — let's face it — who's to say that this would be his last relapse? He had seen the toll that his addiction had taken on his family and he couldn't ever ever ever put someone else through that. He couldn't let himself become a burden. If he wanted to clean up, he had to do it alone, and if he didn't want to clean up, well, he had to do that alone, too.

Just get up and walk out the fucking door. It's not that hard. At least you'll still have your dignity. However, he felt like he couldn't move. It was like Charlie was sitting in that tub with him, holding him still like Tad had all those years ago during his failed suicide attempt.

Minutes later, the door opened and Kyle stepped inside. He handed Drake a pill. "Viagra," he said at the young man's questioning look.

He had never needed to take it before, but he wasn't sure if his depression and disgust would let him get hard, so he took the pill and thanked the host, then downed it with the glass of water that was offered to him.

"Don't tell Tad. Nothing against him. He's just not my type. You know how it is. I can tell you don't play for his team." Kyle held up a box that contained a bit of meth he had just crushed up, asking if Drake wanted any.

Drake would've taken any drug he could get his hands on, so he accepted. Kyle carefully poured the powder onto the edge of the tub. Drake leaned over and pressed in one nostril, then followed the line with his other while inhaling. Immediately, a pain so immense hit him that he felt like his skull was being cracked open with an icepick. He clutched it. How could he have forgotten about the pain snorting meth caused? Thankfully, it was gone mere seconds later. He wiped his nose and sniffled.

"You alright?"

He nodded. "Thanks. You're really nice."

"Hey, don't worry about it. People like us need to stick together. It's all any of us really have left." He snorted his own line, then offered a smile. His compassion led Drake to feel like he could open up to him.

"I don't know how I ended up here again. I was almost a year clean, and then I just fucking blew it."

"I haven't been over two months clean since I started using meth two and a half years ago. At least you're not on meth. I've never heard of people getting addicted this hard on Triple C's, though."

"I know. It's so fucking pathetic. There's no bad withdrawals or anything. It's literally all in my head, and I know it, but I just can't stop. That's one of the reasons I don't like going to NA. Everyone there is on heroin or meth or coke or oxy or some shit. They go through actual painful withdrawals and the drug really fucks them up chemically, but here I am whoring myself out for a two-dollar box of cough medicine. It's embarrassing." Maybe the meth was kicking in. That's probably why he was talking so much.

"Maybe you should think of it more as a blessing that that's your drug of choice. When you're ready to quit, all you have to do is convince your mind — not that I'm saying it's easy by any means. Trust me. I get it. But at least you don't have to deal with the physical agony that I'm pretty sure God created on purpose just to punish us junkies."

"I'm convinced that God hates us and that's why he put the shit here in the first place. Even when I'm sober, the littlest thing can send me spiraling out of control: a drug dream, a light that's either too dim or too bright, the taste of certain sodas, driving by fucking Walmart. Just tiny little things that don't seem to bother normal people at all. It's like no matter what, I can never get away from it, and I don't know if I can learn to co-exist in a world with drugs my whole life without using them."

Half an hour went by of the two non-stop talk, talk, talking before Tad finally pushed open the door. "Are you two done sucking each other's dicks because mine is waiting?"

Drake suddenly couldn't remember how long he had been sitting here and what all he had told Kyle. "Sorry," he said.

When Tad had disappeared down the hall, Kyle rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you alone to finish up. Babe gets cranky when he doesn't have his morning blow." He used his hand to imitate a blowjob and pressed his tongue against the side of his mouth with each "tug."

---

Drake had bathed, showered (because the bath water had been too dirty to wash his hair in), combed through his tangles, and brushed his teeth (with someone else's toothbrush). He was ready, but still not presentable. He kept staring at himself in the mirror, trying to get that "wounded puppy" look off of his face, but instead getting caught up in wondering who the hell he was and why he was doing this.

Fuck, Drake, stop being a little bitch. You chose to use again. You chose to let it get to this point. You chose to come here. You chose to still be here even though you could've left at any moment, so man the fuck up and do what you came here to do.

Never in a million years would Drake ever had guessed he would be here, standing in front of a mirror practicing the facial expressions he would use during sex and seduction. He had to make it hot. He had to make it believable. He had to get that stupid fucking pathetic look out of his eyes! Goddamnit! Can you at least act like you wanna fucking be here, you worthless piece of shit?! Jesus! He lowered his head, his hands resting against the sink. Just do it for Charlie. You're doing this for Charlie.

The door open to reveal Kyle. "Ready, babe?"

He was holding his box of meth again, already ready for more. He and Drake both snorted another line off the sink. Kyle brushed his fingers through Drake's bangs to tidy them up, then he led him into Tad's bedroom.

It looked the same as it had despite the fact that it had been about two and a half years since Drake had lived here. Same boring, white walls, same boring, cluttered dresser, same boring, ugly matching comforter and curtain set. The only thing that was different was a giant mirror at the head of the bed. This wasn't here when Drake had lived here. He could feel his heart racing again as he stepped inside. He was greeted by Tad's wide smirk.

"It's about time you two showed up. I was beginning to think I was gonna have to tend to myself."

Wait. You two? Kyle's staying? Drake got his answer when the boy shut the door behind them and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"Make yourself comfortable, Drake." Tad motioned towards his bed.

Drake joined the other boy his age at the foot of the bed. Kyle noticed his fingers trembling and grabbed one hand to hide it and let Drake know that he needed to get control of himself. He didn't know why he felt so scared, but he had a strong urge to run up to his mother and hold onto her tightly. He would've done it, too, had she of been there. He wanted nothing more than to be a little kid again. He could remember tripping over a rock and scraping his hands and knees badly while rollerblading on the driveway once. He had screamed bloody murder and Audrey had ran up to him, scooped him up in her warm, comforting arms and kissed the top of his head a hundred times while rocking him back and forth. He longed for that now, only this time, his boo boos were on the inside and they were much deeper and painful than the thin layer of scraped skin. They were wide-open gashes and cuts and never-healing scars that he used drugs to dull the pain for, but that was basically like putting a band-aid on a broken leg.

Tad interrupted Drake's thoughts with his first of many demands. "Kiss."

Back out now, Drake, because this is the point of no return! Just fucking leave!

However, Kyle put his hand on Drake's cheek and pulled his head so that he faced him instead of Tad. "I got you," he whispered quietly to reassure the boy before connecting their lips.

Drake closed his eyes and went along with it. If he had to do this with anyone, he was just glad that it was Kyle. Despite their short time together, he felt like he knew the boy's entire life story. It was probably the meth. Definitely the meth. Kyle was pretty experienced in the subject, it seemed. Drake followed his lead, using tongue when Kyle did first, biting lips when Kyle did first, touching his body when Kyle did first. He was beginning to think that they had done this before with another "alt Drake." Either Kyle was damn good at what he was doing or the Viagra was kicking in because Drake felt his lower member stiffen against his jeans.

"Help each other undress," Tad directed from the chair in the corner. His hand was down his own pants.

Drake pulled Kyle's shirt off, then vice versa. Once the warm and recently-dried shirt was removed, he felt goosebumps rise up on his body. Kyle was wearing sweatpants, so Drake pulled them off of him, feeling the boy's boner as he did so.

"Get on top of him, Drake."

Kyle slid back further on the bed, and like commanded, Drake climbed on top of him, then continued kissing him.

"Let me see tongue."

At this, the two boys basically left out their lips completely and were just licking one another's tongue, teeth, and mouth. Drake just tried to block everything out — tried to do as he was told. Just do it for Charlie. Just do it for Charlie.

Kyle pushed Drake up, then started unbuckling his belt as the boy straddled him. He pushed down his jeans and boxers, then grabbed his butt and pulled him closer, grinding his hips against him as he guided Drake's lips to his neck. Still, Drake followed his lead. He felt Kyle's nails dragging up his ass cheeks, then they grazed across his back, up between his shoulder blades and back down again.

"Go down on him, Drake," Tad said after watching them make out like this for a while.

You're doing fine. Don't cry. This will all be over soon and then everything will be okay again. It's nothing you haven't done before. He really didn't want to do this, so he took his sweet time making his way down there. To stall, he sucked and nibbled on Kyle's skin, starting from his neck and working his way down the middle of his torso as he pulled the young man's briefs down his legs. For Tad's benefit, he showed off some tongue work on Kyle's belly button and was relieved that it was clean. He hated doing extra, but if he showed initiative, it would make it look like he was actually interested in the sex as well. If he fucked things up today, he would have to resort to the truck stop, where he'd have to suck off sometimes fifty and sixty year old men who were repulsive in every way.

He finally made it to his destination. He started by working his way down the shaft, flicking Kyle's tip with his tongue, then finally, he took the whole thing in between his lips, his head moving up and down over Kyle's lower region. The boy moaned. Some almost inaudible noise left Tad's throat as well, but Drake was able to hear it.

"That's it," Tad breathed to himself. He was now fully naked and lathering up his erect penis with lubricant.

Kyle grabbed ahold of the headboard tightly, then blew air out of his mouth. Although Drake wasn't gay, he knew how to give a fantastic fucking blowjob. After all, who knows what guys want better than a guy? Kyle let go of another moan.

"Don't cum yet," Tad said.

Kyle squeezed his eyes closed and tilted his head back, panting for breath. Another moan, this one louder. To slow things down, Drake pulled his lips off of the head and worked his way down the shaft again, then took one of his balls in his mouth and sucked on it per Tad's request.

Soon, Kyle was on his knees with Drake behind him, kissing his back and working his way down his spine so that he could, as Tad had demanded, "eat him out." Drake couldn't keep the dam back anymore. His soundless tears left his eyes as he pulled Kyle's cheeks apart and stuck his tongue inside. He had never orally stimulated the backside of even a girl before. It wasn't something that he was into, and he felt disgusting. Kyle could tell he was inexperienced by the sloppy job he was doing, but he cut him some slack and pretended to enjoy it for Drake's sake. Tad had a front-row seat to this show, for he was lubing up Drake's hard rock. The man set the bottle onto the nightstand, then finished pulling the boys' underwear the rest of the way down their legs.

Drake was grateful when he was told to stop. Without much of a warning, Tad thrusted into his backside. A yelp left the boy's lips. It had been years since he had last had anal performed on him, so he'd forgotten exactly how it had felt. Tad then ordered him to start pushing into Kyle, so obediently, he did. Pretty soon, Kyle's arm reached back and grabbed Drake's, then guided his hand around so that he could jerk him off at the same time.

Tad's sexual technique was now a lot different than Drake remembered. He used to be gentle, but now he penetrated him so hard that he started bleeding. The man grunted each time as if that got him in further. Drake just tried to rhythmically take it and give it at the same time, all the while giving out a handy.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling absolutely on top of the world. He couldn't describe the orgasmic pleasure he felt, but it was soon so great that it canceled out all of the negative thoughts in his brain for the time being. Under Tad's orders, they were all moaning, yelling, talking dirty, cursing — whatever as long as they kept it noisy. The man grabbed a fistful of Drake's hair and yanked it, earning a pleasure-filled yelp. He was forced to stare into the mirror at Tad's eyes as they fucked. Sweat poured from everywhere. It dropped from their hair, their faces, all over their sticky bodies. The sheets were soaked. There was a constant sound of slapping as skin hit skin hit skin. Drake felt sore and bruised as he consistently rammed into Kyle's bony ass, but at the same time, it all felt so good.

Tad could see that Drake was clearly going to be the first to crumble under all of the pleasure. He snatched his hair back some more. "Don't you dare fucking cum yet, you filthy whore." He smacked his bottom so hard that the sound rang through Drake's ears.

Sweat poured off of Drake's face and landed on Kyle's back. His arm was aching and cramping up as he continued to tug on him. "I'm gonna cum."

Again, he was spanked, but he couldn't prolong it any longer. He blew his load, a spectacular eight-roper inside of Kyle (with his permission, of course), and the bottom immediately followed, shooting his sperm all over the sheets. Tad shoved Drake to the side, flipped Kyle over, then covered his face in his white discharge.

"Lick it up."

Drake leaned over and cleaned off Kyle's sweaty face with his tongue.

This round was one of the many that Drake had to endure over the longest four hours of his life. They would all take turns to allow one another some rest and recharge. It was Drake/Tad, Tad/Kyle, Kyle/Drake, all three or just one masturbating. They were doing all kinds of positions, some that Drake had never even heard of before. He was so glad to have been given the Viagra and meth because there was no way in hell he could've made it through without them.

---

Although Drake had assumed that things were going back to how they used to be — with him living there and sleeping with him for drugs — Tad told him that he couldn't stay, which really hurt Drake's feelings, but he understood why. Drake had broken his heart and Tad was trying to keep things as a no-strings-attached kind of thing. If Drake lived there, that would bring back all those old emotions the man had tried to bury for so long. But still, where was he supposed to go now?

Kyle met Drake at the front door with a nervous frown on his face. "Don't get pissed. This is what he said to give you." He handed over a grocery sack and some cash.

Drake looked in the bag and saw five boxes of Triple C's. That should be enough to get him through the day. It'll definitely fuck him up enough so that he could forget about what had transpired here for a while at least. The young man then counted the money: a ten and two fives.

Kyle spoke again before he could say anything. "I'm so sorry. He wasn't even gonna give you any money at first — just the pills — but I convinced him to give you something. But still, twenty dollars. So fucking cheap. You worked your ass off. You deserve more than that." Kyle felt horrible when he saw the boy's eyes water over. "Maybe you should go talk to him."

That was a good idea. Drake stormed past him and burst into the bathroom, where Tad was showering. "What the fuck?!"

"Yes, Drake? Do you have a problem?"

"Do I have a problem?! What the fuck is this?!" He held up the money.

"That's your payment."

"Twenty fucking dollars?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Seeing that the boy wasn't going to be so quick to give up, then man turned off the water, then stepped out of the tub and wrapped his towel around his waist. "Look, Drake-"

"How could you?!"

"How much do you think you should get? I've already fucked you plenty of times and I used to only give you a couple boxes of cough medicine in return. Now you wanna up the price? Your penis isn't made of gold last I checked."

Drake was so enraged that he screamed through clenched teeth and shoved the man backwards. Luckily, he hit the wall and managed to catch himself before falling.

Tad retaliated by grabbing Drake by the throat and shoving him up against the wall. His voice was quiet. "Listen to me. Don't you ever lay your hands on me or disrespect me like that ever again, you fucking whore. You're going to knock on my door and beg, and then pitch a fucking fit like a little baby?"

"Tad," Kyle said from the doorway. He could see that the man was blocking Drake's airways.

"Nobody fucking gives a shit about you, Drake. Nobody. That's why you're here. So for you to throw this ridiculous tantrum and expect me to put up with it is completely asinine. You should be thanking me for letting your pathetic ass back into my life."

Once again, Kyle tried to step in. He rubbed the man's arm. "Baby, come-"

"GET THE FUCK BACK!"

Terrified of this new side of Tad, he obeyed.

Drake gasped for air, let go of a cry, then gasped again. His eyes were wide with fear as tears poured down his cheeks. He hadn't been grabbed like this since around the time Martin and Marcellas were in his life. Tad was saying a lot of similar things as they did, too. A flashback of the night his father had tried to strangle him to death popped into his mind. Fear crept up his spine.

"You think you can just prance back into my life and I'd fall to my knees and start worshiping you again? No, I'm afraid the tables have turned, honey." When Drake's eyes closed, Tad slammed his head against the wall. "LOOK AT ME!"

Drake obeyed, his brows furrowed with desperation. His fingers trembled as he tried to pry Tad's hand from around his neck. Meanwhile, Tad rested his free elbow against the wall casually and held up his head with that hand. He chuckled with disbelief as he watched the helpless boy squirm.

"God, I just... I mean, the audacity you have — it's just incredible. After using me for months, manipulating me so that I would fall in love with you and do everything for you... And you're really gonna act like I owe you something?"

More gasping. Drake made eye contact with Kyle, then reached out for him pleadingly.

"Stay," Tad commanded.

"Tad, you're gonna kill him!" Kyle begged, stepping forwards and gripping his arm despite his orders.

The man spun around and shoved the boy back until he fell on the floor outside of the bathroom. He then locked the door, all the while, never letting go of Drake's neck. Now the man started lifting him, and once Drake's toes were off the ground, his gasps for air were no longer audible. The young man squeezed his eyes closed, but tears still flooded their way through.

"You have broken the hearts of everyone — every single person who has ever given a shit about you. And you think you deserve shit?! You are nothing!" the man spat. "Nothing! Nod if you understand that."

Drake did his best attempt at a nod.

"Good. Now I'm gonna let you go, and you're gonna say 'Thank you, sir, for your kind hospitality and amazing sex. I'm sorry I'm such a selfish asshole and manipulative bitch.' And then you're gonna leave here — no cash, no pills. And if you choose to come back, you make sure you approach me with complete and utter respect and I'll give you a couple boxes of those stupid fucking pills, but the money is off the table permanently."

At long last, the man let go. Drake could still hardly get any air into his lungs through his sobbing. He weakly dropped onto his knees and hung his head, his entire body shaking.

"Thank you, sir, for..." Tad started.

Drake started to speak, but was instructed to look him in the eyes, which made it a thousand times more humiliating. "Thank you, sir, for your kind hospitality and amazing sex." His voice cracked. "I'm sorry I'm such a selfish asshole and manipulative bitch." He only said it in hopes that he could change Tad's mind about the money and drugs.

"Now get the fuck out of my house, you whiny little shit, and don't come back until you learn some fucking manners. Do you understand me?"

"Please!" Drake croaked. It was hard to speak after nearly being strangled to death. "I have nothing! I have nowhere! I have no one! I'm tired! I'm hungry! I'm cold and I'm so scared! You're right! No one gives a shit about me, and I did that to myself, I know! I have nowhere to go! I haven't eaten in a week! I'm gonna die on the streets and no one's gonna give a shit! I'm begging you! Please, just help me out! I'm so sorry for being such a greedy prick! I'm just so fucking scared!"

"Grow up, Drake. This is the real world. This is the life you chose. You want some fucking handout, you get it from somewhere else."

Drake's face contorted as he hung his head. Everything he had just gone through — everything he had been uncomfortable doing — it was all for nothing. Now he was leaving empty-handed. When Tad unlocked the door and opened it for him, Drake pushed himself out of the floor and briskly walked past Kyle, hanging his head with shame. He was bawling loudly as he hurried out the front door and speed-walked down the sidewalk.

---

Drake had cried for hours, replaying the entire sexual encounter over and over again in his mind. He had felt absolutely disgusted with himself and, when those familiar thoughts of suicide started taking over his brain, he knew he needed to do something. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so of course, he ended up at the truck stop. He only sucked off one guy, then used the fifteen dollars to buy five boxes of cough medicine, an off-brand two liter Diet Coke (swallowing the pills wouldn't be as hard with this sugarless drink), and a Lunchable's pizza. So here he was in his usual place at the park, everything empty except for the half-full bottle of Diet Coke still left and his pill- and pizza-filled stomach. Five boxes was a lot for him, so he was passed the fuck out, but pretty soon, he'll wake up and the high will wear off and again, he'll be left with another craving to fill.

---

(2 weeks later)

Drake was doing pretty well at the truck stop. Of course, he was still homeless and having to resort to prostitution, but on the positive side, one of the truck drivers had given him a blanket and he was making adequate money. At the park where he slept, he had a grocery sack full of his belongings. It wasn't much, but he could afford basic hygiene products like toothpaste and soap. He carried these with him to the truck stop when he needed more cash or even just a shower. He even had shampoo and conditioner. Drake had bought a cheap four dollar shirt and another pair of pants so that he could rotate them out. He washed them in the bathroom sink, then hung them from tree limbs at the park to dry. To cure the boredom, he had a deck of cards and was playing solo games of Solitaire and memory match even though they were unbeatable on account of the fact that his six of clubs had blown away during a sudden gust of wind. He also had a notepad, which he used as a journal basically. Although three meals a day was still considered a luxury to him, he had enough food to keep the hunger pangs away.

All in all, everything was going great except for one thing: Walmart was currently out of Triple C's. Drake had spent his drug money instead on a bottle of vodka. He hated vodka with a passion, but it was cheaper than beer, especially since it took a lot of beer for him to really feel something. No matter how much alcohol he drank, it just didn't feel like enough. It felt good, of course, but it was a different buzz than that of Charlie. Alcohol made his world spin, made him feel content and gave him warmth during the cold December. Triple C's did all that, too, but more. They made him completely and wholly numb, but at the same time, he could feel things like his heartbeat and breathing so clearly. Not only was his vision blurred, but his thoughts portrayed vivid hallucinations right in front of his eyes. His possibilities with Charlie were infinite. He could lay there and hallucinate being in outer space or with an alive and well Meelah or even sitting in the Oval Office with the president if he wanted. Charlie just made everything feel so possible.

The vodka had depressed him. Drinking only ever made him crave the high of Triple C's even more, but he'd continued to swallow down the liquid until he had finally gained enough courage to do what he knew had to be done.

The young man knocked on the door, then stood there, already ready for what was to come. It was like he was a different person than he had been weeks ago. Maybe living out on the streets on his own had hardened him a little bit, or maybe his constant use of Charlie had numbed him enough to not wallow in self-pity and shame. Those weren't even thoughts in his mind right now.

When the door opened to reveal Tad, Drake said nothing. Instead, he pressed himself against the man and connected their lips, pushing him against the wall as he flicked the door closed behind him. The man was in shock, but it didn't take him long to get his lips moving. He rubbed his hands up and down Drake's body as the boy started talking dirty, informing him that he was Tad's for the day and he could do anything he wanted to him. The man then took a few steps forwards, forcing Drake to back up until he fell backwards over the arm of the couch. Tad removed his shirt, then climbed on top of him. The younger of the two wrapped his arm around the back of Tad's neck to pull him closer and deepen the kiss. He slipped his free hand into the waistband of the man's sweatpants and underwear, earning a moan as his cold hand touched him.

Eventually, they ended up in the bedroom and did it several different ways. At one point, Tad was blindfolded and cuffed to the headboard, and Drake took a page from Molly's book and stimulated the man with an ice cube and coffee before grinding on top of him.

Close to two hours later, they were both so exhausted and worn out that they fell asleep. Having slept on the freezing, hard ground for so long, the soft bed and warm temperature knocked Drake out cold. When he finally awoke, Kyle was back from wherever he had been earlier and was penetrating himself with Drake's erect penis while Tad watched. The young man paid no attention to the fact that they were doing this during his slumber and without his knowledge. Instead, he got ready to put on another show for his supplier.

---

While Tad was showering, Kyle allowed Drake to use the man's laptop to check his messages. Drake wasn't sure why he cared, but he was considering sending Clementine another apology. How could he possibly get into words the guilt that he felt for doing this to her, though? What could he say that could make this better? There was nothing.

He opened up his Facebook, and, not surprisingly, his inbox had several unread messages. Three of his coworkers expressed their concern and support. They were actually really nice about everything. The people at the bar hadn't even crossed his mind honestly, but now that he was reminded of them, he felt bad about leaving them to stress over being short-staffed, being overworked, and his well-being. They were such a good group of people and, finally, Drake had felt like he actually belonged. They didn't judge him, and they all gave him infinite encouragement and he did the same back. Everyone working at that bar had a lot of bullshit going on in their personal lives and it was like he had a family backing him up for the first time in his life. Unsure of how to respond to them, he left their messages unanswered, then opened the one from his girlfriend. Actually, it was more than one. As he scrolled through, he noticed that her tone changed from desperation to disdain and, as the days passed, she was sending less and less messages. In fact, the last one was from three days ago. Here are a few:

Clementine Dahlia Martin: please come home. I miss you

Clementine Dahlia Martin: just let me know ur ok

Clementine Dahlia Martin: whatever im fuckin done. Is that what u want? Ur just gonna leave things like this? U cant be arsed to send me one fuckin text or call or anything? WANKER!

Clementine Dahlia Martin: srsly I hate u rn

Clementine Dahlia Martin: ive never met someone more selfish than u. Ur out there fucked out of your mind probably and u left me sitting here to worry if my bf is even alive or not and thats fucked up drake! But i dont care. I bet ur well chuffed huh? Karmas gonna come back to bite u and im gonna be moved on and ur just gonna be stuck doing what ur doing alone, sitting there like the pathetic bellend u really are.

What could he possibly say to that? An apology? "Rubbish," is what she would say. Words only mean so much. "If you were truly sorry, you'd come back."

He also got a kind, supportive message from both Sam and Brett.

Samantha Watson: Drake! I miss my fav chef and video game partner! Now im stuck with Brat, and u and I both know neither of us can beat the daddy boss on re7 without u! For real, tho. Come home. I miss u.

Brett Monty: Bro u probably have been hearing this alot lately but we all miss u. Whatever ur doing out there, I just hope u stay safe and take care of yourself. Obviusly dahlias not doing so well. Im sure she's sent some fucked up messages but u know she cares about u, so don't take them to heart. Sam and I will always be here for u bro with whatever u need. We love u so much, so I hope u clean up. I know it's hard. I just don't want u to end up like my dad because I care about u bro and I don't think i could handle another person I love od'ing. The addict in u is probably saying a lot of fucked up shit to keep u down, but just know that u make a lot of lives easier and u make a lot of people happy. I don't care what ur dad told u or what "charlies" tellin u. U deserve so much more than what u think. I don't know if I can be much help, but u know I don't judge and I'm always willing to listen. If u need to talk or meet up and don't want me to tell anyone, u know I will. I just wanna know that ur safe and get u back home. Ur my best bro for life.

Brett's message had him close to tears. How could he go back there? After everything he's done? All his life, he had longed for people who cared and actually understood him and what he was going through, and now that he had those people, he wished that he didn't. It would be much easier to go on living his life the way he was if he didn't have people being this supportive. Don't get him wrong. His family had tried hard, too, but they didn't get it. They only wanted to send him away to rehab and that's not a bad thing. Not at all. But they still wouldn't have understood after he got out. They would sweep it all under the rug and pretend it had never happened — probably to protect their own sanity, and that's okay. But these people get it. Brett had opened up to him before about his heroin-addicted father, who had died four years ago via accidental overdose. His childhood hadn't been great. In fact, it was kind of shit, but instead of remaining close-minded and bitter towards addiction, he did tons and tons of research just to try and understand why his father had chosen drugs over his own son. Maybe he didn't understand first-hand Drake's point of view, but he was one of the few who tried, and that's all that Drake ever wanted.

Julio sent a brief but heartfelt message explaining that he and his brother weren't mad and begging him to come home. Drake had a hard time reading it and seeing his best friend so vulnerable. Usually, it was the other way around. He was the vulnerable one.

Finally, he opened Ricardo's dreaded message. He was the one he felt most ashamed betraying. Without him — there's no doubt about it — Drake would've been dead by now. He literally owed the man his life, yet Ricky never asked for anything in return other than complete and total honesty. That was it. Drake had lied to him about how he and Tad's conversation had went at the bar that night. Why did he lie? Because whether Drake actually knew at the time or not, his subconscious knew that he was going to use that night. The inner addict in him took over, setting up what was about to be his worst relapse in two and a half years. All of this could've been avoided. All he had to do, like he'd promised Ricardo he would, was be honest.

During his sober years, honesty had become his most noticeable trait. It wasn't only important for him to tell the truth; he put a lot of trust in those around him to be honest with him. If you didn't have honesty in a relationship, did you have anything?

Ricardo Santos: Drake, I want you to know that I'm not mad at you, but I am disappointed. I just wish you would've told me, but that's in the past and all we can do now is move on. Please, let me help you. You have too much going for you now to just throw it all away like that. We can do it again. You can do it again. Just come home. Please. I promise we-

Drake didn't even get a chance to finish before he saw three dots appear at the bottom of the screen. Fuck, he's writing.

Ricardo Santos: You're onlin

Ricardo Santos: waiyt

He was typing in a hurry, so his words were all messed up.

Ricardo Santos: don't logoff

He'd read Drake's mind. The boy's inner addict was screaming at him to put down the laptop, but the real Drake — the kind, honest, locked away and crying out for help Drake — had taken control.

Ricardo Santos: plez

Ricardo Santos: I won't nag you. Promisew

Ricardo Santos: let me justntake you out and buy dinnee.

Although normal Drake had taken over his mind and convinced him to sit there, addict Drake had control over his fingers.

Drake Parker: cant

Ricardo Santos: plez. Look I won't beg you to come back or force you to get clean or anything. I just wanna buy you a meal. I promise.

Drake thought it over in his head.

Normal Drake: It's a free meal, no strings attached. What's the harm in that?

Addict Drake: Do you really believe that? Remember last time when he practically showed up and kidnapped you?

Normal Drake: Maybe it's not such a bad thing.

Addict Drake: Of course it's a bad thing!

Normal Drake: As opposed to what? Coming here and getting fucked fifteen different ways just to get high? This isn't you, Drake.

Addict Drake: Pardon my reality check here, but this is you. You're a junkie. You're a prostitute. Going back there won't change that. No matter how many times you try to clean up, you'll always end up here. Always.

Normal Drake: Yeah, well, probably. But like he said, it's just dinner. Unless you wanna risk asking Tad for cash or go to the truck stop and give a quick blowjob for a cheeseburger, this is a good idea.

Addict Drake: He's gonna talk you into quitting.

Normal Drake: Then maybe I should. I mean, Jesus, look at you. Look where you are.

Drake bit his bottom lip nervously, then began typing again.

Drake Parker: ok

Ricardo took a moment to respond. He was probably just as shocked as Drake was.

Ricardo Santos: Okay. Great. Applebees? 4 o'clock?

Drake Parker: ok

---

Drake's hands were trembling in the cool December air despite the fact that Kyle had surprised him with an old jacket as a gift. (Apparently it was Christmas Eve. Who knew?) It was hot pink and didn't match his clothes, but it was too cold outside for Drake to care. He took a puff from his cigarette, keeping his head down as he made his way down the sidewalk. The sky was getting pretty dark since it was somewhere between five-thirty and six o'clock. Obviously, he was running late, but that was kind of on purpose.

Drake had spent his day after leaving Tad's getting high off of his pills and, during his fantastic trip to Wonderland, Charlie (or maybe Drake's inner addict) had talked him out of meeting Ricardo for dinner. However, the high was gone and, although part of him obviously didn't want to come, there was that other part of him that knew that he needed help. This was it for him. This was his last chance. Either way, he would show up to Applebee's and be disappointed. Either Ricardo had left, sealing Drake's fate as a homeless addict, or he was still there, waiting patiently for his friend to make the right choice and arrive, which means that Drake would probably have to decide his own fate and whether or not he was going to quit and that would suck. It would be much easier to be able to blame Ricardo.

Drake veered off the sidewalk and made his way across the parking lot, flicking his cigarette to the side. He took a breath and reached for the door handle, but once he did this, he heard his name being called.

"Yo, Drake." Ricardo closed his car door and jogged over to him. Apparently, he was just about to leave.

Addict Drake: If only you had waited another minute before coming here.

The man wrapped his arms around Drake, and it wasn't until then that he realized just how cold he had been. He returned the hug, the kind touch feeling nice since, recently, he was used to much rougher, compassionless hands.

Ricardo noticed that Drake was much thinner in the three weeks that he had been gone. He was pale with contrasting dark circles around the entirety of both eyes. Ricardo noticed that he had freezing hands and a feverish face as he embraced him. The jacket was new and clearly not his taste, but the rest of his ensemble was the same thing he had been wearing the night he ran away. They looked worn, but they didn't stink and his hair was surprisingly clean. Either he was staying with someone or he had been homeless so many times that he was becoming resourceful. Judging by his Converse, which were much muddier than when he'd left, Ricardo assumed the latter.

Drake broke the silence. "Sorry I'm so late," he said as he pulled away from the hug. "I just got caught up with-"

"It's okay. I'm just glad you showed up," he said. "I got booted from the table. You wanna find a diner instead?"

"Sure." Drake followed him to the car. Once it was cranked, he turned up the heater and made sure the vents were pointed in his direction.

Ricky noticed this. "Was it a long walk?" He was curious to know how long Drake had spent outside in this weather.

Thinking that he was referring to his lack of punctuality, Drake replied with, "I just had to do something first."

For someone who was so pro-honesty, the lies were rolling off of the boy's tongue easily, Ricardo noticed. It was like a stranger was sitting next to him.

Drake fiddled around with the radio and they mostly kept quiet until they arrived at the diner. Ricardo followed his lead, and Drake chose a booth in the corner. Although he looked hygienically okay unlike the last time he'd lived on the streets, he preferred to be hidden away. A waitress approached them with a friendly smile and wrote down their requests. Ricardo wanted a patty melt with a tea, and Drake asked for a chicken finger basket and a Coke. Wanting to be sure that his friend had enough food to get filled up (because he knew the boy wouldn't ask on his own), Ricky ordered an appetizer of cheese sticks. When the waitress walked away, the man looked at Drake observantly. He kept his eyes low and didn't talk unless spoken to first.

"So how are you?"

"I'm really good actually, you know? Everything...everything's good." He nodded, but still wouldn't meet his friend's eyes.

"Good."

"What about you?"

"Yeah, everything's good."

"Good." Drake could see that their conversation was going nowhere. Is a free meal really worth this? I'd rather be at the truck stop than here. That thought sent a mental red flag up to his brain. If you'd rather be blowing some old stranger than breaking bread with a great friend, then maybe you're further gone than I thought, Drake. The young man decided to let some truth show. "Hey, man, look, I'm sorry about the bar. I didn't mean to leave you hanging. I just..."

Like earlier when he had tried to fake an excuse for being late, he expected Ricardo to brush it off and tell him not to sweat it. He didn't, so Drake just left his sentence unfinished. He was saved by the waitress.

"Okay," the woman said as she approached. "Here's your tea." She set a glass down in front of Ricardo, then one in front of Drake. "And your Coke. Your appetizer should be ready soon."

The boys both thanked her. She set down two straws before checking on another table. Drake picked up his, then tore off the paper and put the plastic in his cup. To have a reason to avoid talking, he drank some of the Coke.

"So what have you been up to lately?" Ricardo asked. He tried to avoid talking about drugs because he promised that he would, but now he was starting to realize that Drake's whole life was about drugs right now, so the conversation would soon run stale if you didn't already consider it to be.

"Um, you know. Nothing really. Hanging out with a couple friends or going for walks. My life's pretty boring." It wasn't exactly a lie. He was pretty much walking all day, and it was a stretch, but maybe you could consider Tad and Kyle and the guys at the truck stop to be his friends. "But enough about me. What about you? How are things with the bar? Did you hire someone to replace me yet?"

"I haven't actually." Ricardo was still convinced that Drake would come to his senses and sober up. "Last week, we had a surprise health inspection."

"You passed?"

"Yeah, but we got docked points because Marisol had her fingernails painted again."

"That bitch," Drake joked.

Ricardo's lips twitched into a smile, but only for a second. "Other than that, things have actually been going pretty smoothly."

Again, they were left in an awkward silence. This time, however, the waitress didn't approach and save them. Ricardo looked at his friend, who kept his eyes low as he played with the straw wrapper, rolling it up, then unrolling it and rolling it again. He had invited Drake — not the other way around — so he needed to keep the conversation running and earn back trust. Drake would be much more susceptible to making the choice to eventually get clean on his own if he knew that the man had no hard feelings.

"Any Christmas plans?"

"Not really. I might drop by and visit some friends." Depending on how tired he was after his sex-filled day and this actual full-sized meal, he might just turn in for the night after this, but Tad's was always an option. "What about you?"

"Julio and I are going to our mom's tomorrow for dinner."

"Your dad and step-mom aren't doing anything this year?"

"Theirs was today. Mom and Dad didn't wanna deal with having to talk to each other, but they didn't want a repeat of last year either when they both had dinners at the same time, so we went over there today to avoid all that shit." And then: "Which reminds me..." Ricardo unzipped his jacket and reached over to one side, pulling out a thin, dented box. He passed it over to the boy. "From Dad and Gabriella."

Drake's heart broke a little, and it showed on his face. Having lived with Ricky and Julio for two and a half years (and being friends with Julio forever), both their mom and dad accepted him as their own. They knew about his baggage, but they still loved him anyway.

The young man started peeling the tape away from each side.

"They're sorry that you couldn't make it." He watched Drake take off the lid, then pick up the long and thin Tupperware that laid in a ziplock bag on top. "Gabriella made arroz con leche just for you since you ate pretty much all of it last year."

Next, Drake pulled out a folded up long-sleeved sweater. It was dark blue with a large, white "D" sewn on the front, and on the back across the shoulder blades in jersey form was the name "Santos." It was ugly as fuck — don't get him wrong — but the fact that Gabriella went so far out of her way to let Drake know that he was part of their familia gave him a sense of value.

"Julio and I have matching ones, too." Ricardo pulled open his jacket again to show his green one with a large "R" smack dab in the middle. "You're lucky. I couldn't get out of wearing mine. But it is super warm, though."

"This is really so nice." His furrowed brows and quiet voice expressed his guilt for having not shown up.

"I see someone else has given you a Christmas present."

He noticed the man looking at his hot pink jacket. "Um, yeah. My friend gave it to me today."

"Did your friend also give you that?"

Drake was confused until Ricardo pointed to his neck. He used the napkin dispenser at their table to check his reflection and saw multiple hickeys around his neck. "Shit," he whispered, trying to cover them with his jacket. The fact that his cheeks turned a bright red let Ricardo know that he was ashamed of them and therefore probably got them doing something he didn't want to admit, like prostituting.

"Are you staying with this friend?"

"I'm... No." He knew Ricardo was hoping for more, so he said, "I'm kinda doing my own thing, you know?" Translation: I'm homeless, but don't worry about it. Please, change the subject.

Ricardo's heart broke as he examined the boy sitting across from him. He was so desperate to get high — to feel some sense of okayness — that he was willing to give away something so precious — something only meant for himself and Clementine to share. The man wholeheartedly believed that, had Drake not been a victim of multiple sexual assaults growing up, he wouldn't have ever thought that it was okay or acceptable to sell himself like he did. Both Tad and especially his father had really fucked him up. He couldn't even begin to imagine the kinds of things Drake was out there doing just for a fix.

---

(1 month later)

Drake tilted his head back as he continued to play with himself. He was breathing hard and sweating and he moaned excessively to put on a good show for the man watching from the sidelines.

Over time, Drake had gotten used to the fact that this kind of thing was what he had to resort to for money. Used to, he just did a couple blowjobs here and there when he needed drug money, but now he had started doing it more and more often for things that weren't as high on his priority list (although maybe they should have been), such as food and a couple new outfits from the Goodwill and a motel room. Instead of one or two performances of oral sex, he would spend hours here so that he could make enough for basic necessities.

He wasn't as against anal with strangers as he used to be. He didn't do it often, but if it was requested of him, he accepted at a higher rate. Usually, he was asked for blowjobs or handies, and occasionally there were different requests, like this one. The man literally gave him twenty-five dollars just so that he could watch him masturbate, and everything was going just fine until...

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Go away!" the man yelled towards the door. "I'm busy!" He turned back to Drake with a nod.

The boy continued, but was interrupted again when the passenger door opened.

"Honey, it's me."

Drake saw a glimpse of fear in his client's eyes before the man turned around to block his wife from entering. Unfortunately, he was too late.

"I thought we could — OH MY GOD!" In her shock, she dropped the Tupperware full of food.

Since the blanket was on the top bunk, Drake quickly sat up, grabbed the pillow his head had been resting on, and covered himself as best as he could.

"DRAKE?!" she screeched.

"Mrs. Hayfer?!"

Mrs. Hayfer: his high school nemesis. She was his twelfth-grade math teacher, the one who had flunked him, therefore convincing his mom to leave him behind at his father's during there summer vacation. This woman had started the whole chain of events that basically led Drake here.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!" She noticed a bulge in her husband's sweatpants. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Both of the guys started apologizing frantically. Drake was actually scared. She looked like she was going to murder him. He had subconsciously backed himself into the corner as if prepared for a beating.

"YOU CHEATING BASTARD!" Her hand furiously made contact with her husband's cheek. The sound was so loud that it silenced both men.

"AND YOU!" Mrs. Hayfer growled in Drake's direction. "What is this?! Some kind of revenge because of how I treated you?!"

"Please, I didn't know he was your husband. I swear. I didn't know."

"Why are you here anyway?! What happened to you?!" If she wasn't so pissed, this could've almost passed for concern.

The man answered this one. "He's just a whore, Alice. He doesn't mean anything. He approached me desperate for cash. I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't listen. He was all but on his knees begging me for money. You know me. I've gotta big heart. I couldn't say no."

Despite being thrown under the bus, Drake wasn't about to be responsible for yet another broken-up marriage. Although it wasn't the complete truth, he went with it. "He's right. I'm so, so, so sorry. I swear I didn't know he was your husband." He had his hands held up in front of him as if he was ready to be dragged off the bed and kicked Martin-style. His fingers trembled. "He wasn't doing anything. It was me. I practically gave him no choice."

"What the hell are you doing having sex with strange men three times your age at truck stops?!" his former teacher asked.

"Get out of here!" her husband yelled suddenly. "Get out, you fucking whore!"

Drake quickly made a grab for his boxers, his face red and wet. Shit, am I really crying in front of these people right now?! He put his underwear on faster than he ever had in his entire life, then he searched the floor for the rest of his clothes.

"Go, you stupid slut! Fucking junkie! GO, WHORE!"

Drake only held his shirt and one shoe when the man grabbed his throat and shoved him against the back window. Although he was enraged about the entire situation, he took it out on Drake and hoped that it made himself look less guilty. He smacked the boy across the face.

"Do you fucking hear me, you conniving little shit?!"

"Garrett, stop," Mrs. Hayfer chimed.

Drake could taste blood, but that was hardly his focus. "Yes, sir."

"If I ever see you around here again, I'll cut off that fucking dick of yours and we'll see how much money you make then! You fucking pathetic dope fiend!"

"Please." He was terrified of this man. He genuinely feared for his life and it showed in the way his body shook and his eyes poured with water.

"Do you understand?!" Without giving him time to respond, he added, "ANSWER ME!" He slapped him again.

Drake fell this time, then Garrett grabbed a fistful of his hair and started yanking him towards the front. The man kicked the passenger side door open, then dragged a screaming Drake across the seat and shoved him out the door. It was quite the fall, seeing as they were in a tall tractor. Most of his weight landed on his hands, which of course, buckled underneath him, causing his chin and forearms to hit the concrete. His knees also suffered a great deal of the damage. They were badly scraped and bleeding as well since he was wearing only his boxers and had no jeans to protect them. Drake opened his mouth and let go of a sob. As he did this, a string of blood and saliva dripped down onto the asphalt. Apparently, he'd bitten his tongue super hard during the collision. His face contorted as he pushed himself up, again letting go of a cry of pain.

"And fucking stay out!" Garrett was still yelling. He spat on the boy.

When Drake got on his knees, he noticed that his former teacher's husband wasn't the only one berating him. All of the ruckus had attracted a small crowd of assholes. Somehow, Drake had managed to remain clutching his shirt. He slipped it on, and then was hit in the back of the head by Garrett throwing the one shoe he had dropped during the struggle. This earned a wave of laugher from their audience.

"Fucking cunt whore!" Garrett taunted. "Hey, everybody, look at this little desperate piece of shit trying to jerk off his tiny dick for some spare change! Why don't you all help him out?!"

Drake hefted himself onto his feet. He decided to leave the shoe behind. It was useless since the other one was lost in the tractor somewhere. He winced when he felt something hard hit the side of his face. He looked down and saw coins scatter across the concrete. Soon after, another handful was tossed his way by one of the rowdy group members watching this all transpire.

"Pick them up, whore!" Garrett yelled. "You're gonna need them!"

A month ago, he probably would've collected the coins, but the only thing he really needed was Charlie and he was getting that from Tad, who still ordered the pills in bulk from the dark web like he had when Drake had lived there. Everything else — food, shelter, hygiene products — wasn't as important to him, so he wasn't willing to sacrifice anymore of his dignity by picking up the spare change.

"He spends so much time on his knees that they're bleeding," an audience member joked, earning a lot of laughs.

Drake wrapped his arms around his thin frame to protect it from both the cold and another handful of coins being hurled at him. He started walking as fast as he could, his vision blurry through the tears.

---

He was still crying when he got to the park. The reason he had stopped here was because it was closer than his motel room and he needed pants ASAP. His bare legs were freezing and his knees shook so much that it was hard to walk. He opened a book bag he had bought and had perched up against the tree trunk in his and Meelah's spot. He pulled out two pairs of sweatpants and put them both on, then grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself. He was so cold that his teeth chattered and his breath shook. He rocked back and forth, hoping somehow that it would help him get warm. He wasn't up for the hour walk to his motel room, so he sat there freezing and crying and bleeding.

Moments later, there was a rustling in the bushes, then a figure appeared: Mrs. Hayfer.

Drake closed his eyes, wondering if his luck could possibly get any worse. "Please, just go," his voice cracked.

She was too busy taking in his surroundings to comprehend what he had said. There was a second blanket folded up underneath him to act as a bed and at the head of that was a pillow. She noticed plenty of fast-food sacks, but saw no food. She did, however, see several empty boxes of what looked like cough medicine. Close to those was a stack of empty beer cans and cigarette pouches. Also nearby, scattered about in different places, were empty bottles of vodka and wine. Two cans of dust-off were in sight as well.

"Are you living here?" She sounded more disgusted than surprised and she was really surprised.

"Leave!" he yelled.

However, she stepped closer, then got onto her knees in front of him, her voice expressing how flabbergasted she felt. "Drake, what happened to you?"

This made the boy cry harder. He hid his head in between his knees.

"How long has this been going on? How long have you lived like this?" She could see him shivering underneath his thin blanket. She was cold herself. She'd only been outside for a couple minutes, but already, her nose was a bright shade of pink. "Look, come back to my car. Let's talk there."

"I don't wanna talk."

"It's really toasty in there," she persuaded. "And I have seat warmers."

That convinced him. He was so cold that the gusts of wind felt like knives stabbing all over his body. He pushed himself up and followed her to her vehicle, which she'd left on the side of the road by the park.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

Drake made sure the vents faced him. He rubbed his numb hands together and exhaled hot air into them. "My motel room." He told her where it was, then she put the car in drive. "Thank you." He couldn't express how grateful he was for this ride. It was entirely possible that he could've died overnight from the below freezing temperatures if he had stayed here. "I'm really sorry," his voice quivered. "I had no idea that he was your husband."

"What are you doing at that truck stop anyway, Drake?" she said in an accusatory manner. Despite his pitiful appearance and lifestyle, she was still incredibly pissed.

Drake kept his eyes low. "I'm just doing what I have to do to survive," he said quietly.

"My husband was right?" Mrs. Hayfer asked. "You're a junkie prostitute?"

His silence was enough of an answer.

"Jesus, Drake. How could you let that happen?"

"It just did, okay?"

"Is this about your dad?"

Drake looked at her with a death glare.

She took note of this. "I read an article. The teachers were passing it around." She saw that this made the boy even more upset and quickly moved on. "I'm just saying. You went through such a tragic and traumatic event-"

"I was using before I killed my dad." His words were so harsh that he even surprised himself. Hearing them out loud made him sick to his stomach and flooded his brain with awful memories. He hung his head again, wrapping his arms around himself and slipping his hands underneath his armpits for warmth.

"This isn't normal, Drake. Sleeping around for money is not normal and it's certainly not okay."

"Why do you care? You didn't think I'd amount to anything anyway. Is this really all that shocking to you?"

"You weren't my favorite student. You weren't a student that I liked. You weren't even a good student. But I never once saw you as worthless," she said. "What happened to you? You were such a happy and passionate kid. Why did you do this to yourself?"

"Pull over. I want out." He was already one big ball of humiliation, so to sit here and listen to her shit on him started to bring back those familiar suicidal desires. "Pull over!"

"Drake-"

"Pull the fucking car over! Now!"

"Calm down!"

"Let me out!"

She wasn't making any moves to do what he demanded. He couldn't do what he had done that landed his mom in the hospital and rendered her legs immobile, but he knew another way to get what he wanted. Drake lifted his legs up and started kicking her dashboard.

"Let me out of the fucking car!"

Mrs. Hayfer's eyes widened as he kicked and threatened to break her window. She couldn't believe the sight before her. This young man had sat in her class years ago and, despite his behavioral issues, lack of participation and constant interruptions, she never once ever suspected that there had been a much bigger problem going on at home. He had always been the type of kid who had hundreds of friends, who went after his dreams, who seemed genuinely happy. She could remember when her friend, another math teacher, came to her and pulled up the article on her computer. She had felt absolutely sick reading it even though she hated that boy. If only she could've seen the warning signs, then maybe this mess sitting next to her could've been prevented. She couldn't imagine it: name-calling, mental abuse, beatings, rape, attempted murder — all by your own father, someone whose only job was to protect you and build you up. No wonder calling his father had always straightened the young man out. How many times was he hit, was he touched, was he made to feel worthless because of a call she had made to him to inform him of something so trivial as missing homework or the kid being two minutes late to class? Drake had spent a majority of his late childhood hiding behind a mask. There was no telling how lonely he had felt, especially when no one knew who he really was or how he really felt because he couldn't tell anyone what was happening to him behind closed doors.

Mrs. Hayfer looked at the screaming boy who was trying to destroy the inside of her car. This is what it looked like. This is what failure looked like. Not Drake's failure. His mom had failed by not noticing what was going on. His father had failed by being the worst person imaginable. His siblings had failed by missing his cries for help. His friends had failed by making him feel like he couldn't open up to them. His teachers had failed by missing all the warning signs. Mrs Hayfer had personally failed by avoiding the truth despite the fact that it had been sitting right in front of her (literally, Drake had been a problem child, so she'd moved his desk right in front of hers) every single day. She had seen bruises. She had seen the way he would squirm in his chair, sometimes unable to fully sit down. She would see the occasional winces. It just never clicked. She thought that maybe another student was roughing him up a bit, and let's face it, she had thought that he had kind of deserved it. On Fridays, he was quiet. Unlike the rest of the students who were excited about the weekend, he dreaded his inevitable stay with his father. His legs would bounce up and down so fervently that even Mrs. Hayfer's large, metal desk would shake, and then she'd proceed to yell at him. He'd stop for a while, then start clicking his pen. After getting onto him for that, he would restlessly move around in his desk and brush his hands through his hair. The constant movement happening in her peripheral vision was irritating, so he'd get in trouble again. Still anxious, the leg bouncing would soon start up again. One day had even landed him in detention because she'd been in a bad mood and had to remind him to stop bouncing his legs three times. She wondered if his father had hit him because of her negligence. He had to of. He definitely did. Why else would Drake despise her as much as he did? He was always filled with dread when he walked into her classroom because he associated her with the negative connotations of a brutal beating.

"Jesus, Drake, calm the fuck down!"

Hearing her cuss made him feel off. It was like that feeling when you are at school late at night or when you see a teacher at the grocery store. It was abnormal.

"If you wanna sit in silence, that's just fine and dandy with me, but you're not gonna sit there and destroy my fucking car!" She actually reached over and shoved his legs into the floor whilst driving. "I'm just trying to help you get out of the cold! You're really trying to do this after I caught you back there fucking my husband?! That's so disrespectful!" she huffed, then put her hands back on the wheel.

Drake stopped throwing his tantrum because of both his shock and his guilt. It just occurred to him that she had walked in on her husband cheating on her with him, yet she was still here, offering some kind of help. They'd never had the best of relationships, so for the first time, he saw her as an actual human being with real emotions and basic compassion. And did he mention that she just caught him with her husband?

Drake straightened in his seat obediently. In a calm and collected manner, he spoke. "It wasn't what it looked like back there."

"He wasn't offering you money to do sexual favors for him?"

"I mean...well..." He sighed. "It wasn't like that, though. We didn't...do anything. He wouldn't even touch me. I kept pushing him to, but he refused. He wouldn't let me do anything to him either." This was all true, but he wasn't sure if he was helping or not. "He literally just sat there while I jerked off. It's basically like watching porn, really. Everyone watches porn, even married people."

Not only was she in distress about his infidelity. There were numerous other things at play. How long has this kind of thing been going on? How many times had Garrett cheated? Why Drake? Was he into men? Was it just a curiosity? Was he secretly gay? Was their entire marriage a sham because her husband was hiding in the closet?

She didn't feel comfortable laying out all of these fears in front of her former student, so she stuck with, "How many times have you two done this?"

"Just this once."

"Bullshit."

"No, really. I swear." When she glanced at him, he met her eyes to hopefully show that he was being honest. "I swear."

"How much did he pay you?"

"Twenty-five," the boy answered.

This shocked his former teacher. "That's all you charge?!"

Drake shrugged and turned his head towards the windshield again. "Sometimes. It just depends on the person — how interested they are, how desperate I am, what they want me to do." He felt gross just hearing those words come out of his mouth. "I'm not proud of it," he whispered. "But I have no choice."

"What about quitting drugs?"

"It's not that easy."

"Where are your parents? Why don't you ask them for help?"

"I...I messed up pretty bad. People got hurt. I had to leave. They don't care about me anymore anyway."

"Don't say that."

"It's true." The hurt of abandonment was coming back and it was hitting him hard. He felt a lump in his throat and his eyes watered over. "It's true," he repeated, his voice cracking this time. "I tried to go back. They're gone. They've moved and they left me behind." He wiped away the tear that managed to sneak past and sniffled. "I mean, I can't really blame them. I really fucked up, and not just once. I know I deserved it." His voice had gone up a couple octaves and the tears were pouring freely now. One dangled from the edge of his nostril and he wiped it away and sniffled again. "It just sucks, you know?"

What Drake had done must've been really bad for his loving family to have kicked out their own son, who had been a victim of perverse sexual assault and violent physical abuse, Mrs. Hayfer thought.

"I can't believe they would just leave like that," he said.

He hadn't thought much about this subject matter since he found out about it a month and a half ago. He'd cried when he first found out, but then he'd gotten high and he's done that everyday since to keep his racing thoughts at bay. Now here he was, breaking down in front of his high school nemesis. This could only mean one thing: he was long overdue for a fix.

"I've seen your sister in the hallways at school. Wherever your parents went, they didn't move far. They're still in this school district." Despite her anger towards him, she said, "I can find out their address if you want. If you promise not to tell anyone where you got it. It'll be in her file in the office."

"Don't bother," he said. "I can't go back — not like this. Things have just gotten so bad and they shouldn't have to put up with my bullshit." He added, "Besides, they clearly don't ever wanna see me again."

"So what? You're just gonna...what?" She shrugged. "Keep selling your body? Keep using drugs? Keep sleeping in parks and motel rooms?" She seemed genuinely concerned and irritated as if she actually cared for him and was hurt by his stupid decisions. "Until you starve to death, or freeze, or overdose, or get mugged and possibly killed? What kind of life is that, Drake?"

His vulnerability showed when he admitted, "I don't know what else to do."

"You clean up. You stop all this bullshit and you get help. Isn't there anyone who wants to see you get better again? What about that one friend? What was his name? Mr. Santos?"

"Julio."

"Julio. Right. You two used to be best friends. What happened to him?"

"I was living with him and his older brother. Ricky helped me get clean and I was mostly sober for almost three years, and then I blew it. I'm too ashamed to go back there. I don't want to put them through what I put my family through and lose them, too."

"I mean, but you've already lost them anyway by running away."

"But it's different."

"How? They're still hurt. It's not like it's less painful because they don't see it happening. In fact, I think they would prefer for you to go back there and mess up a hundred times than to avoid the whole thing completely out of fear. I think they just wanna see you try."

Shit, she was actually making sense. Is this the kind of wisdom he had missed out on when he ignored her classroom lectures?

"I'm just so embarrassed."

"Would you rather be embarrassed in front of the ones who love you or would you rather die alone, cold and hungry? I mean, I don't know if you noticed, but those men back there at the truck stop were mocking you. Wouldn't it be more embarrassing to go back there and beg for money and perform fellacio on the same guys who taunted you? Who's to say that they'll even want your services after what went down? If that happened, how would you pay for a motel room? Do you really wanna live on the streets for the rest of your life, especially right now in this cold?"

She was making a lot of good points, which added to the stress that he was feeling. He was so anxious that his hands were shaking. Mistaking this for chills, Mrs. Hayfer turned up the heater some more.

"Just tell me where Julio lives. I can drive you there."

"I can't go back."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't! And I don't wanna talk about it anymore."

Luckily, they were pulling into the parking lot of the motel. He told her to go around to the back and park because it was closer to his room.

"I brought your clothes," Mrs. Hayfer said. "They're in the trunk."

That made Drake feel better. All of his money had been in the pocket of those jeans that he had left behind.

The two got out of the car. Mrs. Hayfer went around to the back and unlocked the trunk, then picked up a garbage bag full of his belongings.

"So which room is yours?" she asked.

Drake could tell what she was really trying to say. His brows furrowed. "You're not coming in with me." First off, he was too embarrassed to let her see the shit hole that he lived in. On top of that, he didn't think he could handle another minute of her trying to push him to go back home.

"I am if you want these clothes back."

"Just give them to me!" He reached for them, but she tossed the bag back into the trunk and closed it. This pissed him off. "You know what? Fuck you. You can keep them." There were several low-blow jokes he could've said about her keeping his clothes or the money her husband had given him for sex, but she'd given him a ride and he wasn't that much of a jerk.

He stormed off across the parking lot, then climbed the stairs to the second floor. He had been renting a room here for close to two weeks now. It was larger than the other motel, but it was just as shitty and was crawling with roaches, mice, junkies and prostitutes. He made it to his room — 219 — and reached into his pockets. That's when he realized he was wearing his sweatpants.

"Shit!" His keys were in his other pants!

He turned around and looked over the banister. Mrs. Hayfer waved up at him smugly. She held his room key in her hand.

"Goddamnit!" he whispered to himself. "Fucking bitch." Fine. Two can play at that game. He made his way back downstairs, but instead of going to the woman's car, he went over to the office.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, um, I accidentally lost my room key and I left the spare in the room. Could you possibly open the door for me?"

"Of course, sir." He put up a sign that said "Be right back" before walking around the counter with a key ring jingling at his side. He followed the boy out the glass door. "Which room?"

"219."

The made their way up the staircase, all the while, the receptionist was making casual conversation.

"It's so chilly out here, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sorry for the trouble."

"Oh, it's not trouble at all." He was way too nice for his own good. "Do you know where you left the key?"

"I think so."

"If you ask for a spare or don't return both keys when you check out, you'll be charged."

It was worth it to avoid Mrs. Hayfer. Speaking of Mrs Hayfer... Just as they made it to the top of the staircase, Drake saw her standing in front of his room.

"Hey, I found your key," she said. "You left it in my car."

"Well, would you look at that? Today's your lucky day," the receptionist said.

"No, I-"

Mrs. Hayfer spoke up. "Sorry for the inconvenience, sir." She waved.

"It's not problem. Have a good night." He made his way back downstairs.

Drake was fuming as he approached the woman. He snatched his key from her, unlocked his door and stepped inside. He tried to close it behind him, but the woman stopped it with her foot. "Move," he said.

She shook her head.

"You're not coming in."

"We had a deal. Remember?"

"Keep the fucking clothes."

"What am I gonna do with them?"

Drake shrugged incredulously. "I don't give a fuck. Give them to your husband so he can have something to remember me by and jerk off on for all I care." He was no longer above pissed her off because he was angry.

"Hey, Drake!" It was a young man who had just walked out of the room at the end of the floor.

"Shit!" To Mrs. Hayfer, he whispered. "Leave."

"Let me in."

"Just go!" He tried unsuccessfully to shut the door.

"I'm not leaving."

"For fuck's sake, go!"

"I'm not done talking to you."

"Please!"

"Yo, Drake!"

The young man closed his eyes and sighed as the boy his age approached. His name was Devante.

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" he said, then he looked at Mrs. Hayfer up and down. "Damn, Drake, you've never brought a woman back before, and a fine one at that. I'm not usually into cougars, but I'd make an exception for you." After another moment of staring at her breasts and ass, he pushed open the door for her. "Why don't you wait inside for him, doll? We'll be just a second."

Drake was outraged, but he didn't put up a fight, making Mrs. Hayfer wonder if her former student was scared of him. She stepped inside and the door was closed behind her. She flipped on the light, then instantly regretted it when she looked around the disgusting room. Her nose turned up. She moved over to the small table with two chairs and set the bag of clothes and her purse down. She almost screamed when she looked down and saw a roach devouring a French fry at her feet. This freaked her out enough to want to leave, but she came here for a reason. She peeled back the curtain wearily, praying that a bug wouldn't fall off and into her hair. She hoped that their conversation wouldn't take long. As she peeked through the window, she saw the stranger threateningly holding Drake over the banister as if he was going to drop him. She quickly snatched the door open.

"-just chill, Dev, okay? I'm working on it-"

"Drake?" the woman interrupted.

"Tell your bitch to go back inside," Dev quietly commanded.

Drake looked at her, and despite the fear in his eyes, he said, "It's okay. Just go inside. I'll be in in a minute."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Just go inside or you're gonna make it worse."

Mrs. Hayfer had never been in a situation such as this one and she had no idea what was going on. Apparently, Drake had pissed this boy off somehow. If she went back inside, she didn't know what would happen, but if she stayed? Drake said that that would "make it worse." Whatever was owed to him, if he didn't get it now, he was going to get it later with ten times the fury.

The woman debated this for a while until ultimately coming to realize that this was Drake's life. He'd asked her to stay inside and she didn't want to be the reason that something bad happened to him, so she did as she was told and stayed out of it.

However, a couple minutes later, she heard a loud bang, then a yelp. She ran over to the window and saw that Drake had been shoved against the door. Next, he was punched, then punched again until he lost his footing. Mrs. Hayfer's eyes widened. She was horrified.

Again, she opened the door. "Hey!"

"Go back inside!" Drake managed to yell before he was punched in the mouth, the brass knuckles that Dev was wearing busting open his lip.

Once again, she disappeared inside the motel room.

"Ahh!" he screamed when he was punched again. His nose and mouth were gushing with blood.

Dev then started kicking him, his shoes swiftly connecting with the skin.

"Gaaahhh!" Drake screeched. He clutched his side with his hand, then pulled it away and looked at it to see that his fingertips had a little bit of blood on them. His eyes then moved to Dev's shoe.

One was just a regular black boot. The other — the one he had kicked him with — however, had been rigged with a steel toe and three thumbtacks sticking out. Not only was the force of the blow giving him pain, but now there were sharp, pointy object poking into his skin. Dev wound his foot back again.

"Don't. Don't! Gaaahhh!" Two more kicks had him in tears.

Dev kicked his back as he flipped over, then his other side when he started pulling himself across the concrete. Drake gripped the banister, then used all of his strength to lift himself up to his feet. He didn't have time to steady himself before his attacker grabbed a fistful of hair, then violently shoved his head against the railing twice. Drake fell to his knees, his thoughts just as jumbled up and blurry as his vision. He was kicked again, which knocked him onto his stomach.

"Dev, please! I'll get your money! I know I only have half, but I'll get the rest!"

The boy yanked the back of Drake's shirt collar, pulling him up and then tossing him into his back. Again, he went at his helpless victim with his brass knuckles. Drake reached up, desperately trying to grab at the banister as if that would do any good. He managed to grip one of the bars and pull as hard as he could, slowly dragging his aching body a couple inches across the concrete. Dev sat on his chest after this so that he couldn't move. Desperate for freedom, Drake clenched his fists and hit back. His attacker punched with so much force that he fell forwards and had to situate himself before hitting him again.

"Dev..." Drake sputtered, his face covered in blood and tears. "Please..."

Sweating and tired, Dev staggered to his feet, yanking the boy up with him. He shoved him up against his window. Drake was halfway unconscious, so when his head drooped, Dev grabbed his chin and shoved his head against the glass.

"Where's my money, Drake?"

The young man let go of a sob. "Please."

"Tell me where my money is before I kick you in the fucking nuts with my right shoe!" This was the shoe that had the spikes.

"I'll get it, I swear to God. Ahh!" He was shoved towards the banisters again. He grabbed them and tried to hold himself up, but Dev slammed his foot down on the back of his spine.

Dev lifted his foot and was about to curb stomp Drake's face against the bottom rail of the banister when the door whipped open.

"Wait!" Mrs. Hayfer screamed.

She had seen those kinds of things done in movies. If Drake wasn't lucky enough to die instantly by having his skull bashed in, then he'd have to deal with the pain of his teeth being forced out and his jaw snapping in half. Despite her hatred towards the boy, she couldn't let this go on any longer. It was a miracle that she even came out here in time. She hadn't been able to watch the fight through the window, but the sound of the punches and Drake's screeches alone convinced her that she had to do something.

Drake turned his body towards her and reached out with his blood-covered and shaking hand. "Help," he begged. He coughed. His mouth was bleeding so much that he was practically choking on the blood.

"Shut the fuck up!" Dev kicked his cheek with his right boot.

Drake screamed as the thumbtacks poked into his skin. Mrs. Hayfer looked on in fear when she saw Dev's rigged shoe.

"Go back inside, lady. Better yet, why don't you get the fuck out of here, you skank? Clearly, he's not gonna fuck you tonight." He grabbed Drake's hair, dragging him into the boy's motel room and pushing Mrs. Hayfer out of the way in the process.

"Help!" the woman yelled. "Help!"

Dev laughed at this notion. "No one's gonna come, sweetheart. Everyone minds their fucking business around here. They don't dare fuck with me. Apparently, Drake didn't get the memo." Kick.

"Gaaahhh!"

Mrs. Hayfer's heart broke when she saw her former student's face contort with pain. She grabbed Dev's arm. "Leave him alone!"

The tweaked out, self-proclaimed gangster responded by pulling out a Glock and turning to her. She went silent, suddenly fearing for her own life.

"You stay the fuck out of my way. You understand? Or I will blow your fucking brains out like Drake's." He turned back to the boy he'd mentioned and saw that Drake was backing away with his elbows and heels.

"Dev, come on, man. Please." He lifted his arms up to protect himself when the enraged addict made a grab for him. "Please!"

Dev had a tight grip on the boy's hair so that Drake couldn't move away when he pressed the gun against his cheek. The terrified victim's nostrils flared as he stared at the weapon, his breathing rapid and loud.

"Dev, please, don't. Please, I'm begging you." Drake flinched when the gun was cocked. He couldn't stop trembling. "Oh, shit," he whispered. "Oh, shit."

Despite her fear, the woman couldn't let someone she still viewed as a child die. Again, she grabbed the attacker's arms. Dev whipped around and hit her with the gun, causing her to fall over. On her way down, her head crashed against the dresser. This knocked her out cold.

---

"Stop! Stop! Stopppggggll!"

Mrs. Hayfer squeezed her already closed eyes shut tighter. She groaned as she reached up and clutched her pounding head, then hissed at the pain of her touch.

"PLEASE! PLEA-"

She opened her eyes and immediately remembered where she was and what was happening. The fear returned to her.

"GAAAOOOWW!"

She blinked, then quickly pushed herself onto her feet and made her way into the bathroom. The sight before her was horrendous. Dev had Drake pinned over the edge of the tub. With one hand, he held the victim's head underwater. With the other, he punched his side or his spine or his head. At some point, Dev had pulled the boy's pants and boxers down and shoved the stick end of the toilet plunger up his rear. He occasionally pushed it in further, causing the boy to tighten his muscles and squirm. All the while, he yelled taunts about his whorish lifestyle and his missing money although Drake probably couldn't hear them well from underneath the water. Within seconds, Dev pulled his head out by his hair.

Cough. "Take it-" Cough. "Take it out! Ple-"

Dev shoved him in again. To continue torturing him, he pushed the plunger in further. Mrs. Hayfer watched Drake's toes curl and his hands clench into fists as he scraped at the wall, desperately trying to grab hold of something. There had to be at least eight or ten inches inside of him, right?

"Let him go," Mrs. Hayfer demanded.

"You again?" He seemed annoyed and it showed in how hard he punched Drake's badly bruised ribs. "You stay the fuck back. You hear me?" He pulled out his gun and pointed it at her once again.

What she didn't know was that the reason Drake was still alive was because, in Dev's drugged out state, apparently he'd forgotten to reload it before leaving his motel room.

"Why are you doing this?!"

"Get back!" he threatened. He was so focused on her that he didn't realize his other hand raised just enough for Drake to get some air.

The helpless boy coughed, his entire body jerking as he did so. "Dev, please," he whined pathetically.

His attacker took the barrel of the gun and hit the back of Drake's head. The young man yelped and tried to protect himself from the blows that followed. He was crying when he was shoved underneath the water again.

"You believe this faggot motherfucker tried to offer me head so that I wouldn't kill him?" he said to Mrs. Hayfer. As if the notion had pissed him off and made him feel as though his masculinity had been questioned, he put his gun back in his waistband, gripped the plunger, pulled it out a couple inches, then rammed it back in harder and further. He did this again. Then again.

Mrs. Hayfer could tell that Drake was in pain because of it. His screams were muffled under the water, but she heard them and she could see the frantic bubbles rising to the surface. Her former student's entire body tensed up and his shaky hand reached for Dev pleadingly. The fact that he was wrinkling and stretching his attacker's designer shirt pissed Dev off, so he gave the boy a hard slug on his spine, then continued his work with the plunger.

"Just leave him be!" Mrs. Hayfer begged. "Haven't you done enough?!"

"Not until I get what's owed to me." He yelled now so that maybe Drake could hear. "EITHER HE GIVES ME MY FORTY FUCKING DOLLARS OR THIS COCK-SUCKER PAYS WITH HIS LIFE!" Another violent thrust of the stick, then he pulled his head out of the water. "YOU HEAR ME, YOU GODDAMN SLUT?!"

Drake was choking, and despite knowing that he needed to beg him or offer him something, he couldn't speak through his coughs. He saw the water getting closer, and he could feel his head being forced downward again. He pitifully let go of a whimper before he went right back to drowning.

Mrs. Hayfer blinked. She had been so shocked that she hadn't been able to keep her jaw from dropping, but it wasn't until now that she could actually speak. "Forty dollars?!" she said incredulously. "You're trying to kill him over forty fucking dollars?! Jesus, I've got forty dollars in my purse!" She concluded that the young man was either on drugs or desperate to get that way.

"You're gonna pay this bitch's debt for him?" Dev looked at her, but he didn't let go of Drake, who was banging his fists against the wall, desperate for air.

Mrs. Hayfer went back into the room. She made her way over to the purse, which was on the table, and she pulled out two twenty dollar bills. She brought them back to Dev, who seemed to think about this at first. However, whatever drug he was craving was more important than teaching Drake a lesson, so he yanked the boy out by his hair-

"HUUUUH!"

-and tossed him on the hard linoleum.

"HUUUUUH!" Drake gasped, then he erupted into a coughing fit.

Dev grabbed the money, counted it, then slipped it into his pocket. He went back over to Drake, who, for the first time, noticed that his former teacher was in the room. "You're lucky this lady was here to save your pathetic life. You better make her squirt after the money she spent on you." He gave him one last kick, this one to the head. Luckily, it wasn't with the spike shoe again. After this, he was gone.

"Jesus, are you okay?!" Mrs. Hayfer got on her knees in front of him, then brushed away the hair that was plastered to his face.

"Please, just go," he begged with shame. He was shaking and sobbing.

Instead, she gripped the plunger, then started pulling it.

"Ahh!"

She slowed down and allowed Drake to tightly grip her free hand until the end came out. It was covered in blood and fecal matter. She tossed it to the side, then looked around until she found a towel. She dried off his face, then she helped him pull up his boxers. He rolled onto his back, then planted the bottom of his feet on the ground so that he could lift his ass up and finish pulling up his underwear and sweatpants. He let go of a cry as he did this.

"Are you okay?"

Drake's face contorted as he continued to weep. He shook his head no.

Mrs. Hayfer didn't know what to do, but she hated seeing him like this. She pulled his head into her lap and hugged him. "It's okay," she whispered. "It's over now."

---

One good thing had come from this. After hitting his fourth or fifth or tenth rock bottom, Drake had told her that he was ready to get clean. She had helped him to his feet, then practically dragged him out of the room and down the stairs. He had the hardest time walking. She wasn't sure whether it was because of his severely bruised torso or the fact that he'd been brutally penetrated, but she didn't ask. Once they made it downstairs, he hadn't been able to go any further. She pulled up her car so that he didn't have to cross the small parking lot, then she got out and helped him into the backseat so that he could lay down because it was currently impossible for him to sit. Their drive to Ricardo's was silent other than the GPS's voice telling her which way to turn. Once they got there, Mrs. Hayfer noticed that the man was already outside. He'd probably just gotten home from work since it was somewhere around midnight. He looked on questioningly as the strange car pulled into the driveway behind him, the headlights blinding him.

Mrs. Hayfer left the car cranked to keep a sleeping Drake warm. She opened the door and got out, noticing that Ricardo had lowered his guard after seeing her. "My name is Alice Hayfer. I teach at Belleview High."

"Hi." Still unsure of why she was here so late, he moved towards her with obvious confusion. He saw blood trailing down one of her temples and a bruise on the other. "Are you okay? Do you need some help?"

"I've got Drake here. He said he's ready to get clean and he asked me to bring him here. He's hurt pretty badly."

Ricardo hurried around to the back door, then opened it. "Jesus, Drake!"

This woke him. One eye was swollen shut, but he was just barely able to crack the other one open to see his friend. "Hey," he croaked, then he started coughing again. He visibly winced at the pain this caused him.

"Oh my God! What happened?!"

"Can I come home? Please?"

"Of course."

Ricardo helped him out of the car, and the pain brought tears to Drake's eyes again. He couldn't walk at all now that the pain had settled, so Ricky handed his keys to Mrs. Hayfer and picked his friend up. The woman turned off her car, then she unlocked the front door and pushed it open so that they could get inside. They all went into the living room. Ricardo carefully placed Drake on the couch, then examined his wounds.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"I'm so sorry," was all that the boy said. He was crying again.

Alice spoke up. "Some guy beat him up and inserted something up his rear, then he tried to drown him because he owed him money."

"Jesus!" Ricardo was heartbroken. He looked at Drake, who averted his barely open eye shamefully.

"He had thumbtacks in the toes of his boots or something. It was brutal. Drake, show him your side." She moved over to the two, then pulled up the boy's shirt.

Drake yelped at this. The cloth had been stuck in some of the dried scabs and pulling it away reopened some. The bruises all over his torso were also visible. They were dark red and black and it filled up every inch of his skin.

"Shit," was all Ricardo could say. "How did you find him?"

"I went to the truck stop to surprise my husband with dinner. I found them together in his tractor."

"I'm so sorry," Drake said again, but this time to her.

Ricardo looked at him with disappointment and hurt as she continued with the story.

"My husband got angry, slapped him around a bit, then kicked him out. I followed him to some park. He had a whole set-up there. I got him to sit in my car and he asked me to take him to his motel room. That's when the guy showed up — one of his neighbors. He almost killed him."

"Do you think you need to go to the hospital?" Ricardo asked.

Drake tiredly shook his head.

"You sure?" He looked at Mrs. Hayfer for confirmation, but the woman only shrugged. "I could call an ambulance out here and have them check on you."

"I'm fine," Drake said.

"He's just as stubborn as he was when he was one of my students," Alice said.

"That's Drake for you," said Ricardo, then he stood. "I'm gonna clean him up a bit. I don't think it's a good idea for him to go to sleep right now in case he has a concussion, and the water should keep him awake. I can show you where the bathroom is if you want to clean up." He nodded towards her bloody temple.

"No, I'm gonna go back and finish talking to my husband. Thank you, though."

Ricardo showed her out, then grabbed the supplies he needed from the bathroom. Drake was asleep by the time he got back to the living room, but the boy awoke when the man dabbed at his face with a wet washcloth.

"I'm really sorry," Drake whispered.

"Don't be sorry."

"I should've come to you."

"You did. You told me how you were feeling before we went to work. I should've known that a couple words of encouragement wouldn't cure that."

"I don't want you to blame yourself. I knew what I was doing when I decided to use. I knew I could've let you talk me out of it, but I didn't want you to this time. It was my choice."

"I just feel like I should've seen it coming."

"You couldn't have. I told you that everything was fine, and you had no reason not to believe me because we have this whole honesty thing," Drake said. "I'm really sorry I broke your trust. I hate that I lied to you."

His dishonesty seemed to actually hurt himself more than Ricardo. Truthfulness was his number one value. Deception was the worst thing for a relationship of any kind. If you lie about who you are, what you're doing, how you're feeling, etcetera, how can anyone really get to know who you are, and if no one knows who you are, then what's the point?

Drake winced when Ricardo wiped away the blood on his lip.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go to the hospital? What if there's internal bleeding or something?"

"I'm fine. I just got a little banged up."

"A little?"

"This kinda thing used to happen everyday, remember? My body's used to it." He groaned as his friend gently slid up the side of his shirt for a better look.

Every bit of the exposed part of his torso was dark red and black, almost resembling the outer space tattoo on his forearm. There were cuts and scrapes and miniature puncture holes that were only visible because of the tiny puddle of blood or the red smear or the dried scab on top of them. Ricardo could tell that he was in pain because of his offbeat breathing pattern. He wouldn't inhale much because the constant lift of his chest and stomach was excruciating.

"I thought you learned your lesson about borrowing money from guys like that after Marcellas."

"I was forty dollars short on my rent. I was gonna be kicked out of my motel room. I was really desperate."

"You stayed in a motel the whole time?"

"Not the whole time. A lot of it, though. I was making decent money. I blew a lot of it on all the wrong things that week, though, and he helped me out. I stayed so fucked up for a while after that I honestly forgot about owing him. He caught me on my way out the door and threatened me, so that's what I was trying to do at the truck stop, but then Mrs. Hayfer caught us, and I forgot all about it again." Another wince. "I got twenty-five from her husband, but Dev didn't care because I was fifteen short. Apparently, that was enough to kill me over. Mrs. Hayfer was there. I wouldn't let her come in at first and I tried to make her leave because I was so humiliated. That's when Dev showed up. He hit her with his gun and she fell against the dresser and busted her head open. I thought she was dead. There was so much blood. I feel so bad that she got tangled up in all this, especially after she caught me with her husband, but honestly, I'm so glad that she was there because he would've killed me." His eyes watered over at the pain of Ricardo cleaning up his busted and swollen lip. "I've always wanted to die, and I mean, I still do, but I didn't wanna die like that. I didn't want my body to be found that way — with a fucking plunger up my ass." Now it was unclear if his tears were caused by his physical pain or the mental anguish brought on by his memories. "I'm so fucking humiliated." And then the waterworks really started.

Ricardo frowned as he sobbed. He gently laid his arm across the boy and pulled Drake's head against his chest. This was the closest he could get to a hug without hurting him. "I know," he whispered.

He looked over to the left when movement caught his eyes. His brother was standing there, rubbing his tired eyes. When he noticed Drake, he was happy, but then his smile soon faded. Julio stepped closer, his mouth open in shock. He couldn't see how badly injured his best friend's face was since his head was buried in the stomach of Ricardo's shirt as the man petted his hair. However, by the looks of the rest of him, he had a good guess. He made his way around the coffee table and got on his knees in front of Drake and next to Ricardo, his face still showing his shock as he examined the battered and bruised body in front of him. Ricardo looked his way just as Julio noticed the blood on the crotch and thighs of Drake's light gray sweatpants, which indicated some sort of aggressive sexual assault. He met his brother's eyes pleadingly, as if begging for it not to be true. However, the man's attention was pulled away when Drake yelped at the pain caused by his body-shaking sobs.

After a moment's thought, Ricardo said, "I'm taking you to the hospital."

Drake tried to protest, but he couldn't get any words out through his crying.

"I'll grab you some clothes." He looked at his brother. "Keep an eye on him. I'll be right back."

Drake hadn't noticed that Julio had come in. He saw him after Ricardo stood and left the room. Although he should have expected it, Julio's jaw dropped open again when he saw Drake's swollen, bruised and bleeding face. Just by looking at him, he could immediately tell that his snotty nose was broken. At least, it looked that way anyway. His puffy face was pretty disfigured and misshapen, so he could be wrong actually.

"How could you do this?" Julio asked, feeling resentment towards his best friend for allowing this to happen.

Drake looked at him through the slit in the one eye that he could open. "I'm really sorry." He whispered it so that it wouldn't hurt as much. As he opened his mouth and said those words, a dribble of blood left his lips and reached all the way down to the couch.

"You're sorry?" the boy said incredulously, but in the quiet kind of way. His voice got louder afterwards. "You just ran off in the middle of the night, leaving me and Ricardo to worry about you for weeks?! No texts, no calls, no messages! I thought you were dead!"

Drake's nostrils flared in and out and his bottom lip quivered. He couldn't even see because of the water glazing over his one semi-open eye. His Adam's apple moved around in his throat as he attempted to swallow down the lump he felt. He opened his mouth to speak, but all he could do was choke out, "I'm sorry."

"Is that all you can say?!" Although he was trying to yell, his words faded a bit as if he was losing his voice. His throat was dry, possibly because of the sudden fear he'd felt when he'd seen his best friend looking like he did. Like Drake, he was shaking. "Do you have any idea what you put me through?!" It came out in an out-of-breath fashion. "Every night, I sat up wondering if you were okay — wondering what I could've done to stop you from leaving!"

"You couldn't've-"

"I would just be laying in bed obsessing over what I did — questioning everything. Like, maybe I set off a domino effect. I started thinking maybe I should've let you win that round of MarioKart. Maybe I bragged about my win too much and made you feel low self-esteem. Maybe when you texted me while I was studying with some classmates, I shouldn't have ignored you. Maybe that made you feel worthless. Maybe when I got home, I should've said something to you instead of walking right by you and going to my room. Maybe I made you feel like you weren't important."

Drake was shaking his head as tears flooded his face. "No-"

"It's like I'm always walking on egg shells with you! I always have to be mindful of you in everything I do! Can I watch this movie?! Can I listen to this song?! Can I make this joke?! Can I go to this store, to this restaurant, to this concert, with this friend?! Can I..." He started taking deep, quick breaths. He suddenly noticed that it was hard to breathe and, pretty soon, he felt like he was hyperventilating. He clutched his chest.

"Julio?"

The young man backed up until he ran into a wall. He slid onto his bottom, his eyes wide with panic as if the walls were closing in on him. "I can't breathe!"

"Ricky!" Drake gritted his teeth as he rolled into the floor. "Gaahh!" he groaned through clenched teeth when he hit the hard surface. He couldn't walk, so he dragged himself along as quickly as possible, ignoring the pain. "Are you okay?" he asked, unsure of what else to do.

"Get the fuck away!"

Drake moved back to give him room to breathe. "I'm sorry." He put his hand on his own chest. "I shouldn't have come back. I'll leave."

Julio gasped and gasped, but it never felt like enough air. He was crying now, which also didn't help.

"Ricky!" Drake called again, pushing himself onto his knees so that he could be at eye level. He winced as he did so, then yelped as he got himself situated. "It's gonna be okay," was all that he could think of to say. He could feel himself beginning to get short of breath.

Thankfully, just a short moment later, Drake heard footsteps rushing down the staircase. Ricardo had entered the room in seconds. After seeing the issue, he ran into the kitchen, grabbed a brown paper sack from one of the cabinets, then hurried back and passed it over to the boy after opening it.

"Here. It's okay. Just breathe." He sat on his knees right in front of the panicking boy. Unlike Drake, he spoke calmly in a low and slow voice. "Look at me. You're okay. I'm okay. Drake's okay. We're all home. We're all safe. Everything's okay."

Drake was sick with guilt. He wanted to cry. He was crying, but he wanted to really cry...and maybe throw up. All of this stress was making his stomach churn. He literally felt sick because of himself and who he was and what he had done. However, letting loose in front of Julio was only going to make things worse. He mustered all of his strength, then pushed himself onto his feet. Each step was incredibly excruciating. He managed to take two steps, then he gripped the wall where the living room became the foyer. There was no way that he could make it any further on his own. He managed to slide his feet just a few inches until he was on the exact opposite side of the wall as Julio. His nails dug into the paint as he slowly dropped onto his knees.

"In... Out... In..."

Drake covered his mouth with his hand to keep himself quiet because he felt like he had no right to cry. It was never his intention to hurt anyone. His selfishness had gotten in the way. That's why he had left. He felt so bad about causing so much stress. The last thing he'd wanted was to make Julio think that Drake's stupid fucking decisions were his fault. He regretted his relapse — despised himself for it even. How could he ever mend the friendship he had broken? Better yet, how could he ever mend the person he had broken? How could he have done this? Why did he leave that night? Why couldn't he have told Ricardo the truth? Why couldn't he have been stronger? Why couldn't he have been the person they needed him to be?

"Iiiin... Oooouut... Iiiiiin."

---

Ricardo blinked his eyes when he felt himself waking. He lifted his head, his neck aching because of the way he had slept in the hard chair in the corner of the room. Immediately, his mind told him to check on Drake, who was wide awake in his hospital bed. The man pushed himself up, walked over to him, then sat down on the mattress after Drake moved his legs over.

"You're up," he said, then a powerful yawn left him. "Did the doctor come in?"

"No," Drake whispered, mindful that Julio was still sleeping in a recliner nearby. He turned his head to look at his best friend, who seemed much more at ease than he had the night before, but still not completely recovered.

"What happened last night?"

Drake didn't answer him. Instead, he said, "I think I'm gonna leave when I get out of here."

"What? No. Why?"

"I just think it's better...for everyone."

"Where will you go?"

"I'll just go back to doing what I was doing," he said with honesty.

"You're gonna go back out there dealing with the kind of people who did this to you?"

"I just won't borrow money. If I'm short on rent and have to sleep outside somewhere, you know, then so be it."

"And you're gonna start selling your body again for cash?"

Drake shrugged and, although it signified nonchalance, he kept his head down with shame. His voice was quiet. "It's not so bad...when you get used to it."

"What about me? You're just gonna leave again?"

"You've spent two and a half years taking care of me, and obviously it hasn't amounted to shit. Your entire life has revolved around me. You need to be able to go out and make actual friends and meet a girl and hold down a stable relationship without my baggage taking control of your life."

"And Dahlia? You're just gonna let things end like it did?"

"I'm a piece of shit. What do you want me to say?"

Ricardo now wondered how long Drake had been awake. Clearly, his depression had poisoned his brain with a bunch of horrible thoughts, once again steering him down a path towards self-destruction.

Knock! Knock! The door opened to reveal a young woman who was around Ricardo's age. She greeted the patient with a smile.

"I'm Dr. Blair. I'll be your doctor for the next twelve hours."

She went over to the whiteboard that was on the wall. Other workers had written down important information on there, such as the nurses' names, room number, and food schedules. Dr. Blair used her hand to wipe off the previous shift's doctor's name, then picked up the dry-erase marker and wrote her own.

"If you have any questions, you can ask me or any of the nurses on shift, okay?"

Ricardo spoke up. "When will they have the results of the examinations they did?"

"I'd give it about an hour or two," the woman said, to which Ricardo responded with a nod. "Once I see the results, I'll let you know and we'll talk about next steps that we need to take from there. I'll go double-check on the time for you, though." She turned and poured soap on her hand from the wall dispenser before leaving the room.

To Drake's confusion, Ricardo jogged after her and stopped her outside of his room. "Could I talk to you for a sec?"

She wore a smile on her face as she looked at him. "Of course. You're the roommate?"

"Ricardo." He nodded, suddenly noticing just how attractive she was in the hallway lighting. "Um-" He reached for the door handle and closed it. "-I know Drake's not gonna say anything, but he's been struggling with drug addiction for a while. I'm worried about what will happen when you give him pain medication."

The doctor nodded, her brows furrowed as she intently listened to Ricardo's concerns. "What kinda of drugs was he taking?"

"He's addicted to cough medicine. I'm not sure what else's he's taken. He was clean for a few years, but this past two months, he had a bad relapse. I just didn't want him to not saying anything and then end up having a bad reaction by mixing all that dextromethorphan and whatever else with whatever pain meds you give him, but also, I was wondering if it was possible to not give him anything like...addictive. Or anything that could give him a high."

"Well, I appreciate you disclosing this information. I'll have to talk to him about what drugs he has used before we give him any medications. As far as what kind we give him, ultimately, it's his choice since he is an adult. I would maybe discuss this with him because I know he's in a lot of pain, especially if his colon was penetrated. All you and I can really do is encourage him to make the right choice, but if he requests the medication, by law, I can't let him suffer through all that pain."

"I understand."

"Okay?" She smiled.

"One more thing?" he said. "When he relapsed, he was living on the streets and got involved in sex work." He said it quietly. He knew that Drake couldn't hear, but if his friend knew that he was telling all of his secrets, he would be pissed. "I was wondering if he could be tested for STD's."

"Again, we'll have to okay this with the patient. If he gives us permission, we can get that done right away for him. I would highly suggest that you sit down with Mr. Parker and express these concerns to him."

Back inside the room, Julio had just sat up. He looked exhausted and defeated. His tired eyes were dark, and his lips hung in a lazy frown as if he were dead inside. Despite having not spoken a word in hours, he hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd overheard Drake and his brother's private conversation. Now that they were alone, he felt like this would be a good time to talk to him about the previous night's events.

"Don't leave," he said quietly.

"What?" Drake hadn't expected him to say anything. He thought that the boy was still pissed with him.

"I want you to stay."

Drake thought that he was just saying this because he was a nice person and he felt guilty about what he'd said. "It's fine."

"No, it's not. You think leaving's gonna solve anything? It won't. I'm still gonna sit around wondering if you're dead or not. So just stay."

Drake sighed, then hung his head. "Julio-"

"Goddamnit, Drake! For once in your life, can you put someone else first? You leaving is just a bullshit cop-out because you're too fucking scared to fail again. Everyone messes up, Drake. Everyone hurts someone that they love unintentionally. You're not fucking special. You don't just run away and punish yourself by doing a bunch of self-destructive shit. You say you're sorry, but most importantly, you show it. You show it by cleaning the fuck up so, for once, I don't have to worry about your dumb ass. Because I fucking care. So you're not leaving. Okay?"

Drake was shocked. None of it hurt his feelings because it was all true. He was being selfish. He was being self-destructive. He was acting like a dumbass. Sometimes you need friends like Julio to check you and put you back in line.

"Okay," Drake said softly.

Julio felt his heart stop racing as quickly with this confirmed. He let go of his nervous breath. "Okay."

Drake was quiet for a moment. Obviously apologies don't mean much when there were no actions to back it up, but that's all he could do right now. "I really am so sorry."

"I know."

"I'm gonna try to clean up again," he said.

"Good."

"I can't believe I did this again, you know? That I put myself through that. The things I was doing..." He could feel his eyes water over, so he blinked away the tears and changed the subject. "It was pretty shit not having you and Ricky around."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It got kinda lonely sometimes. The tv in my motel room was broken, but I got a ten dollar discount on the room, so that was cool. I got so bored, though. I was literally reading to pass the time."

"Bullshit. You? Reading?" He was laughing now, so Drake laughed, too.

"No, for real. There was this bookshop by the truck stop."

"Did you catch up on your Twilight?"

"They had Trainspotting actually. It was kinda different from the movie a little, and since they have Scottish accents, the words were actually written like how the characters would say them. Like, it'd say 'ifter' instead of 'after' or 'tae' instead of 'to.' It was kinda hard to read at first. I had to figure out some of the slang. They said 'bairn' instead of 'baby' and 'ken' instead of 'know.'" And each chapter was from a different character's point of view, so you had to learn each of their accents and how they talk to know who you were reading for. Like, if they said 'fuck' a lot, it was Begbie. And if they called people cats and said 'likesay' at the end of every sentence, then it was Spud."

Julio grinned at him with both bewilderment and amazement. He was now past the hilarity about the fact that Drake had actually read a book for the first time in twenty-one years and onto the fact that the boy just casually slipped in a couple perfectly-pronounced Scottish words with nonchalance. He chuckled. "Say something Scottish again," he teased.

Drake grinned, and tossed his pillow at him, but complied with, "Fook ootay here, ya daft cunt."

Julio's eyes widened and he erupted into a fit of laughter. This is when Ricardo entered the room. He was surprised to see that both his brother and Drake were in such a giggly mood. Things had been tense ever since last night's explosions and meltdowns, but nothing could ever come in the way of Drake and Julio's friendship. No matter what, they would always forgive each other.

"The fuck is going on in here?" He was already smiling, too, as he leaned against the counter.

"I'm trying to tell Julio about this book, but he's not listening," Drake said.

Julio, still doubled up and hooting with laughter, wiped away the tear in his eye and shook his head. He spoke in a high-pitched voice. "It's so good."

"What book?"

Julio spoke up. When he answered, he mimicked a Scottish accent, though nowhere near as good as Drake's. "Trainspottin'" He went right back to chortling.

Ricardo furrowed his brows with confusion and looked at Drake, hoping for a clearer answer as to what was so funny.

"I think I just threw him off when I used the accent," Drake explained.

"I've never heard you use a Scottish accent before." Julio was beginning to catch his breath. He clutched his aching stomach.

"I don't know how you haven't. I went through a whole phase after I watched Trainspotting with Kenzly for the first time."

Kenzly. He missed that girl. She was basically the male version of himself. Unfortunately, after getting with Clementine, he was given an ultimatum: her or Kenzly. Despite his current actions and the fact that he had left her for a life of drugs and sex, he was madly in love with Clem. He needed her, probably way more than she needed him. He couldn't see her forgiving his pathetic ass, but he knew that he had to try to beg her to forgive him. Losing her would crush him.

"Is that that movie where the guy climbs into the toilet?" Ricardo asked. "And with the baby crawling on the ceiling?"

"The movie you made me turn on subtitles for, yeah."

"Well," he said defensively. "I'm not good at understanding accents I'm not used to hearing. English is my second language after all. Remember that. I mean, honestly, I don't even know what Dahlia is saying to me half the time. I just sit there and nod my head."

"Me, too!" Julio said.

"What the fuck, you guys?"

Ricardo said, "I mean, it's like she's speaking a completely different language sometimes. 'Are you taking the piss?' What the fuck does that mean?"

Julio added to this. "Bruh, and she was telling me some story about a girl in high school who was trying to sleep with her boyfriend, and she confronted her and said, 'Bugger off, ya twat, or you're gonna get a slap.' And then she said the girl stopped talking to her boyfriend after that and goes, 'That was me well chuffed.' She was telling me this whole rant while I was playing a game on my phone, so I went to Urban Dictionary just so I could get through the conversation with her."

"You guys are horrible," Drake said.

"My favorite thing is when she gets pissed at you and calls you a wanker." In a British accent, which was much better than his Scottish one, he said, "Drake, ya bloody wankeh, didja put me jumpeh in the washin'?"

"Oh my God," Ricardo said with nostalgia, his eyes pointed upwards in memory. "She got so pissed at you. I thought she was gonna break up with you for trying to wash her jacket for her."

"I didn't know she was planning on wearing it," Drake recalled.

"Well, that's just bloody brilliant, innit, ya plonker?"

"Fuck off. Clem's not a bad person."

"I think you just don't know what all those British slang words that she calls you mean."

"It's just who she is. She doesn't actually mean it. It's just light-hearted bullshit."

Ricardo said no more on the subject, but it was clear that he didn't share the same opinion as Drake. He had overheard several of their arguments and, even when they're not fighting, she puts him down a lot. She can be very subtle about these things. It's like she had mastered the art of manipulation. She knew the kinds of things that Drake responded to: what made him excited, what made him tick, what pissed him off. She knew all the right buttons to press. Despite Ricardo's warnings, Drake saw no fault in her. She always convinced him that he was to blame. The man could only hope that his friend would see Dahlia for who she really was before he got hurt.

Their conversation took on a more serious tone when Julio asked, "Did you call her at all?"

"Just once."

"How long ago?"

"It was back during the first couple of days after I left," Drake answered guiltily.

He couldn't even begin to explain just how much he regretted that moment of weakness that had led to his worst relapse in two and a half years. He didn't really need to. The others could see it on his face. He was head over heels in love with her and he was terrified that she'd want nothing to do with him after what he'd done. He wasn't sure he could handle losing another person he loved. Moving on felt impossible.

"Hey, don't stress about right now. Get out of your head." Ricardo stepped closer. He could see that Drake was starting to overthink and obsess, and that would only leave him depressed and, quite possibly, suicidal. "Let's just focus on getting out of here and, when you get better, you can try talking to her."

This didn't make him feel any better however. Instead, he had actually started crying.

"I cheated on her," he admitted with more guilt in his voice than either of the boys had ever heard from him (and they had heard his guilt-ridden confessions plenty of times before).

Ricardo sighed sympathetically and rubbed his shoulder.

Julio looked on with a somber expression. He was no longer laughing like he had been minutes before. Although he had lived with Drake for two and a half years and had known him for many years more, he didn't fully grasp the concept of addiction. He had done his fair share of Triple C's in his teenage years, so why had Drake gotten so stuck? And not just stuck — he was actually prostituting himself out for them. Julio thought back to the time when he and Drake were at a party and Rhinestone had put it on blast that Drake had given Coach Tad a blowjob just so that he could get a passing grade. He remembered his best friend crying in the car on the way home and saying, "I don't want you to think I'm some slut who would just whore myself out for an A." It was crazy to think about how far he'd come — what things he was getting in return for fucking strangers. Not only had he sold his body for drugs. After a while, it had become so second-nature to him that Drake had let some sleazy, old truck driver perform anal on him for things such as food, a motel room, soda, alcohol, a measly fucking book. It was hard to understand Drake's thought process for this. Was it something like, "I got everything I need for now. What should I spend this extra ten dollars on?" Or maybe it was more like, "I wish I could watch tv! I'm so bored! Ugh! Well, I guess I could read to pass the time. Let me just go suck someone's dick first and get some money to buy a book." Either way, it wasn't normal to think this way. He blamed Drake's father for it. All that sexual assault had really fucked him up. If only someone had realized what was going on and put a stop to it sooner. He wondered what his best friend's life would've been like.

"She's never gonna talk to me again," Drake whined with frustration. "I know what I did was wrong, but I just wish she'd understand that I..." He knew that blaming his addiction wouldn't make it any more okay. "I'm just so sorry."

Ricardo didn't know if Dahlia would take him back or not, but he was pretty sure the girl was cheating on Drake and had been since they started dating. He didn't have any concrete evidence, but there were too many coincidences and hints he'd noticed. He'd probably be just as blind to it had his co-worker Shaniqua not brought it to his attention. Sometimes, Clementine would come into the bar with sex hair or the smell of cologne on her clothes. Shaniqua had had a roommate that was the same way as Clem, so she had picked up on what kind of person she was the first day she had met Drake's girlfriend. When she brought up her concerns, Ricardo, being the protective big brother figure that he was, kept his eyes open and started noticing things on his own. Drake, however, didn't believe them.

Telling Drake that he shouldn't stress about whether or not Dahlia took him back because she was a lying cheater herself wouldn't make Drake feel better, so instead, Ricardo said, "All you can do is tell her what happened, be totally honest with her, express how sorry you are and see where it goes from there. There's no use getting upset about it now. Right now, you need to focus on getting better. Maybe you two can start over and go slow. Relationships aren't the best things to jump back into when you're beginning your sobriety."

"Do you want us to tell her where you are and see if she'll come?" Julio offered. He didn't like Dahlia either, but he hated seeing his friend so upset.

"No, I don't want her to see me like this." He didn't want to pull a sob story and manipulate her into taking him back although the deceptive addict inside of him was telling him that that would be his best shot.

"Why don't we talk about something else?" Ricardo said as Drake wiped his eyes.

"Speak Scottish again," Julio joked to lighten the mood.

This time, it was Ricardo who threw the pillow at him, but Drake did chuckle through his tears.

---

Author's Note: I meant to update sooner. I've just been so lazy. There are some things I forgot to mention in the previous chapter's author's note. First, I don't actually know British slang well. I'm hoping the words and phrases that Clem uses make sense. Basically, I only know what I've learned from tv and Google.

Also, I can't remember if I mentioned this last time, but in between working on this story, I wrote a one-shot. It's called Dear Walter: Letters From Behind Bars. Drake writes letters to Walter from prison, and that's basically the best way I know how to explain it. Check it out and let me know what you think.

Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter, you guys. I was so excited to read a couple familiar names. Michael J. O'Malley: "I need a Ricardo in my life" is literally my exact thoughts and probably my inspiration for his character. Guest: I'm so glad you're reading and that you like the story so much. Other Guest: I was impressed that you know my writing style because I don't even know my writing style. Hopefully, it comes back in the next couple of chapters. Sleeping Owl: It's been a while!

This chapter was super long. It took me FOREVER to edit. I know you guys wanted clean Drake. Just give it time. Relapse is apart of the recovery process. We'll see how it goes from here.

Anyway, I love you all. Let me know what you thought of the chapter, how I could improve, what you wanna see in future chapters, how your day was, whatever. See ya in the next one!