(1 week later)
Drake climbed out of the passenger's seat with a hiss. He was still pretty sore, but thankfully, there was no internal bleeding and his colon hadn't been penetrated, meaning that he wouldn't need a colonoscopy. Drake had been relieved to hear that. Living on the streets and doing the things he had done was humiliating enough for him. He wasn't sure how he would've coped with having a giant asshole on the side of his stomach so that he could shit into a bag at the dinner table.
Ricardo made his way around to the other side of the car. "Want some help?"
"I'm okay." Drake's muscles popped out of his arms, which he used to pull himself out of the car. His torso and backside still ached a good bit, but at least he was able to walk.
When the doctor asked about pain medication, she mentioned that Ricardo had approached her with a few concerns, which Drake had responded to by rolling his eyes and giving his friend a dead stare that seemed to say, "Really?" However, he understood where the worry was coming from, so he agreed to Ricky's requests and got some bullshit "pain meds" that didn't help with shit. However, he knew that he had a super addictive personality and his friend's concerns were definitely valid. He was clean (from both drugs and STD's), and he was planning on staying that way.
Julio placed a pair of sunglasses over his squinted eyes as he stepped out of the car and into the sun. He'd never been to this park before and it felt strange to know that this is where Drake had spent a lot of his time away from home.
Drake sort of staggered and limped along. After the sexual assault by plunger, it had taken a good bit of time before he had been able to sit down and even longer for him to begin walking again. Despite his incredibly sluggish walk, the Santos brothers acclimated to his pace and stayed by his side as if it was their casual walking speed. They made their way across the grass, then Drake led them deep in between some trees until they came to a small clearing. It was an absolute mess. Although they hid their feelings well, both Ricardo's and Julio's hearts dropped as they looked around the place that Drake had called home for two months. There was a tiny blanket set up as a mock bed with an equally thin blanket on top that he used to protect himself from the cold. There was also a pillow, which he most likely had stolen out of his motel room. All of these were damp and moldy, having been rained on quite a few times. The next thing they noticed was all the trash. Tons of empty Triple C boxes, cigarette packs, alcohol bottles, fast-food wrappings, two-liter sodas, water bottles and cans of computer duster were scattered about. Unlike at his motel room, nothing here was salvageable.
Drake stepped closer and waved around the trash bag he'd been carrying until it opened. He dropped onto his knees weakly with a wince, then started cleaning up. He picked up one of the empty boxes, then tossed it into the bag, throwing away that part of his life once and for all. One could hope anyway.
Ricardo squatted down next to him. "Let me get this. You and Julio can get the blankets." He didn't want the boy to get triggered by picking up all of those boxes of cough medicine.
Drake obeyed. Julio opened another bag, then helped his friend roll up the damp, squishy, stinky blankets and pillow. He held the bag open while Drake stuffed them inside. Julio's eyes wandered around, still in shock at the squalor his best friend had been living in. His gaze landed on the tree that had been next to Drake's makeshift bed. He saw a small heart carved into it, which had Drake's and Meelah's initials. No wonder this is where the boy had chosen to stay. It had been his and the first love of his life's spot. There was a sort of comfort and familiarity in that. Well, whatever it was, now it was probably tainted and it wouldn't be healthy for Drake to ever return.
Julio bounced the bag so that the rolled-up blankets would fall to the bottom. He then started helping Ricardo with the rest of the trash. As he did this, he came across a grocery sack. He opened it and saw that it was filled with hygiene and miscellaneous products such as shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, lubricant, etcetera. "Do you wanna trash this?" he asked.
"No. I'll probably take it to the truck stop bathroom and leave it there for someone else." He hadn't befriended any of the other junkies and prostitutes there, but he knew one of them would find it and be appreciative. While living on the streets, it had become a habit of his to check bags and such that he saw along the side of the road or in other places. He was shocked by some of the things people threw down.
Ricardo tied his garbage bag, and Julio did the same. They made their way back to the car and, as they walked, Ricardo wrapped his arm across Drake's shoulder to express his support.
"I'm proud of you," he said. "I know it's not easy having to start over again." He ruffled his fingers through his hair in an annoying-bigger-brother, but friendly, way.
"I don't think I would be able to do it without you guys. I really appreciate everything that both of you have done for me." Drake offered up a thankful smile. "That's what I was trying to tell Julio back in the hospital. There's this part in the book Trainspotting where Renton overdoses and wakes up back home, and his parents are forcing him to quit cold turkey. And there's this line where he says, 'Protect me from those who wish tae help us.' And I was kinda like that. I ran away from you guys because I knew that you just wanted to help, and I guess I didn't really want help. I told myself I did, so I was looking for it in all the places I knew I wouldn't find it. I went back home — they've moved, by the way — and I asked Tad to take me to rehab. I think I thought that if I acted like I was at least trying to better my life, then I could convince myself that it wasn't my fault that I ended up the way I did. I knew that I should be around people who supported me and maybe that's why I stayed away. Like Renton, I didn't want the help, but now I would do anything just to never have to go back to living like I was." Drake said, "I know I need help. I know I can't do this alone. I know I need both of you to keep me in check. I just wanna be a better person — someone who you can depend on. I wanna be able to repay you for everything you've sacrificed for me. Without both of you, I'd probably be dead. And, you know...I love you guys." He finished with a, "And all that shit," so that it wouldn't seem so fluffy and lame.
Julio grinned teasingly. "Aw, Drakey!"
"Fuck off." But he was smiling, too. He accepted the hug that his best friend gave him and then Ricardo joined in. He couldn't describe how much encouragement and love and support he felt just by this gesture alone even though it was done in a half sarcastic manner. He truly owed his life to these boys. "I'm just really sorry," he said for the millionth time since the relapse.
After a few more moments, Julio pulled away, then continued towards the car as he straightened his sunglasses. "Alright, enough of this mushy shit. Let's go, bitches. It's cold as fuck out here and you're trying to stand around and start a circle jerk."
Ricardo fake frowned. "Oh, come on, you don't wanna join?"
"I've been told I'm very good at handies," Drake said. And just like that, the old Drake — the one who could laugh at and make jokes about his own pain — was back.
"I'm out." Julio held up a peace sign as he continued walking. "Miss me with that gay shit."
"I've gotta take a piss, too, so I'm gonna be a second," Drake said before he got out of the car.
He made his way into the dimly lit truck stop bathroom with his bag of items he no longer needed. He went into the stall, oblivious to the man at the sink whose eyes followed him. Drake set the bag down, then undid his jeans and started to relieve himself. As he did this, his mind wandered. Today was a fairly good day thus far. Despite revisiting some bad memories, he felt productive. For the first time in a while, he felt good about his life and where it was heading. The next thing on his to-do list was to finally face Clem. She still didn't know that he was back and Drake had no idea how he was going to tell her.
When Drake was finished, he secured his jeans, then flushed the toilet. He grabbed his bag and exited the stall and started washing his hands. It was then that he noticed the truck driver, who was now leaning against the wall with a mischievous smirk. This wasn't the first time that they had been in the bathroom together. Drake remembered him. He was the guy who got off on giving golden showers. Desperate for cash, Drake had agreed to it once, but the idea of using piss for sexual gratification wasn't his kink and it wasn't something he ever wanted to do again.
The man pushed himself away from the wall, still grinning. He approached Drake, getting so close to him, in fact, that the boy could feel him breathing down his neck. "You looking for some cash?" he asked. "I got ten bucks with your name on it."
Drake kept his eyes on the sink as he washed his hands. "Nah, I'm good."
"Oh, come on," he pouted, then sighed as he dug into his pocket and opened his wallet. "How about fifteen?" He held out a ten and a five.
Drake shook his head, his voice soft because he felt scared for some reason. "I'm good."
Now the truck driver was growing irritated. "Alright, I'll give you twenty, but that's as high as I'm going, and that's only if you swallow."
Drake turned off the sink, then went around the man and got a paper towel. He started to make his way towards the exit, but was stopped when his wrist was grabbed.
Despite his rough grip, his voice expressed innocence. "Hey, hey, hey, where are you going, baby?"
"Let me go." This time, his fear showed in his voice.
"Why are you scared? We're just negotiating."
"I'm not interested." He pulled his arm back, but the man yanked it again, this time with so much force that Drake actually had to step closer.
"Aren't you a fucking junkie whore? This is what you do."
"I'm clean now." Something that should've been announced with pride somehow came out with a meek voice.
"You're clean now?" His voice expressed disbelief. "Just last week, you were here sucking every one of these guy's dicks, and you're clean now?"
"Just fuck off."
Again, he tried to free himself, but this time he was spun around and shoved against the wall. The man's body was pressed against his and his face was mere inches away. Drake tried to shove him, but the truck driver tightly gripped his other wrist as well.
"No need to be so fuckin' rude," the man said with a spine-chilling calm. "I'm just trying to work something out." His face was so close now that Drake turned his head to the side so that their noses weren't touching. He guided one of Drake's hands to the crotch of his pants and started massaging himself.
"HEL-"
The man used his other hand to cover Drake's mouth. "Shh, shh, shh," he hushed menacingly.
Now that Drake had a free hand, he punched the side of the driver's head as hard as he could. For retaliation, the predator slugged him right in the stomach, which was still incredibly sore and covered in a plethora of bruises.
"Mmm!"
A tear left his eye, which caused the man pinning him against the wall to smirk evilly out of one side of his mouth. Now he'd found his weakness.
"Bruh, turn this shit," Julio said for the third time.
"Turn it up?" Ricardo turned up the volume on the radio, blasting Fetty Wap's Trap Queen. As an added annoyance, he started singing and moving his body along to the beat. "Married to the money, introduced her to my stove. Showed her how to whip it, now she remixin' for low. She my trap queen, let her hit the bando. We be countin' up — bruh, chill!" he yelled when his brother reached from the backseat and turned the volume all the way down.
"I'm so embarrassed to call you my brother."
"Shut the fuck up. Your emo ass listens to Lil' Peep." He turned the music back up, but at a reasonable volume.
Julio rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat. "Bruh, what the hell is taking him so long? I'm ready to go home and eat."
"I don't know. I'll go check on him."
Ricardo opened his door and stepped out. He went around the car and, as he did this, he heard his radio abruptly start playing Lil Peep's Better Off Dying. When he looked back at his brother, Julio gave him the finger. He faced forward again and, upon doing so, he bumped into a man who was exiting the bathroom.
"Ooh, 'scuse me," he said.
He slipped past him, then went inside. It was very dark. Other than one dead-roach-infested light that hung from the ceiling and stretched from the left side of the bathroom to the right, the only other light came from the thin windows high above each stall, shower and sink. Suddenly, a sniffle caught his attention. He followed the sound past the stalls and towards the showers. After arriving at the third one, he pulled back the curtain and found Drake on the tiled floor. His clothes and hair were drenched in piss, and he kept spitting and coughing and gagging as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. He was clutching his side, clearly having been punched or kicked a couple times. Laying on the floor nearby was a twenty dollar bill.
"Motherfucker!"
Back in the car, Julio, who had his Bluetooth connected to the radio, scrolled through his songs to find one to play next. He looked up when he saw movement and watched as Ricardo stomped out of the bathroom.
"Hey!" he heard faintly even though the doors and windows were all closed.
He watched his brother march over to the man who had just exited the restroom moments before. His eyes went wide when he saw him grab the driver, spin him around and punch him in the face. "Oh, shit!"
He quickly pulled at the door handle and got out of the car. He started to go towards his brother, but then he realized that something must've happened to Drake for him to react this way. Ricardo could handle his own, so he ran into the bathroom and found Drake resting on his knees in a puddle of urine.
"What the fuck? What happened?!"
Drake just shook his head. He knew that he would lose it if he tried to speak. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and started to push himself up, yelping with pain as he did so.
Although he was covered in piss, Julio helped him to his feet. "Here, let's move over here." He guided him out of that shower and into a cleaner one, then he turned on the water. "Take off your clothes." He closed the curtain to give him privacy, then he turned around and saw Drake's hygiene products scattered all over the floor. He grabbed the shampoo and body wash and set it on the floor inside of the shower stall.
"Can you hand me my toothbrush and toothpaste?"
Julio shook his head with pity, disgust and rage as he looked around for the requested belongings. When he found them, he passed them along, then stood there helplessly. "Is there anything I can do?"
"No." Drake's voice cracked.
"We can call the police-"
"No, please, don't," he said.
Julio gathered up the rest of Drake's belongings and set them against the wall so that, like his friend had planned, someone who needed them could take them. He picked up the grocery bag that they had been in and put Drake's soaked clothes in it. After this, he went over to the sink to wash his hands. All the while, he could hear Drake brush, brush, brushing his teeth, then spitting and repeating the process.
"I'm gonna go look in the car and see if we have any spare clothes," Julio said. "I'll be right back."
He made his way outside, carrying the sack full of damp clothes with him. Ricardo was still beating the shit out of the repulsive prick who had defiled their friend. The man had gotten a few good punches in, but Ricardo was winning for sure. After finding nothing inside the main part of the car, Julio popped the trunk. He tossed the sack inside, unsure of what to do with them. Should he trash them? Would Drake ever wanna wear these clothes again after what had happened to him in them? Or was it just a simple fix and all they needed was a good washing? He wasn't sure. He'd bring it up with his brother later and let him make the decision. He grabbed an old jacket that Ricardo kept in there as back-up, but that's all the clothes that he found. He went back into the bathroom and saw Drake pick up the shampoo through the crack in the curtain.
"You alright?" he asked.
"Yeah."
Julio could tell by the sound of his voice that he was still weeping. "I don't really have a towel or anything for you to dry off with, but I got you some clothes."
Since Drake was probably feeling a bunch of shame and the need to cover himself up, Julio removed his jeans. His friend needed them much more than he did, so he hung them and the jacket over the curtain rod. He went over to the stall that Drake had been in before, then turned on the shower so that the urine could be flushed down the drain.
Drake wanted to get away from this truck stop as quickly as possible. He tried to hurry through washing his hair and body. He'd take another much longer and more thorough shower when he got back home.
"The fuck are you looking at?" he heard his friend say.
Knowing that another truck driver was in here unnerved him. He brushed his teeth once more, then turned off the water. He shook himself dry as much as he could, which wasn't much because of the bruises on his body. He reached up with a wince and grabbed the clothes, then slipped them on and pushed back the curtain. He immediately noticed Julio cleaning up in his boxers.
"You didn't have to-"
"It's fine." Julio washed his hands again just as Ricardo entered the bathroom, sweaty and breathing heavily.
"Jesus, Drake, are you okay?" He knuckles were pouring with blood and he had a bruise developing on his left cheek.
The young man hugged himself, hiding inside of the jacket that was about ten sizes too big. "Yeah," he said meekly, his eyes on the ground.
"Let's just get the fuck out of here," Julio said.
He wrapped his arm around his friend and led him to the car. He sat in the backseat with him and, as Ricardo put the car in drive, he looked out the window at the man who was writhing in pain on the concrete, then he pulled Drake closer into a half-hug and rubbed his arm.
"Is he still in the shower?" Ricardo asked Julio when he came down the stairs.
"Yeah."
"Like, you just heard the shower running or you actually checked?"
You could never be too sure with Drake. He'd been in there for over an hour and it wasn't impossible that he had snuck out without them knowing so that he could get high again and forget about the traumatic situation he had just gone through.
"I talked to him for a second. He's just really embarrassed, I think, that we were there."
"Esa repugnante mierda," Ricardo spat, his muscles tense and his fists clenched. "God, I wanted to kill him."
Julio took a seat on the bar stool in front of the kitchen island. "He's really scared that you're gonna call the police. He said he just wants you to let it go."
Ricardo was too antsy to sit down. "I just don't understand why he wants to let this man go free. He literally got fucking pissed on and God knows what else."
"I know. Believe me, I get what you're saying," Julio said. "Maybe he's just embarrassed. Or maybe he feels like they won't help him or he thinks he'll get in trouble. It'll definitely come up that he was a male prostitute. The justice system doesn't care about people like him."
"Well, the justice system is fucked," Ricardo snapped back, but his brother's words were making sense. "I'm just so fucking pissed. He was just trying to do something nice — just trying to help out someone who's in the same situation as he was. And this is what he gets for it?"
"It's fucked up," Julio agreed. "But when he gets out of the shower..." He didn't want to sound bossy or anger his brother more, but it had to be said. "You can't be acting like this."
To his relief, Ricardo sighed. "I know."
"I just feel so bad. We were literally right there."
"Hey," Ricardo said softly with furrowed brows. He went around the island and took a seat next to his brother. "You can't blame yourself for what happened. It's not your fault. Drake doesn't blame you. You know that."
"He doesn't blame us because he can't. He feels like he owes us so much."
"He doesn't blame us because he understands that we couldn't have possibly known what was going on in there. He knows you would've done something if you'd been there." He rubbed one of Julio's biceps for support.
"It's just not fair that this stuff keeps happening to him. I thought things would be better when his dad died — I know it's shitty to say — but then there's the gym coach and the guy who almost killed him last week and now this guy. I just don't understand. Why do people think it's okay? To just go up to somebody and grab them and touch them and degrade them — why are people like that?"
Ricardo pulled his distraught brother into his arms. "I don't know. They're fucking sick. You just have to remember that it's not Drake's fault and it's certainly not yours either. You're such a good person and you're a great friend. We just have to be there for him — for each other."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"We'll sit him down, we'll figure out what happened and we'll go from there. Okay?"
Julio nodded, then pulled away.
"We've gotta make sure he stays clean, we've gotta make sure you don't have another panic attack and we've gotta make sure I don't kill a bitch. We have to take care of each other. Somos una familia."
"I know." Julio sighed, then turned in his seat so that he could rest his arms on the countertop. "Today was so shit — seeing those places that he was staying. I just don't get it. Letting yourself get to that point where you're willing to live like that — do all that shit — just for a high. I know it's an addiction and I wanna understand, but I don't. If he's having a hard time and he approaches me and starts talking to me about it, I listen and I act like I know what he's talking about, but honestly, I don't."
"I know. It's a learning experience for all of us and we just have to take it as it comes."
"Hey," a soft voice said from the doorway.
Ricardo and Julio turned and saw Drake, his hair wet. He had on some plaid pajama pants that hung loosely on his waist because of the recent drop in weight. He was also wearing the sweater their step-mother had made for him. It was a bit big on him as well, but he'd grow into it now that he had a steady supply of meals. Right now, though, it was as if the sweater was swallowing him whole. He was a bit stand-offish, with his left hand clutching his right bicep nervously.
"Hey." Ricardo stood, then he made his way around the island. "You hungry? I made turkey tacos."
"I'm good," Drake said. He felt both anxious and sick to his stomach as he took a seat on the third bar stool.
Ricardo opened the microwave and pulled out a plate. He had already fixed three tacos for Drake, just the way he liked them: soft shell, little meat, a lot of cheese and the perfect ratio of taco sauce and sour cream on top. Ignoring the boy's answer, he set the plate down in front of Drake.
Since he'd overheard a bit of their conversation before making his presence known, he looked at Julio. "I'm sorry...about everything."
"Why are you saying sorry?" Ricardo said.
Drake looked down at his food and shrugged. "I didn't mean to fuck up so badly," he said quietly.
"What you heard — I didn't mean it like that," Julio said. "I just feel like I'm failing you because I don't know what you need to hear. I don't want you to think you can't talk to me because I don't get it. I want you to help me understand."
"Sometimes I don't even understand it myself," said Drake, so enticed by the smell of the tacos that he gave in and took a bite of one. His stomach growled with appreciation. Maybe he had been hungry after all.
"You know we support you," Ricardo said. "If you're ever feeling like you wanna use, we would like you to say something — to either of us."
"I know," said Drake. "I just feel like such a burden sometimes."
"You're not a burden," Julio reassured. "We're all pretty fucked up. I mean, maybe not my perfect brother over there."
Ricardo shrugged his shoulders with swagger and said, "Well, you know."
This made the corners of Drake's lips raise into a small smile.
Julio rolled his eyes at the oldest, then turned back to his friend. "I just want us to all be honest with each other."
"Yeah, I want that, too. I just hope I can earn back your trust again." Drake's fingers were dripping with grease and sauce as he bit into his second taco. For someone who hadn't been hungry moments ago, he was scarfing these things down pretty quickly.
"Of course. We already trust you, Drake." Ricardo grabbed a napkin for him, and while he was at it, he handed him a soda from the refrigerator. "Do you feel like talking about what happened?"
Drake chewed slowly to avoid answering the question. He hung his head again, thinking it over. He knew that his friends wouldn't judge him, but he hated reliving things. However, he didn't want any secrets between them, and how could they help him if he didn't tell them what he had been through? He swallowed down his food.
"What, like, today? Or the whole time I was gone?"
"Just whatever you wanna talk about," Ricardo said. "If you need to get anything off your chest, we're all ears. Or if you just wanna talk to Julio, that's fine."
"Or I can go if you're more comfortable with Ricardo," Julio offered.
"No, it's okay," Drake said. He was finishing up his last taco, but he was still pretty hungry. It was probably because he had devoured them so fast. Fifteen minutes from now, his stomach will probably start aching and he'll regret having eaten so much. "I don't mind talking to both of you."
"You wanna move to the living room?" Ricardo said, suggesting a more comfortable environment.
Drake stood and, before following them into the neighboring room, he put his plate in the sink, washed his hands and wiped off his mouth. He joined the two. Ricardo was sitting on the recliner in the corner and Julio was on the couch. Drake sat down on the other end of the couch with his legs folded up underneath him to keep the pressure off of his sore bottom.
He started with today's events, explaining kind of shamefully that he had let that man give him a "golden shower" before when he needed the cash. He assured them that that was all he did with him, which made them feel a bit better that there wasn't any added sexual assault. After this, he went back to the beginning, recalling the events that had went down the day he left and what Tad had really said to him outside the bar that night. He talked about what happened to him, decisions he made, his thought processes that led him to those choices and how things ended up getting so badly so quickly. He didn't go into much detail about the prostitution. He touched on it when it was relevant to the story, but there was no need to go into explicit detail about every little fuck and every little handjob. Eventually, he got to the night where he finally got sober, retelling what had happened with Mrs. Hayfer, her husband and Dev. Julio had been asleep until Mrs. Hayfer pulling out of the driveway had woken him and, although Drake knew that Ricardo had filled him in, he opened up about it anyway, letting them both know his side of the story.
After everything, Julio, Ricardo and Drake continued to have an honest and mature discussion. They asked questions, and he answered them. They expressed interest, compassion and understanding, which made him feel more comfortable and at ease. He cried and then Julio cried and even Ricky cried, but after it was over (four and a half hours later), each one felt better about getting things off of their chests. The conversation became much lighter and, pretty soon, Ricardo had his feet propped up in the recliner, Julio was sitting on the floor with a beer in his hand and Drake was snuggled up on the couch, dozing off.
"...and it was just, like, the worst feeling because I feel like I let her down because I got so anxious," Julio was saying. "Like, I can perform a song in front of a crowd and not have a problem, but I was shitting my pants trying to get through that presentation. And then we got a seventy-five on it, so I figured I'd give up on her because there was no chance I was getting laid after that."
Ricardo chuckled. "You're fucking horrible."
"Yeah, well...whatever." Julio turned to see if Drake agreed with his brother. "Is that fucker asleep?"
"He probably needs it. I don't think he's been sleeping well recently."
Julio checked his phone and saw that it was close to midnight. "Shit, I guess I need to get to bed, too. I have a class in the morning." He downed what little of his beer was left, then pushed himself to his feet.
"Goodnight," Ricky said.
"You're staying up a while?"
"I might sleep here tonight."
Julio understood. He nodded. "Alright. Night."
Drake woke with a start. Now that the drugs were out of his system, the nightmares were back. He had nightmares about everything: his abusive father, his abandoning family, his time on the streets, a horror flick he had watched with Ricardo once. Even in his slumber, he couldn't seem to catch a break. Even when he wasn't aware, it was like his mind was always in fear of something. His heart was pounding in his chest and what felt like his throat. He was craving a cigarette, a drink and maybe a quick fix. He pushed himself up, then, in the dim light emanating from the lamp on the end table, he noticed Ricardo snoring away. This gesture made him feel important and cared for.
He pushed himself up, then tip-toed across the living room and quietly pulled open the front door.
Something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good tonight
Will make me forget about you for now
Drake craned his neck when he heard the front door open. It was Ricardo. The man stepped out into the night, his ears filling with the sound of crickets and frogs and a song playing from Drake's phone. He saw Drake laying on the hood of his car, chain-smoking his way through a pack of cigarettes. He approached him, then held out one of the two open bottles of Red Stripe that was in his hand.
Drake sat up and took it. "Thanks." He scooted over so that the man could join him.
Get high, hit the floor before you go
Matador, estocada, you're my blood sport
"You alright?" Ricky asked.
"Yeah," he said with a cloud of smoke leaving his mouth. He took a swallow of the beer.
"Can I have one of those?"
"Sure." Drake handed him the pack of L&M's.
Ricardo didn't smoke much — just occasionally when he drank to enhance the buzz. He picked up the light and lit up, then exhaled slowly, watching as the cloud of smoke drifted up into the chilly night air. "How long have you been up?"
"I don't know. Maybe thirty minutes. Long enough to smoke half of this pack," he said.
But something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good tonight
Will make me forget about you for now
"This doesn't sound like your type of music," Ricardo said.
Drake shrugged. "Julio was playing this game a while ago and it had a really good soundtrack. It's just got this, like, soft, calming kinda sound."
Forty-eight thousand seats
Bleats and roars for my memories of you
Now that I'm fully clean
The matador is no more and is dragged from view
Ricardo looked over at Drake, smirking before he even got any words out of his mouth. "Hey, remember that one doctor on shift that you kept saying was really hot?"
"Yeah."
"She gave me her number."
Drake smiled as he swallowed down his beer. "No, shit. Really?"
"Yeah." Ricardo chuckle. "She thought it was 'cute' how much I was concerned about you. I guess it was a turn-on."
Drake nodded his approval. "That's great. Glad I could help you out." Another swallow. "When you get married, I better be the one making the speech. I'll come up with a good one — seeing as how she's seen my ass before yours." He seemed to be reacting to this better that Ricardo had expected.
"So you'd be okay if I went out with her — with her knowing all that stuff about you?"
"Yeah, sure," said Drake. "Shit, if you don't ask her out, I will. I mean, I would. Clem's probably done with me."
"When are you planning on talking to her?"
Talking about this gave him the urge to light another cigarette, so he did. "I don't know," he said after an exhale. He watched it dissipate into the sky, then his eyes focused on the numerous stars in the blackness. Although they were discussing his current girlfriend (or whatever she was to him now), he couldn't help but think about Meelah. "Do you believe that there's a Heaven?"
Get high, hit the floor before you go
Matador, estocada, you're my blood sport
"I do." Ricardo nodded, then looked over at his friend so that he would explain more.
"Do you think, like, they're really up there...watching over us, like they say?"
"I'd like to think so."
"Do you think...I mean..."
Somehow, Ricardo knew who he was talking about and what he was trying to say. "I think she wouldn't want you to live the rest of your life punishing yourself for what happened the night she passed. Meelah would want you to move on with your life because she loved you. I think she's glad that you were able to fall in love again. She wouldn't want you to be alone."
"I just miss her so much," he said.
Forty-eight thousand seats
Bleats and roars for my memories of you
Now that I am clean
The matador is no more and is dragged from view
Ricardo rubbed his shoulder for a moment to show support. "She was a great girl. That's for sure."
"Yeah," Drake agreed.
"Ballsy, too. I remember when-" Ricky chuckled, "-when you saw that mouse run across the living room. She just picked it up by the tail like it was nothing."
Drake looked down at his beer bottle with a reminiscent smile.
"And you were standing on the couch yelling at her to take it outside."
"Oh, don't play that with me. You were just as freaked out as I was," Drake said with a grin. "We'd probably still be standing on the furniture like useless bitches if she hadn't have been there."
"Well, I don't seem to recall it going down that way," Ricardo said, refusing to give up his man card.
Drake shook his head, his teeth showing with his smile. He took another puff, then exhaled slowly. His voice took on a more serious tone. "I just hope I can make her proud."
"I think you have."
Ricardo looked over at his friend, who was still gazing at the sky. Even after everything — after all the shit he had been through — here he was, trying again to make his life better. Ricky knew it was hard. He admired and was even inspired by that. Despite what Drake believed, the boy was definitely the strongest person he knew.
Ricardo held up his beer. "To starting over."
Drake turned his head towards the bottle and, after a moment's thought, he clinked the glasses together. "To starting over."
Both boys held the bottles upside-down over their lips and finished off the rest of their beers.
But something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good
Oh, something good tonight
Will make me forget about you for now
Alice waved to one of the ladies who offered a kind smile as she walked by. "Have a good weekend, Mary."
"You, too."
She wrapped her stylish black jacket around her when she pushed the door open and stepped out into the chilly February air. Today had been one incredibly long Friday and, although she didn't want to be here, she didn't want to go home to her husband either. Things were still rocky with him. He was trying everything to make it up to her, but that trust was broken. Garrett most likely hadn't cheated on her before the Drake incident or after, but sometimes it was hard to look at him the same way after the mess she had walked into. He swore up and down that Drake had been the first and that it was just that one time and that Drake had been the initiator. The young man had basically confirmed this story that night. Therefore, she was trying her damnedest to work things out with him. Their first couple's counseling session was this afternoon and she prayed that a professional could help them fix things.
The woman sighed and actually stopped in the middle of the parking lot when she saw a small figure sitting on the concrete in front of her car. He was had his knees to his chest, was wearing sunglasses and was hidden in a large jacket, but somehow, she knew who it was. She approached her car, stopping to talk to the person only because she had to dig her key out of her purse before she could unlock the door anyway.
"What do you want?"
Drake looked over at her, for he hadn't heard her come up. He quickly pushed himself to his feet. "Hey." He glanced around to see if anyone was looking at them. Although he'd left high school close to four years ago, he didn't want any of the other teachers to recognize him, especially if what Mrs. Hayfer had said was true and they had all gossiped about his father's murder attempt and the physical and sexual abuse that took place before that.
"What are you doing here? You can't just show up at my work like this." She looked at him, but since he was pretty covered up, all she could really see was that he was still fairly thin. "I know you didn't come here to ask for drug money."
"No," Drake said, partly offended, but also partly knowing that he didn't have the right to be. "I'm clean now."
Alice looked at him, but because he was wearing sunglasses, she couldn't get a read on whether or not he was lying. "Is there something you need?" She had her keys in her hand now and was ready to go.
"I just came to tell you that and to say thanks. Like, you saved my life. And also, I'm really sorry...about everything. I never meant to put you in danger like that." He noticed that the bruise and cut were gone. "I'm glad you're okay."
"Are you done now?"
He was kind of taken aback by her rudeness, but then again, she had caught him messing around with her husband, so it made sense that she didn't feel up for a light chat. She had openly expressed her disdain for him before anyway.
"Yeah. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for how everything went down."
"Alright. Well, thank you." If she appreciated the gesture, she didn't show it. Alice made her way to the side of the car and opened the door, but before getting in, she looked up at Drake. "You know, I go home everyday and I can't even look at my husband in the eyes because of what you did."
Drake nodded before resting his head low in shame. "I am so sorry. I didn't know he was your husband."
"And if you had? Would you still have done it?"
The young man hadn't thought about this before. He mulled it over in his head until he came up with the conclusion that, if he had been that desperate for cash, yes, he probably would've done it anyway. "I don't know." His inner conscious reminded him that it was important to be honest, no matter how shitty the consequences. "Maybe. Look, I know I'm a piece of shit-"
"You've got that right."
"I just wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."
"You can stay away from me, for starters. And don't ever talk to my husband again."
Drake nodded. "Okay." He felt that it was best for him to go with this, so he offered her one last, "I'm sorry." He turned and started to leave, but stopped when she called his name.
"Hey, Drake?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Are you really clean and off the streets?"
"Yes, ma'am."
She nodded her approval. "Good for you. Keep it that way." With that, she got into her car and, moments later, she started the engine and drove past the boy.
They weren't best friends. In fact, Mrs. Hayfer still hated him, but he owed her a thousand apologies and, maybe one day, she could learn how to forgive him.
He made his way across the parking lot, his pace slow since he was still in pain. He lit up a cigarette, his nerves shot, then made his way back home.
Drake looked up from his book when he heard the front door open. When Julio saw him, he grabbed a beer, then walked from the kitchen into the living room, dumping his backpack on the floor with exasperation.
"Shit day?" Drake asked.
"I'm just so ready to be done with school." He plopped down onto the recliner as if he'd just worked a double shift on his feet all day. He grabbed the bottle opener that Ricardo kept in the drawer of the end table and popped off the lid, then took a long sip. After this, he noticed that Drake had a thick book open. "Jesus, you actually have been reading. What's that one?"
"Still Trainspotting. I never got the chance to finish it."
"So is this, like, gonna be a thing with you now? You reading?"
Drake shrugged. "I don't know. It's not so bad. Kinda takes my mind off things and makes me feel smarter than I am. I've never actually read a chapter book before, except for school. Well, I never really read then either. I just got some girl to do the homework for me."
"What is that? Like, four hundred pages?"
"Just about."
"Dope," Julio said, then he took another swallow of his beer. "Read to me."
Drake's brow furrowed. "What, like, from the beginning?"
"No, just start wherever you already are. And use your Scottish accent," he said, cracking a grin.
Drake looked down at his book, searching for the paragraph he had left off on. He'd had to do a bit of rereading today because he was pretty fucked up the last time he had read and couldn't remember what was happening. Like requested, he used the accent. "The upshot ay this attitude is that ah was sent tae this therapy/counselling shite. Ah didnae want aw this. It wis this or the jail. Ah'm startin tae think that Spud goat the soft option. This shite muddies the waters for us; confuses rather than clarifies issues. Basically, aw ah ask is that cunts mind their ain business and ah'll dae the same. Why is it that because ye use hard drugs every cunt feels that they have a right tae dissect and analyse ye?
"Once ye accept that they huv that right, ye'll join them in the search fir this holy grail, this thing that makes ye tick. Ye'll then defer to them, allowin yersel tae be conned intae believin any biscuit-arsed theory ay behaviour they choose tae attach tae ye. Then yir theirs, no yir ain; the dependency shifts from the drug to them.
"Society invents a spurious convoluted logic tae absorb and change people whae's behaviour is outside its mainstream. Suppose that ah ken aw the pros and cons, know that ah'm gaunnae huv a short life, am ay sound mind etcetera, etcetera, but still want tae use smack? They won't let ye dae it. They won't let ye dae it, because it's seen as a sign ay thir ain failure. The fact that ye jist simply choose tae reject whit they huv tae offer. Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting oan a couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin junk food intae yir mooth. Choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yirsel in a home, a total fuckin embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked-up brats ye've produced. Choose life.
"Well, ah choose no tae choose life. If the cunts cannae handle that, it's thair fuckin problem. As Harry Lauder sais, ah jist intend tae keep right on to the end of the road..."
Julio awoke to the sound of keys crashing against the linoleum floor.
"Shit," he heard Ricardo say from the kitchen.
The young man picked up his phone and checked the time. It was a little after six. He got out of the recliner, stretched his muscles, then made his way into the next room over, where he saw both Drake and his brother.
"What are you cooking?" Ricardo asked.
Drake felt pretty useless since he didn't have a job, so, like he did when living with Tad, he had started dinner and tidied up the house a bit. "Salmon patties and squash."
"I brought home some bacon mac and cheese bites from the bar."
"Awesome. My fav." Drake took the to-go box out of his full hands. As he did this, he noticed the man holding a stack of papers. "What's that?"
"Some billing stuff I have to look over," he said, setting them down on the small table by the front door. "I'll probably wait until tomorrow. I'm so exhausted."
"How much longer?" Julio asked as he hovered over the stove. He realized that he had never eaten lunch after coming in from school, so he was starving.
"I think it's almost done." Drake joined him and checked on the food.
Ricardo was still setting things down: his jacket, his keys, his empty travel mug.
Julio noticed two Redbox cases in his hand. "Ooh, what'd you get?"
The man seemed rather proud of his picks. He passed one to his brother. "A Quiet Place for you."
"Aw, dope!"
He held up the other one for tonight's chef to see since he was on the other side of the kitchen. "The Disaster Artist for Drake."
Drake gave a silent nod of approval as he sucked the melted cheese off of his finger, giving him away for stealing one of the bacon mac and cheese bites.
"Which one are we watching first?" Julio asked.
"I don't care," Ricardo said. "You and Drake decide."
Julio looked at the boy, who just shrugged indecisively.
Pretty soon, the three sat around the television in the living room with their plates of food. Julio and Ricardo had made sandwiches out of their salmon patties while Drake dipped his in ketchup. Each boy had a beer because The Disaster Artist was one of those movies that you watch with friends and shared laughs over a couple of beers. They decided to watch this one first so that it could get darker outside before they put in the horror flick.
As Drake watched the movie, he couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging here. He didn't feel it often, but when he did, it usually wasn't a good thing. He had felt liked he belonged at his father's because he thought he was a piece of shit. Kenzly's place had always felt like home because he knew he was white trash. Now here, with his two best friends, he felt like he had a great support system and was surrounded by people who truly cared about him. It was a nice feeling — knowing that you're loved.
When she opened the door, it was like watching a model executing a bunch of different poses that was being yelled out by an eccentric photographer. First was complete and utter shock, followed by a short-lived show of relief, which was quickly washed away by a wave of worry and concern. Next came confusion and something that Drake thought looked a lot like fear. Was it possible that she was actually scared of him? The young man had no time to decipher this when her expression changed to betrayal, to repulsion and, finally, to absolute rage. Before he saw it coming, her hand came up and connected with his cheek so hard that it hurt her as well, but she refused to show it. Drake's head was turned with the force of the blow, the ringing caused by the slap loud in his ears. His eyes watered over — not because of the pain — but because he knew — he just knew — that he was going to lose her. He had told himself over and over again during his walk here that he wouldn't cry, but seeing her — seeing the toll his relapse had taken on her — made him feel like the worst person in the world. He tried to swallow back the lump in his throat so that he could talk, but it was fucking useless. He was definitely going to cry.
"Clem-" his voice cracked with guilt.
"Sod off, ya lousy knobhead." She started to shut the door, but he was quick to catch it.
"Please, just — I'm so, so sorry."
"You must be well plastered to show up at my gaff after airing me for two bloody months. Is that it?"
"I'm sober-"
"Bollocks!"
"I am," he promised. "I've cleaned up again."
"I don't care," she shrugged with nonchalance. Her nose was turned up snootily and she glared at him as if he was covered in shit. "So you can piss right the fuck off."
"Please, let me explain-"
"Explain? I'll save you the trouble. I can explain for you. You chose drugs over me. You bloody left, and you couldn't be arsed to give me a ring or anything of the sort. You just fucking blanked."
"I am so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"But you did, you twat. I don't deserve that."
"I know. I fucked up. I was just feeling so shitty and I didn't think it'd get that far, but I spiraled out of control. I'm so ashamed."
"You should be," she snapped in a holier-than-thou manner. "You're bloody pathetic. You're a minging junkie and you're gonna be one for the rest of your useless life. I feel sorry for you, Drake. You're stuck in this loop of constantly fucking yourself over. You get something good in your life and you bloody ruin it. You'll be spending the rest of your life alone, and rightly so."
"It was a mistake," Drake begged. "I love you."
"And I loved you, but then you left me alone to lay awake every night worrying about whether or not you were alive. That's not love, Drake. I was gutted."
"But I do. I love you so much. I'm an asshole. I should've called, but I was so embarrassed that things got so bad. You're right. I'm pathetic, but I swear I'm clean now."
"So what if you are?" she said and it sounded like she felt as though it was a genuine pity that things had turned out this way. "What about tomorrow then? Or the next day? Or after that? How would I know you're not gonna run off in the middle of the night for a quick fix?"
"Because I promise." The tears had started to fall at this point.
"Aw, Drake." She reached out and placed her palm gently on the still-stinging skin she had slapped before. "You promised me in the car that day. Remember?"
"It was a mistake," he said again, silently pleading with his eyes for her to understand. "I promise that this time will be different."
Dahlia pulled her hand away. "I don't think we should be seeing each other anymore."
"Baby, please." A sob broke through with those words and his heart took a free-fall to the bottom of his stomach. "Please, just give me another chance. I swear I'll do better. I love you."
"I'm not gonna live my life competing with bloody pills for your attention, babe."
Can she feel it? He could feel it: the earth shaking, the world spinning, the sky falling. His entire life was crumbling down, but she just stood there in front of him, looking just as okay as ever. It was hard to breathe. It felt like his heart had burst with so much force that it caused his rib cage to break into a million tiny pieces of sharp bones that penetrated his lungs, which were now slowly and cruelly deflating.
"I can't live without you." He knew it sounded lame, but he felt like it was the truth. "I need you."
"It seems that you've done alright enough without me while you were away."
"What can I do to make it up to you? I'll do anything."
"Leave me alone, Drake," she said, but it wasn't in a rude way.
"Who's at the door, babe?" It was a male voice. A hand pulled the door open wider to reveal a boy who was close to Drake's age. However, he was much taller, muscular, tanner, hotter, etcetera.
Drake's red-rimmed eyes expressed the utter anguish he felt in his chest when the boy, clad only in a pair of boxers, wrapped his arms around Dahlia from behind and kissed her neck. "Clem..." he choked, as if begging her to wake him from this horrible nightmare.
"What did you expect? I was just supposed to wait around for God knows how long until you decided to show up?"
The new boyfriend straightened and put on a tough guy facade. "This is the fucker who broke your heart?" He seemed less than impressed.
"Clem, please. I'm begging you. Just give me one more chance."
"I think you should leave, Drake," she said.
"Please."
"She wants you to leave," said the boyfriend.
"Clem..." He met her eyes, hoping that she could see just how truly sorry he was. He stepped closer so that he could hold her hands in his, praying that his touch will connect them the way it once had. "Please. I swear on everything that I'll be better."
The boy placed his hand on Drake's chest, then pushed him back. "You need to go."
Drake shoved it away. "Don't fucking touch me."
"Or what?" The boyfriend moved closer challengingly. "What are you gonna do?"
"Carter, stop," the girl chimed in.
"Come on, you fucking pussy." Carter pushed him again.
Drake stumbled backwards. He immediately knew that this was a fight that he was going to lose. Carter was far too tall and too muscular.
"You're gonna walk out on her, and now that she's moved on, you're gonna show up and try to ruin her new relationship? You're just a pathetic fucking junkie," he spat tauntingly. Another shove.
"Carter," Clementine tried.
Quietly so that the girl couldn't hear, Carter said, "Why don't you run on home like the little bitch you are so I can go back inside and fuck the shit out of your ex girlfriend?"
A surge of fury ran through Drake's body. He couldn't even stop himself from winding back his fist and going for a punch. However, Carter had expected this and was able to dodge it.
"Drake!" Dahlia yelled.
Now was the time for Carter's retaliation. He wound up for his punch, then his knuckles cracked against the boy's jaw with so much force that Drake's legs gave out. The next thing he knew, he was laying on the concrete driveway. He started to blink away the dizziness, but Carter interrupted with a kick to his already severely bruised side.
"Ahh!"
"Carter! Stop!"
For a moment, he felt paralyzed by the pain. It was as if he had taken so many beatings during his lifetime that he was just at the point that he couldn't fight it anymore. What did he care anyway? Nothing could hurt more than his broken heart — or so he'd thought until he was kicked again.
"Gaahhh!"
He reached out his arm and started dragging himself across the asphalt, but Carter grabbed it and pinned it behind him. The boy sat on top of him, digging a knee into the lower portion of his bruised back.
"Ahh! Get off!"
"Carter!" Clementine was next to them now. She tried pulling her boyfriend's arm, but was shoved to the side.
"Don't fucking touch her! Ah!" Drake clenched his teeth when Carter's knee poked harder into him. His cheek scraped against the pavement as his head was held against it.
"You weak piece of shit. What are you gonna do, huh? Kill me? Like you killed your father?"
For a moment, Drake froze and he felt sick to his stomach.
"Carter, stop!"
"Yeah, she told me all about it," he went on. "She told me everything. About the abuse. About the rape. You're fucking weak."
Drake met Dahlia's eyes, begging for it not to be true, but he knew that it was. His nostrils flared and his bottom lip quivered from the betrayal.
"You put up with it for so long, you must've fucking liked it, huh? Is this giving you flashbacks? Do you have a hard-on yet?"
Drake's face contorted as a fresh wave of tears clogged up his eyes. He kept his mouth shut to keep the sobs to a minimal, but every now and then, one would break through.
*FLASHBACK*
Drake kept his head low as he scooped a forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. It wasn't the best spaghetti — he'll be the first to admit it — but the fact that Martin complained and belittled him after almost every bite was getting on his nerves.
"Get me a beer. I gotta wash this fucking taste out of my mouth. For Christ's sake."
It wasn't that bad. This was the first time Drake had made the dish, so it wasn't great either, but his father was overreacting. Too scared to disobey and irritate the man further, he stood, went over to the refrigerator and got him his alcohol. He brought it back to the table, but Martin wasn't pleased.
"Oh, what? And I'm just supposed to open this with my magic powers?"
Again, Drake stood, then grabbed a bottle opener out of the drawer closest to the fridge. He plopped it onto the tabletop, then went back to his spaghetti, finding it hard to keep his agitation in check.
His father was glaring at him, shocked that he was acting so audaciously. "You better drop this fucking attitude right now. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Drake said quietly to his plate.
Suddenly, Martin grabbed a fistful of hair from the side of his head and yanked him closer. "HUH?!"
"I said okay." His voice shook with fear, but he was sure to be louder this time.
Martin shoved him away. "Snarky little cunt." And then, "Where the hell is the damn garlic bread?"
Drake felt his heart drop and he had to take a sip out of his glass of water to keep from choking.
"Well?"
"I forgot to make it," he admitted, noticing that his fingers were trembling around the glass.
"You forgot to make it?" Martin repeated as if he didn't understand.
"You told me to put up the laundry and it slipped my mind," he explained, hoping that this good deed canceled out the bad one.
"You're fucking useless. You know that?"
Drake had lost his appetite. He just wanted this dinner to be over so that he could hide away in the sanctity of his bedroom.
"Well, get up and make the fucking garlic bread!" Martin yelled, hurling his half-empty beer bottle at him.
Drake clutched his head when it made contact, but he stood and went straight to work. He grabbed a couple pieces of bread, buttered them up, sprinkled some garlic on them, then put them in the oven. This was the best that he could do with their lack of money and ingredients.
"Clean up this fucking mess," Martin said about the beer spilled on the floor.
The young man obeyed. He got on his knees and soaked up the alcohol with paper towels. He could feel his father's eyes on him.
"You're missing this whole spot right here." The man pointed with his toes.
Drake pulled off another couple pieces from the roll of towels and wiped down the place his father had said and even places nearby. He couldn't see where the clear liquid had landed, and he didn't want the man to get onto him about doing a half-assed job, so he dragged the towel across the floor to make sure he got it all up.
"That's enough. Get." Martin kicked him.
It wasn't hard, but it was enough to make him lose his balance. His knees fell out from under him and he landed on his recently bruised hip. He pushed himself out of the floor, grabbing the bottle as he did so, then he tossed it and the wet paper towels into the trash can.
"Get me another beer."
Drake felt so small compared to the man. He felt weak for allowing himself to be treated this way — for letting his dad boss him around like this. However, he said nothing as he brought another bottle from the refrigerator.
"Open it, will ya?" he said as he wiped his hands and mouth off on a napkin.
Drake picked up the bottle opener and popped off the lid, then held it out for the man like a servant, making him feel further demeaned. Martin did things like this on purpose all the time. It was a manipulation tactic that he used to teach his son about humility and his worthlessness.
Although Martin hadn't said anything on the matter, Drake felt like he wasn't allowed to sit down and continue eating until the garlic toast was finished. When it finally was, he used an oven mitt to carry the hot pan over to the table. The man snatched the spatula out of his son's hand rudely, then started scooping four pieces onto his plate, leaving Drake with one. The boy didn't argue. He put the pan in the sink for later, then sat down at the table again.
He wasn't even able to take a bite before Martin said, "Great. Now my fucking food is cold because of your incompetence. Heat this in the microwave."
Once again, Drake stood and followed orders. He soon returned with the food and set the plate in front of his father.
Martin took a bite of the spaghetti, and his nose turned up at the taste. "Fucking hell. I don't understand how you could possibly make spaghetti taste this bad. Do you know how to do anything right, you lousy dumbass?"
Tired of getting shit on, Drake said, "Maybe you should cook for yourself next time," and he immediately regretted it.
"What did you say?" the man asked. "What did you say?!"
"Nothing," Drake tried.
"Tell me what you said."
"Nothing," he replied meekly.
He felt the man staring daggers at him even though he kept his eyes down. Suddenly, with one swipe of his arm, everything on the table was pushed into the floor. Food, liquids and glass scattered about. Drake fearfully hopped out of his chair so fast that he knocked it over. Martin was already on his feet. He grabbed the small dining room table and tossed it across the kitchen so that there was nothing in between himself and his terrified son. Drake held his hands up in front of his chest pleadingly, but Martin managed to grab the collar of his shirt anyway. He tossed him against the wall, then wound his fist back.
*END FLASHBACK*
"You think you can just show up and try to take my girlfriend from me? Why would she ever want you? Look at you. Your dad's got you all kinds of fucked up. I mean, your own father has touched you — put his dick inside of you. Who could ever love you after that? You're disgusting."
Drake was shaking underneath him. He wasn't even focused on the pain anymore. It was like he wasn't really here. Instead, he was back at his father's, being pinned down and raped after the whole dinner fiasco. It was so vivid — like he was actually there.
"Carter, leave him alone." Despite how much she hated Drake right now, Clementine couldn't stand seeing him like this. She knew by the dead stare that he was gone — stuck in his head somewhere, reliving some of the worst days of his life.
"I better not ever find you trying to talk to my girlfriend again. I guarantee I pack a punch twice as hard as your alcoholic, trailer trash daddy ever did." Finally, he pushed himself onto his feet, then gave Drake another swift kick to the ribs, which seemed to pull him out of his trance.
"Aahhh!"
"Come on," Carter said to Dahlia, who just sat there in shock at the events that had transpired. "Let's go!"
She stood, then allowed him to take her hand and lead her inside, leaving Drake to suffer through his mental breakdown alone in their driveway.
Drake closed the front door louder than he had meant to, which earned the attention of the Santos brothers, who were sitting in the living room and leaning over one of Julio's textbooks. Drake couldn't even stop himself from rolling his eyes. "Goddamnit," he whispered, for he'd wanted to sneak in.
"What happened?!" Julio asked after noticing a fresh new bruise.
"I'mfine." He reached for the wall because his eye roll had made his world spin. He wasn't as close to it as he thought, so he had to take another two steps forwards before his fingertips even came close to touching it.
Ricardo knew immediately. "Drake..." he said with disappointment and a desperation to understand. "What have you done?"
"I'ma fuckin' addict! Don'tact sosurprised."
The man stood. "What happened to you?"
"Whathappenedtome? Iwasbeaten. Iwasmolested. Iwas raped. Andyoujustsatback andlethimdoit."
Julio joined them. He was almost more shocked than his speechless brother. "Drake, what the fuck?"
The boy let go of a harsh chuckle. "C'mon, youknew Iwasgonna be likethis forever. My dad couldn't stay sobereither, thefuckin' prick."
"How many did you take?" Ricardo asked.
"Noneofyourfuckin'business."
"How many?!"
Drake smirked playfully. He was clearly out of his head. "Guess."
"Stop fucking around."
Julio decided it was easiest to play his game. "Two...?" When Drake shook his head, he tried, "Three? Four?" He received a nod of confirmation. "Four boxes?"
"Dingdingding! Wehaveawinner! Ricky, please tellthe contestant whathe'swon."
"How many is that?" the man asked, his thoughts racing too much to do the math himself.
After a quick calculation in his head, Julio said, "Sixty-four."
"Sixty-four pills?!"
"Drake, why did you do this?" his best friend asked with hurt.
"'Cause I'manaddict. It'swhat I do."
Ricardo reached for him although he wasn't sure what to do with him. He could take him to the bathroom and try to make him throw up or he could lead him into the kitchen and force him to eat so that he'd sober up. However, he didn't get the chance because Drake shoved him away. He almost lost his balance in the process, but he caught himself and clutched the wall again.
"Getthefuck awayfromme!" his voice rose suddenly. "Stop tryingto save me! You can't fix me! I'm damaged! I'm broken! Just let me go!"
It was more of a plead than a demand. It was as if Drake had spent the last several years clutching onto this lifesaver that Ricardo had tossed him, but the rope was ripped in two and he couldn't be pulled back in. There was no way out of the treacherous waves. All he could do was fight to keep his head above water, but he could never, ever return to the safety of the ship. Now he was exhausted and out of breath and maybe it was time for him to let go of the lifesaver and allow whatever was always suppose to happen to finally happen.
Again, he spoke, but now in a begging whisper, his dilated eyes glistening with tears. "Just let me go."
Author's Note: Hey, guys! Hope everyone's holidays were swell! I don't really have much to say. I hope to hear some of your thoughts. I didn't receive any reviews on the previous chapter, so just let me know if it's uninteresting or if it should be going in a different direction. I love for you guys to provide me with some comments and constructive criticism. Thanks so much! Until next time!