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.

4. Motivation Mountain: The Getaway

Drake awoke with a start. Because of the copious amount of pills he had taken the night before, his heart was pounding fast, but it felt coated because the rest of his body was numb. That is, until he tried to lift his arm. Funny, he had never felt physical pain before when coming down from Triple C's. The insides of his elbows ached intensely and so did the joints in his wrists and knees.

"Get up."

Drake blinked his eyes and saw Ricardo standing above him. His brows scrunched up with confusion, but when he looked at the table, he saw a backpack, which is what the man had dropped in order to wake him. Suddenly, everything was clear. He was being kicked out. Despite Ricardo's vows that he would never do it, Drake had known that he, just like everyone else, had a breaking point.

"Come on. Get up," the man said impatiently.

If he hadn't taken so many pills last night, Drake might have actually felt some kind of way about all of this, but he was too numb to care. He pushed himself up, the muscles in his back giving him trouble as he did so.

"I got his shoes." Julio suddenly appeared with a pair of black Converse. He passed them along.

Drake absently took them and placed them onto his feet.

"Get in the car," Ricardo ordered when he finished tying them.

Drake felt gross. The drugs had caused him to sweat throughout the night, so his hair was oily and his clothes were sticking to his body. He looked up at the man, still tiredly hunched over from getting his shoes on. His face was completely dead and expressionless, but his voice showed his exhaustion. "Jesus, can't you at least let me get a fucking shower in?"

"Just get in the fucking car."

Drake winced as he pushed himself onto his feet, his bones popping as he did so. He picked up the book bag and, like commanded, he got into the passenger's seat. If he had any emotions left inside of him, he would think that this was pretty fucked up. They were just gonna dump him on the side of the road like people did to puppies after they turned into adult dogs and got unruly and uncontrollable with the kids. Drake was the unruly and uncontrollable dog in this scenario.

Despite his heart physically feeling as though it was vibrating, Drake felt a sort of calmness all over his body. He let go of a slow breath, then inhaled, and he felt the oxygen fill up his lungs. He felt alive. It was an indescribable feeling — the morning after. It's like a complete emptiness. It's like there's nothing there, but you can feel the nothingness. Drake could feel every single one of his organs pumping and working and doing their normal functions. His normally anxious and never-slowing brain was now slowed down and he was thinking one thought at a time or sometimes not thinking anything at all. All his nerves and all his depression were washed away for the time being. This is why he was in love with Charlie.

Julio watched his friend from the backseat. Drake was absentmindedly rubbing the corner of his phone against his numb, chapped lips, his eyes glued to the dashboard in front of him. It was like he was in deep thought, but there was nothing going on in his head. All that was running through his mind was how good it felt to be able to breathe so slowly and to feel so okay. He wasn't worried about the fact that he was now homeless. His lack of money wasn't a bother. He wasn't stressed over the fact that, hours from now, he would be giving out blowjobs just to feel this way again. He was Alice, this was his skewed version of Wonderland, and Charlie was the name of the white rabbit he had followed to get here. Drake was set on following that rabbit for the rest of his life.

Drake blinked, and suddenly he couldn't remember how long he had been in the car for. Had he dozed off or just zoned out? Probably the latter. He looked out the window and saw that they were coming up on the truck stop.

"Can you let me out here, please?"

His request went ignored, however, and Ricardo turned onto the interstate entrance instead.

Drake rested his head against the seat with confusion, but it was a good kind of confusion and he welcomed it. "Geez, you're going pretty far out of your way just to get rid of me."

It was an observation that he hadn't meant to say out loud. Were they taking him out in the middle of nowhere to abandon him in hopes that he couldn't find his way back home? No fucking need. He knew when he wasn't wanted.

After a while, the only thing Drake could think about was the gross feeling on his teeth. He slid his tongue across them for a while, then he scratched away as much of the plaque as he could. He couldn't taste anything, but if he could, he would taste vomit, cigarettes and Dr. Pepper. The young man grabbed his backpack out of the floor, then unzipped the smaller zipper in the front. Lucky guess. This is where a Ziplock bag full of hygiene products was located. He opened it, then rummaged around until he found his toothbrush and toothpaste. Julio watched as he started brushing his teeth in the front seat of the car.

Triple C's were pretty bad for your teeth. It could be because of the chemicals in the drug or all the puke that comes back up or both. Drake wasn't sure. Because of this (and also probably because, in his daze, he unknowingly brushed his teeth for close to ten minutes before an annoyed Ricardo stopped him) his gums were bleeding. He looked around, suddenly realizing he had nowhere to spit. Maybe he hadn't thought his whole thing through. Again, he opened his book bag, then he spat into it, a long string of bloodied saliva and toothpaste leaving his lips.

"What the hell, Drake?" Ricardo said, glancing at him with what was probably irritation and disgust. "Why the fuck didn't you spit out the window?"

Drake looked at it and suddenly realized for the first time that that would've been a better option. He hadn't thought of it because it hadn't existed to him before now. Nothing outside of this car existed. None of the normalities of the world pertained to him: jobs, bills, dinner plans, keeping in touch with friends, celebrating a special occasion, remembering what day and time it was so that you didn't miss your favorite tv show. All of these stressors were on the other side of that window.

He mumbled something along the lines of, "It wasn't just there for a second."

With this, Ricardo concluded that he was still high. However, the ride was going to be a semi-long one, so he should come down before they reach their destination.

---

"Hey," Ricardo whispered, rubbing Drake's shoulder softly to wake him.

Drake blinked his eyes, the bright sunlight blinding him as it shined through the windows. His body and joints ached. He wasn't sure how much was caused by the previous night's drug use and how much of it was because he had been sitting upright in the passenger's seat of a car sleeping for... How long had it been? He stretched his arms out in front of himself, then looked at the inside of his elbow, pondering what could possibly have him aching so badly. He massaged one of his arms, wondering if it had to do with how many pills he had taken. Charlie wasn't usually the kind of drug to give you withdrawal symptoms such as these.

"You alright?" Ricardo asked.

"Yeah." He saw that the car was moving down an empty road surrounded by trees. "Where are we going?" His high was gone, so although he was still feeling the after-effects of a long night of Triple C consumption, his voice expressed a bit of anxiety.

"You'll see when we get there," the man said.

This did not calm him at all. Although sluggish, Drake's mind was able to create several fitting scenarios until he came up with the one that made the most sense.

"Please, don't take me to rehab. I know I fucked up last night and I'm sorry. It was just a one-time thing, though. I swear."

Ricardo could hear the desperation in his voice.

Julio spoke up from the backseat. "So you still wanna get clean?"

"I do, but not in rehab. I made a mistake, but I swear I won't do it again, okay?" He was pleading hard, but he wasn't sure if they were believing him. Shit, he wouldn't believe him.

"If you're getting clean anyway, then what's so bad about rehab? It sounds to me like you don't wanna go because you wouldn't be able to sneak off for a fix."

"Please, I just don't wanna go. I'll clean up for real this time, okay? I promise."

Ricardo glanced at him and noticed that Drake's fingers, which tightly gripped his seatbelt, were trembling. He was actually scared right now, the man noticed. Last night, Drake had been someone else, but now, sitting next to him, he looked small and fragile and absolutely terrified.

"Relax," the man said. "We're not going to rehab."

Although Ricardo had never once given Drake a reason not to trust him, he found it hard to believe his words. "Look, I'm really sorry that I relapsed. I'm just as disappointed as you are. I know you've given me chance after chance and I keep blowing them, but there's no reason to lock me away."

"I'm not gonna make you go to rehab," Ricardo assured. "...yet. I just figured that we should all get away for a while — take a step back from our lives and start putting things into perspective."

Drake couldn't shake his feelings of negativity. "This is like a punishment?"

"No, of course not. In fact, I think you'll really like it. It's like our first vacation together."

"Vacation?" His voice was still shaky, but now he was starting to understand.

"Yeah. Like a road trip with just us guys. The family. The Santos brothers."

Although his last name was legally Parker, Drake was a Santos in their eyes.

Ricardo reached over and gave Drake's shoulder a pat. "It'll be fun and relaxing, so chill."

---

Drake slung his bag over his shoulder, then closed the door, his eyes almost shut because of the bright, shining sun. He looked at the cabin and, although he was relieved that it wasn't rehab, he still wasn't fully calm. Drake yawned, then turned and saw Ricardo and Julio grab their own bags out of the backseat. When had they packed?

"God, I haven't been out here in...five years?" Julio joined Drake at the front of the car.

Ricardo pressed a button on his keys, and the car beeped as the doors locked. He started towards the house and the other two boys followed.

"Where are we?" Drake's nervousness showed in his voice.

"My cousin Louis' cabin."

"He's rich as fuck," Julio explained.

Ricardo continued. "And the only actual store around is the little shop back at the bottom of the mountain, which is, like, a ten minutes drive, so don't even try making a plan to sneak off for a drug run because it'll be useless. Walking would take hours and I doubt they even have them anyway."

"I wasn't..." Although he hadn't thought about getting high, he suddenly felt panicky knowing that he couldn't even if he wanted. He felt so anxious, in fact, that he put his hand over his heart to see if he could feel how fast it was beating through his chest.

"Jesus Christ, don't be so dramatic."

"I..." He wanted to ask how long they were staying, but he knew that it would only make him look more suspicious.

As he looked around, he saw that there were no other houses in sight. They were literally alone for...who knows how far away the next cabin was? There were no stores, no restaurants, no anything for miles except for the one gas station they had passed on the main road. Drake pulled out his phone. No fucking service?!

"I'll take that." Ricardo took the cell phone from him, then slipped it into his own pocket.

"What the fuck?!"

"We're taking a break from all the stresses of the world, Drake. This is a time for peace and self-reflection."

"Why does Julio get to keep his phone?!"

"Because I'm not gonna be moping around and waiting by the phone all day hoping my ex girlfriend will call," Julio said matter-of-factly.

"I'm not," Drake said. He already hated it here. Fuck it. I'm gonna ask. "How long are we staying?"

"Why? You're in a rush to get back to your life of quick highs and dick-sucking?" Julio said harshly.

"Asshole."

"Wow, someone's grumpy today."

"Fuck you."

"Well, that depends. How much do you charge?"

"Guys, chill the fuck out," Ricardo interceded as he pulled out another key.

"You're such a prick," Drake said, hurt by his best friend's words.

Julio was quick to retort. "And you're a selfish piece of shit."

"You know what? Fuck this and fuck you." Drake turned and made his way back down the porch steps.

"Oh, yeah, go ahead and fucking run away just like you always do, you fucking pussy."

"Guys, stop!" Ricardo followed the boy down the steps and grabbed his arm. "Drake, come back."

"No, let him go." Julio was next to them in a second. "Let's see how long it takes him to blow someone for ten bucks and show back up here high out of his fucking mind."

"Don't fucking worry," Drake spat. "I would never come back here."

Julio was malicious. "You've said that a lot about using drugs, yet somehow you always end up in some stranger's bed with their dick in your mouth and your finger up their ass. Tell me, Drake, do you actually believe all the bullshit lies you tell? You think we don't know where the fuck you're going?"

Drake was livid and it showed on his face. "I hate you!" He was shaking with rage and, before he knew it, he had shoved Julio with all of his might, knocking him into his ass.

Infuriated by this, Julio bounced back onto his feet and punched him hard enough to make him fall. He was on top of him in an instant, hitting him with all of his might. Drake punched back. However, he was weakened by months of malnourishment, drug use, sleeplessness, homelessness and physical abuse.

"Enough!" Ricardo yelled. He was surprised how hard it was to peel Julio away from the other boy. He shoved him back, then stood in between them with his arms out to keep them from going at each other again.

Drake sat up, refusing to show the pain that doing so caused him. He turned and spat onto the grass and a string of blood left his lips. He wiped at his nose, smearing the endless stream of blood that was there.

Julio wasn't done. "Let's see someone accept your blowjob offer with that face."

Drake was on his feet in no time. He lunged at Julio, but was intercepted by Ricardo, who literally picked him up off of the ground and moved him away. "Fucking let me go!" He yelled so loudly and passionately that his voice squeaked.

However, Ricardo was the loudest of all. "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!" Finally, he put Drake on his feet. "Aren't you twenty-one years old?! Then fucking act like it! God, I'm surrounded by fucking children! You're both assholes and you're both fucking selfish! All I fucking wanted was for the three Santos brothers to come together and have a nice time and finally fucking heal from all the bullshit, AND YOU TWO DIPSHITS ARE GONNA DO THIS?! WHAT ABOUT ME?! HUH?! Drake, you're always fucking scheming and plotting ways to go out and ruin your life. Time after time, I HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING! When will it be enough for you?!"

Drake felt like he had been stabbed in the gut when he saw tears running down Ricardo's face. He was always the strong one and now, just like Drake had always anticipated, he'd reached his breaking point. He had snapped.

"And Julio," Ricky continued, "all you do is mope around and complain about meaningless bullshit! 'My life's a mess! I'm anxious and sad and I just wanna die,'" he said, imitating his brother. "BOO FUCKING HOO! I've never seen you do shit to even try to get better! You won't fucking meditate! You refuse to take the meds! All you do is lay around whining when all you have to do is get the fuck out of bed and fucking try! You both are so goddamn stuck on self-destructing and I can't fucking do this anymore! I've fucking had it with the both of you! I'M FUCKING DONE! So you go and do WHATEVER THE FUCK you want! You go back to laying in bed alone, Julio, and wondering why the hell your life is so fucking shitty!" He turned his hard gaze to Drake. "And you just fucking leave! Like you always do, no matter who the fuck it hurts because you're all that fucking matters, right?! Go find someone and let them fuck you, and then get high and spend the rest of your life wondering why everyone fucking leaves you!" Ricardo shrugged his shoulders, then shook his head to show that he didn't know what more he could do. His voice was quiet, but it came across as weak. "I'm fucking done." With that, he made his way back up the stairs, then he unlocked the lock and stepped inside the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him.

Drake and Julio stood there, both too stunned for words. Drake didn't know how the other boy was feeling, but he felt like he was going to cry or scream or panic or all three plus some.

You did this. He felt so guilty that his chest was physically in pain and he wanted to throw up. You are a selfish piece of shit. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, but he still couldn't breathe. You ruin everything. Ricardo had never yelled at him before, and he found that his fingers were trembling. You don't deserve these people.

"Where are you going?" Julio asked when Drake picked up his bag and turned around.

"Where the fuck do you think I'm going?" Bitterly, he used the same line that Julio had said to him earlier. "Gonna find a guy to blow so I can get the fuck out of here."

Kill yourself.

"Drake, just wait, okay?" Julio jogged after him. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did."

"I was just angry and it came out."

"Whatever. Just leave me the fuck alone, okay?"

"Let's just talk this out."

"I don't want to." His voice came out completely monotone. Moments ago, he had spewed pure rage and now he sounded completely dead inside. The logical, understanding and rational Drake was switched off, and now he was a mindless robot that was given instructions to get high or kill himself or just self-destruct in the worst and most spectacular way he possibly could. The truth is that he didn't know where he was going yet, but he knew that he'd never make it back here and he'd never see these people again once he was gone.

"I'm sorry about what I said. I was just hurt," Julio tried.

You've betrayed the only other person who had your back.

"I just get so upset when I see you do things that'll ruin your life. I don't want you to get hurt."

It's a shame your dad didn't finish what he'd started.

"Are you gonna keep ignoring me?"

Everyone would be better off if you didn't exist.

---

Julio was still following Drake by the time they made it to the gas station. It had taken about two hours on foot and Julio had finally stopped talking a long while ago and just tagged along in silence. Julio looked up from his feet and at his friend. Drake had stopped. He seemed to be observing every person in sight, using his "street smarts" to figure out who would be interested in what he had to offer and what they would be willing to give him in return. He was a completely different person. He was focused as if he was a hunter quietly stalking his prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce. This must be Addict Drake in action, and for the first time, Julio was witnessing it.

"Drake, this is fucking crazy-"

"Go back," the boy said, only half listening to him.

"They're gonna take one look at you and call the cops. You've got blood all over you."

Drake heard this. He opened his backpack, then pulled out a tee. He approached the gas pumps, then dumped his shirt in the water used to clean windshields. "Let me see your phone." After Julio gave it to him, he opened up the front-facing camera, then he started dabbing at his sore face with the wet cloth. The bruises weren't fixable, but he cleared away all the dried blood so that at least he looked semi-presentable.

Julio still had his reservations. "Please, just come back to the cabin."

Drake tossed his belongings back into the book bag, then looked at himself in the phone again. He combed his fingers through his hair, which the wind had messed up.

"Are you really trying to make yourself look cute for one of these guys right now?" Julio had never seen this side of Drake and he couldn't hide his shock and disgust.

Drake gave him his phone back. "Just go back to your fucking brother, alright?"

"He's your brother, too."

Drake rolled his eyes, then he made his way across the parking lot. He saw a man at the air pumps who was just finishing blowing up his tire. He had a short, scruffy, graying beard and a pair of faded blue overalls. He was a bit chubby, but not super overweight, and his skin was wrinkly due to working in the sun all his life. This is what Julio noticed anyway. Drake spotted different things. First was the discoloration on the fourth finger of his right hand, indicating that a wedding band had recently been removed. The license plate on the back of his old truck was from Arizona, further proving Drake's theory that the man had just divorced his wife and had traveled to the mountains for a relaxing getaway to be alone and "put things into perspective," as Ricardo had said. He was alone and depressed and Drake could give him exactly what he needed: a self-esteem-boosting, quick-but-effective blowjob, or a revenge-sex, freak-in-the-sheets fuck.

Julio reluctantly went after his friend. He missed the first part of their conversation, but he approached just as the man said, "The next Walmart is pretty far, and my truck takes a lot of gas. I'll give you the ride, but no extra cash. Is your friend coming, too?"

"No, he's no-"

"Yeah, I'm coming." Julio wasn't sure why he'd said this because he didn't plan on getting into a truck with a stranger. Somehow, he thought that maybe it would deter his friend from doing just that.

Drake looked at him hard, as if silently telling him to get lost.

"Alright, but I only have room for one of you up front." He looked at Julio. "You'll have to ride in the bed." He got inside, then cranked the truck.

Drake went around to the passenger's side, but Julio stopped him before he could open the door. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Stop fucking following me, okay?"

"Why are you doing this?" Julio begged.

"Because this is who I am, okay? This is who I've always been," Drake seemed just as desperate to explain himself as Julio was to understand him. "You both have tried and I'm so grateful for that, but clearly it hasn't worked out for any of us. It's been three years and not a goddamn thing has changed. I'm still an addict, you're still a big ball of depression and anxiety and Ricky is suffering because of us."

"Let's go back and support him."

"For what...Julio?! Don't you see? I'm never gonna stop being this way and you're never gonna stop being the way you are. He was right. Neither of us are changing and, no matter how many times we lie and convince ourselves that we're actually trying, we're not gonna get better."

The window started to roll down, and the stranger yelled over at Drake impatiently. "Hey, you coming or what?"

"Yeah." Drake opened the door, but Julio stopped him again.

"We can make this right."

"Look, Ricky has been pushed past his breaking point. I know because I've seen it before with my family. Like the piece of shit that I am, it's time to cut him loose and latch on to someone else to suck dry. Whether I mean to or not, it's what I do. Now I can finally admit it to myself."

"Drake..." Julio said desperately. His eyes had tears in them. "If you leave, you're gonna die. You're gonna overdose or get beaten up or freeze or starve. I don't want you to die. Please, please, don't go."

"Don't worry about me, okay? Ricky needs you."

"He needs you."

"This is your last chance," the man in the truck said.

Drake looked at Julio apologetically and shrugged. "I'm sorry," he said as he got in the truck.

"Drake, please!"

The young man nodded at the driver after the stranger said something that Julio couldn't hear, then the truck started to move.

Drake let go of his breath. Now he was one step closer to Charlie...one step closer to active addiction...one step closer to homelessness. One step closer to loneliness. One step closer to living life in a dream state. One step closer to waking up covered in vomit. One step closer to motel rooms, parks and truck stops. One step closer to greedy hands, lust-filled eyes and objectifying himself for the benefit of others. One step closer to losing himself forever.

He looked out the rear view mirror and saw Julio standing on the side of the road, watching him go as tears ran down his face. When was the last time he had seen Julio cry? Possibly...never.

One step closer to Charlie.

But one step further from the people who loved him.

The truck was growing smaller and smaller to Julio, but he felt frozen in place. Drake had abandoned him plenty of times before for Triple C's, but this time was different. This time really felt like it would be the last time he ever saw his best friend again.

Julio looked on with disgust as the man driving the vehicle put his hand on the back of Drake's head, then pulled him down to his crotch. As the boy disappeared from view for the last time, Julio was overwhelmed with defeat. If only he had been able to stop him from leaving... If only he hadn't of started that fight... If only he understood addiction and could offer the help his friend needed...maybe things would've been different.

A pair of red break lights caught his attention. Way up ahead, the passenger's side door of the truck opened and, a second later, Drake was shoved onto the asphalt. There was yelling, but Julio was too far away to make out the words. Before he knew it, he found himself full-on sprinting towards his friend. As he approached, he heard a "You useless fuckin' whore!" before the truck sped off, its tires squealing loudly.

"Are you okay?!" Julio asked, squatting down next to the boy to check on him. He noticed a fresh river of blood pouring from his nose. "Jesus, what happened?!"

"I changed my mind," Drake said, pushing himself to his feet with Julio's help. "And that pissed him off and he wouldn't let me out, so I hit him, and then he smashed my face against the dashboard."

"What an asshole."

Drake looked at the top of his hand and saw that his knuckles were bleeding. He shook it as if this would make the pain go away. "God, I really wanted to get high," he admitted.

"Will you settle for a pack of cigarettes?" Julio asked when he saw his friend fidgeting with nerves.

Drake was craving a smoke, anything to calm him from the adrenaline rush. He nodded his head.

"Let's go back to the gas station and get you cleaned up."

---

"Ricky's gonna be so pissed that we left," Julio said. "He was probably thinking we were gonna immediately go in there and work things out."

Drake felt guilty because Julio had wanted to stay. He was the one who had messed it all up. "I don't know what I was thinking. Sometimes it's like my brain gets turned on autopilot. You know how it is. It starts with one bad thought and then everything you've ever worried or gotten upset about starts piling on until you just can't take it anymore."

"I know what you mean."

"Except you just kinda somehow manage to deal with it on your own and I've learned other ways to cope. It's just so fucked up," he said. "If you would've told me five years ago the kinds of things I would be doing to get high, I wouldn't have believed you. I just don't know how I let myself get to this point sometimes."

Julio noticed that his friend was constantly massaging his arms and wrists and back and, moments later, Drake spoke up. "Dude, I gotta stop."

"What's wrong?"

Drake weakly dropped onto his bottom, then leaned back and rested his head on the side of the road. "My whole body hurts."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I think because I took so many or something. This has never happened to me before. My joints feel like someone's crushing them with a hammer, and we're literally walking up a fucking mountain right now."

"You were hunched over your phone for hours on end during your high last night. That could be why if it's mostly in your arms and neck and back." Julio sat down next to him as the boy pulled out a cigarette. "We've gotta figure something out Drake. We can't keep going like this. My brother's strong, but it's not fair that we've become such a burden to him."

"I know."

"When I'm depressed, I have to actually try to make myself feel better instead of welcoming the dark thoughts, and when you wanna use — I mean, I honestly don't know much about how you're supposed to quit." Suddenly, he said, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll be totally honest with me?"

Drake sat up and turned to his friend because his tone of voice sounded serious. "I mean, I might not answer it." Sometimes he was asked tough questions, but he hated lying, so this is how he responded. It was incredibly rare that he didn't respond to Julio or Ricardo. This was a tactic he had mainly used a lot with Rhinestone. Rhinestone was really bad about asking personal questions. He knew Drake's boundaries, but he lacked the consideration to respect them.

"Like, do you really want to get clean? Not, like, because getting clean is probably the best thing to do because everyone says so and, yeah, you can see it. But do you actually want to get clean because it's something that you wanna do for yourself? Do you get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, I get it," Drake said. "I've messed up so much stuff for myself: my relationship with my family, my relationship with Meelah, with you and Ricky, with Clem. I know that I act like all of that is expendable and I'm always so quick to bounce back and adapt, but every single day, I think about my mom and my sister and Meelah. I've fucked up so many things for them and I know it's too late to go back and fix that. Not a day goes by without me wishing I had done things differently, but they're all gone and all I have is you and Ricky. I see myself repeating all of my mistakes and I just feel like — I don't know. I don't wanna say I can't help it. Those are all things I will live to regret for the rest of my life. I do genuinely want to get clean. I want nothing more than to make you and Ricky proud of me. You're the only ones who haven't given up on me."

"Because we love you."

"I think it's because you're both stubborn as fuck."

Julio's eyes went wide. "I know you did not just say that."

As he exhaled a cloud of smoke, Drake's lips cracked into a smirk, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. "I don't know if I can do this," he admitted. "It's just always so much easier to get high, even for the most minor inconveniences. I've relapsed before during the three years that I was working on sobriety, but it would just be, like, one night, and then I'd tell you guys and, honestly, it wasn't that hard to keep myself from using again. I don't know what happened this time and why I let it get so bad, but during those two months, it's like I completely forgot everything I learned about how to stay clean — or like, I knew it, but I just wasn't doing it. I should've said something. I mean, I mentioned it to Ricky, but I could've done more, you know? It's just like there's this addict part of me that says, 'If that wasn't clear enough for them, then they obviously don't care if you go out and use,' and I know you both care. I just have all of these thoughts in the back of my mind. My dad used to be able to manipulate me into feeling some type of way, but now that he's gone, I'm doing it to myself. It's like I have a whole separate personality inside of me that knows how to control the weaker, sober one." He took a drag from his cigarette before more thoughts came to his head. "I mean, look where we are. What the fuck am I doing? I was so desperate for a fucking high, I didn't care what I had to do and what you fucking witnessed me doing." He looked down at the asphalt, which glistened in the sun. "I'm so embarrassed."

"It was like your body was taken over by someone else," Julio agreed. "I've heard you and my brother talk about it before, but I've never actually seen it."

"I don't know why I do these things. I just feel so ashamed about so much and still I keep piling things on. Mrs. Hayfer caught me jerking off for her husband, for fuck's sake. Every time I think about it, I just get so sick."

Julio could tell that Drake was trying not to cry. His eyes held back the tears, but his cracking voice gave him away when he spoke again.

"I don't wanna be like this forever."

"And you're not gonna be," Julio said. "You're, like, the strongest person I know. It probably doesn't feel that way to you, but look at all the shit you've gone through and had to deal with. You came out with a bit of a drug problem, yeah. But if it were me? I think I would've ended it a long time ago."

"I've tried. Twice."

"And thank God you can't do anything right," he joked to lighten the mood. His comment did earn a small smile from the boy. "No, for real, though, you're gonna get past all this bullshit and you're gonna grow up to be such a great person. You just have to figure out what you want and go after it. Like, I wanna open a little music shop and sell instruments and shit, and in the back, I'll have a room where I give out lessons and teach people how to play."

"You'd be good at that," Drake said.

"And you would, too. You just have to know what you want — what you love."

"I mean, I love you and I love Ricky, but as far as hobbies or any of that shit, I don't really love anything. When I started using, I stopped being passionate about music and started being passionate about getting high."

"Well, I mean, you haven't really picked up a guitar since you broke your wrist that second time." Or more correctly, since Martin had broken his wrist for the second time.

"They said I wouldn't be able to play," Drake said.

"But have you tried?"

Hesitantly, he replied with, "I guess not."

"So there you go. Or try something else. In that sequel to Trainspotting book, Renton mentioned this exact same thing," he said.

Drake had been ordered to get a lot of bedrest after his most recent hospital stay. He didn't have much to do other than watch television and read. He'd finished Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting, so now he was working on the sequel: Porno. Sometimes, Julio and Ricardo would have him read to them or tell them what was happening. Julio found the plot interesting, but couldn't be bothered to pick up the book. Ricardo, on the the other hand, actually enjoyed reading, but never had time.

Julio went on. "What was it he started doing instead of drugs? Karate, wasn't it?"

Drake let go of a laugh. "Yeah, because I don't get my ass kicked enough."

"You know what I mean. We can find something together. Let me be your main support and you can be mine and we'll give my brother a break from our bullshit." Suddenly, he said, "Running."

"Running?" Drake wasn't too enthusiastic about this.

"Yeah. I've always wanted to be one of those people that wake up before the sun and go out for a run."

"I hate running."

"Or something else," he said with a bit of irritation. "Jesus, Drake, at least try to come up with something."

"Sorry," Drake said defensively. "Running then. I'll do the running thing."

Julio smiled. "See? You're already making steps to better yourself. And that can be our thing, you know? We'll both begin our day with something positive and we can both encourage each other."

"Yeah, I guess, but I don't wanna be fucking running up and down this mountain."

"Me neither. We'll start when we get back home. Cool?"

"Sure." He still wasn't too enthralled about the energy he'd have to put into it, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit better about himself for setting a goal. "You ready to get back up to the cabin?"

"Yeah. You're good?"

"Yeah." Drake stood, then tossed his cigarette butt in the grass. "You know, in the film sequel, called T2: Trainspotting instead of Porno for obvious reasons, Renton takes up running instead of karate. Spud tries to kill himself because he's still addicted to heroin after twenty years and Renton makes him run up a mountain."

"I just can't believe you still haven't showed me this movie."

"I can't either," Drake said. "When I start working again, I'll buy it. We need to have a designated movie night and, each week, we'll switch who gets to pick the movie. I'll go first."

"Fuck that," Julio said.

"Bruh, just let me have this. You know you're gonna make us watch Pineapple Express every time it's your week."

"It's better than the bullshit Ricardo picks. One day it'll be Breakfast At Tiffany's and the next will be Rebel Without A Cause."

"Fuck off. Your brother's film taste is classy as fuck."

"All I'm saying is we should have some rules. Like, every week, he can't pick a movie that's older than all three of us combined, you can't pick a druggie film-"

"Fair."

"-and I won't pick all vulgar comedies," Julio continued.

"This is looking better already."

"Then it's settled."

"But first, we have to get him to forgive us," Drake reminded.

"True. And how do you propose we do this?"

After a moment of thinking, he shrugged and looked at his friend. "There's always groveling."

Julio nodded in agreement. "Groveling works."

---

Drake snapped awake when Julio hit his shoulder. He found himself leaning against the wall outside of Ricardo's room. Since the door was locked, they hadn't been able to get inside to talk to him. Still feeling fatigued from the previous night's Triple C use, Drake had dozed off where he was sitting. He looked over at Julio, who was on the opposite side of the door, then he noticed Ricardo standing in between them, looking down at them with confusion.

Julio was the first to speak. "He's not high. He was just tired."

"I didn't use," Drake agreed. "I wanted to, but your annoying ass brother wouldn't stop nagging me."

"We just wanted to say that we're sorry." Julio stood, so Drake followed.

"Yeah, we know we're a fucking handful and it's not fair that you're always the one who has to deal with our bullshit. We'll stop bothering you so much about it."

Ricardo spoke up. "I didn't mean that you guys couldn't come to me about it. I definitely still wanna keep the lines of communication open because that's so important. I just feel like you're not trying sometimes."

"And you're right," Julio said. "Drake and I talked things out. We're gonna start relying on each other more. We set a goal to go for a run every morning to start our day with encouragement and positivity."

"I never meant to be a burden," Drake said. "I know I have to start taking care of myself and making the decision to get clean and stay that way on my own. I wanna figure this shit out and be someone you can be proud of again."

"I didn't mean to yell at you guys," the man said. It was pretty rare for him to yell at either of them, so he felt horrible about it.

"Don't worry about it," Julio said.

Drake agreed. "You had every reason to. We never stopped to think about how our constant negativity was dragging you down. It's good that everything's out in the open now."

"I just don't want you to shut down and feel like you can't talk to me," Ricardo said again.

"We'll never leave you out of the loop," his brother reassured.

"We're just really sorry," Drake added. "You should be able to come to us with your shit just as much as we complain to you. When Julio starts annoying the piss out of you, you can just come to me and be like, 'Drake, I fucking hate my brother,' and I'll be like, 'Yeah, I feel you.'"

"You bitch," Julio said, and although he looked shocked, he understood that his friend was making a joke because Drake had a hard time staying serious for too long. "You're more annoying than Ricardo and me combined."

"Yeah, well...probably."

"Oh, definitely," Ricardo corrected with a smile.

Drake scrunched his eyebrows up. "Are you fucking serious right now? You blast the shittiest trap music I have ever heard and refuse to let anyway else touch the radio."

Julio crossed his arms as he nodded and leaned against the doorframe. "This is true."

Ricardo put his hand over his heart and scoffed. "I am hurt."

"I'm just saying. Maybe Julio and I wouldn't be so fucking miserable all the time if you let someone else pick the music for a change."

"Mmm, no." Ricky shook his head.

"Prick."

Drake turned and started making his way to the kitchen and the other boys followed. Just like that, things were okay again. Just the three Santos brothers bickering about music. This was the most bit of normalcy Drake had felt all day.

Ricardo continued. "And what? I should spend an entire car ride listening to fuckin' — what's their name? ...The Rasmus?"

"Don't you dare talk shit about The Rasmus," Julio said. "Even Drake likes them."

"I know, like, three songs," the boy said with a shrug as he opened the refrigerator, only to find it empty. "Two are tolerable; one is good." Next, he looked in the pantry.

"Oh, I forgot. Drake likes Miley Cyrus," Julio teased.

"Why do you have to do that? You pick the one embarrassing thing I listen to — which is still good music by the way."

Ricardo spoke up, "Julio, what the fuck are you talking about? I've heard you listening to Miley in the shower."

"It was Drake's mixed CD. I didn't know what was on it," he said defensively.

"Bullshit. You were singing so loud that I could hear you from downstairs. You knew all the words."

"Are we gonna do dinner anytime soon, or like...?" Drake hadn't eaten all day and half of yesterday, and it was starting to catch up to him. Unfortunately, he couldn't find anything at all in the kitchen.

"Fuck off," Julio continued. "Wrecking Ball's just a catchy song. Everyone knows the words. I've heard you sing it before, too."

Drake hopped up onto the counter as they continued arguing. "Bruh, I'm fucking starving."

"What's that other shit you listen to?" Ricardo snapped his fingers as if that would help him remember better. "The Illuminators."

"The Lumineers is not shit," Julio said.

It was like Drake was watching a tennis match when the two brothers started going at it. For a while, he let them carry on as he took turns between picking at his nails and then biting them, but eventually, his hunger got the best of them. "Jesus, shut the fuck up already. I'm gonna die if I don't eat." This got their attention.

"You're so dramatic," Julio said.

"There's nothing here," said Ricardo. "We were supposed to unpack and then pick up some stuff from the grocery store."

"Is that little store even open? It's already dark."

"Oh, fucking hell." Drake slid off of the counter and onto his feet.

"I think so. I don't know. We better leave now, though, if we're going tonight," Ricky said.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm definitely going, even if I have to walk." He immediately opened the door and went outside.

Ricardo made sure his keys and wallet were in his pocket, then he, too, walked out the door with his brother trailing behind him. He turned to Julio. "I'm about to blast my 'shitty' trap music so fucking loud. Drake's gonna be so pissed."

---

"Jesus, that is a ridiculous amount of cheese you're putting on that pizza," Ricardo said.

Drake replied with, "Make your own. I'm gonna eat this whole thing by myself."

"I'm gonna go unpack while you cook," Julio said. Before he left the kitchen, he reminded, "I don't like olives."

Drake rolled his eyes. He didn't like olives either, but he was serious when he said he didn't want to share his pizza. He grabbed the can of pineapple he had slipped into the cart at the store, then he used the tab to pull open the lid.

"You're for real putting pineapple on it?" Ricardo said.

He belonged to the half of the world who believed that pineapple had no business being on a pizza. Although he was putting a lot of toppings on his pizza, Drake knew that his tastebuds still weren't working at a hundred percent because of the Triple C's. Pineapple was such a strong and juicy flavor. It was the best thing to eat on the days after drug use, he'd found.

"Bruh, for real, make your own. I haven't eaten since yesterday." He didn't mean to sound rude. He was just being honest, but he got kind of cranky when he was hungry. On top of that, he was irritable because his friend had loudly played his shitty music the whole way to the store and back.

"I asked you in the car on the way up here this morning if you wanted something when me and Julio got Burger King." Nevertheless, he grabbed another bag of pizza dough from the refrigerator and got the necessary items out to roll it.

"You know I wasn't hungry earlier," Drake said. He was never hungry for most of the day after Triple C's and Ricardo knew this because, years ago when the man had expressed his skepticism about Drake's sobriety, Drake had told him all the signs to look out for: loss of appetite, extreme fatigue, monotony, etcetera.

"You okay?" Ricardo asked hesitantly. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Drake's clear annoyance.

"I'm fine," he said as he began chopping up an onion for his pizza.

The man started flattening out the dough, but he kept his eyes on his friend. "Julio told me a lot of shit happened after the fight." Even though Drake was looking at his pizza, Ricardo saw the humiliation flash across the boy's face. He quickly added, "We don't have to talk about it. I just wanted to say that I'm glad you decided to come back."

"Thank you." It came out emotionless because, now that he didn't have the Triple C's to numb him, he knew that, if he let his guard down right now, he would be a crying wreck.

"You could've easily kept going and left for good. I know it's pretty rough having to start over again. I'm really proud of you and I'm so thankful you stayed because I truly do value your friendship."

Fuck, here it comes. Drake sniffled before the first teardrop glided down his cheek. More followed. He put down the knife and turned, then leaned his elbows on the island and hid his face in his hands.

"What's wrong?" Ricardo asked kindly.

Another sniffle. "The onion's burning my eyes," was his excuse. However, his crying got harder.

The man put down the rolling pin, then joined his friend. He put his hand on his shoulder and stayed that way for a couple minutes, offering silent support. Drake was so grateful for his quickness to forgive him and he felt like he owed him an explanation.

"I just wanna get high so bad," he choked.

Ricardo remembered when Drake had first cleaned up three years ago. Nights were always the hardest, his friend had told him. He used to lay with him most nights of the week until he cried himself to sleep. Maybe it was time to go back to the old way of doing things: bars on the bedroom window, door locked from the outside, a heavily enforced bedtime and a friend glued to his hip. At least for a little while.

Or maybe not. Maybe Drake needed his space. Maybe he needed to do this himself. However, Ricardo feared that his friend would give up too easily if he wasn't there to make him stay clean when he felt powerless to his addiction.

"Let's try to take your mind off of it. We'll cook the pizzas and then we can all sit down and have dinner and watch a movie together. Julio got a few horror films from Redbox: Happy Death Day, Unsane, the It remake. And I made sure to get that new Aronofsky film you kept talking my ears off about."

Drake's heart felt so full because Ricardo was trying so hard and he even remembered who his favorite director was.

"Or we can do board games instead. I know there's some in a closet here somewhere. Maybe that'll distract you better."

"Thanks," Drake said, wiping his eyes as he straightened. "You're always so supportive during my meltdowns. God, I just wish I could stop crying all the time like a little bitch."

"There's nothing wrong with crying. You've seen me cry before — today even — and I'm tough as shit."

Drake rolled his eyes and, just like that, they were back to light-hearted jokes. "I'm gonna go smoke." He needed a little extra help calming his nerves. "Can you put my pizza in when you finish yours?"

"Yeah."

---

They had all finished their pizzas except for Drake, who, as it turned out, wasn't as hungry as he had thought. He never was, though. If he wasn't occupied by something whilst eating, usually, he would start thinking himself into a depression episode and lose his appetite. This time, however, he was distracted by a movie, so his lack of hunger was only caused by his previous night's drug use. He'd scarfed down three slices and instantly regretted eating the last. Eating fast always fucked with his nerves somehow, so he'd paused the flick to take a cigarette break. During which, he'd vomited. This kind of thing happened on occasion. He wasn't bulimic or anything. It's just that sometimes his anxiety and depression gets the best of him and makes him actually physically sick.

They were watching Darren Aronofsky's Mother! This was the one Ricardo had specifically picked out for Drake. Julio wasn't into it, but he pretended to be for his friend's sake. Truth be told, Ricardo didn't know exactly what was happening either, but he did genuinely find it interesting. These were Drake's favorite kinds of films (other than druggie flicks). He always fell in love with the movies you had to watch more than once to understand.

One thing that Ricardo had learned about Drake was that he loved movies — not nearly as much as music, but it was close. Some things the man had used to distract Drake from drugs when he'd first moved in and cleaned up three years ago were movie marathons. Drake had picked it up almost like a hobby, which went away a little bit after he got a job and a girlfriend. He liked to have discussions after films and Ricardo always encouraged that just like he encouraged anything Drake did that wasn't drug-related.

Maybe Drake just liked the idea of getting away. When he got lost in a movie, he could pretend that he was the main character and whatever happened to them was happening to him. Maybe their shitty situations looked more interesting to him than his own. This theory doesn't explain his attraction to drug films like his all time favorite movie Requiem For A Dream, another Aronofsky masterpiece. How could the heroin addicts in that film have a better life than him? Maybe he watched movies to relate and feel a part of something. Or maybe he loved drug flicks because he still, despite everything, found that sort of lifestyle to be more appealing.

Maybe this was all shit. With a lot of movies, Drake focused on the writing and directing and acting styles rather than the story itself. Whatever it was, Ricardo wanted to support it. Despite the fact that the boy could go annoyingly overboard and talk for hours on trivial things like why the director chose to zoom into a certain object and what he wanted to portray with it, Ricky was glad to see that little bit of life return to Drake's eyes. Maybe his captivation of questioning things and breaking them down could even become a passion. God knows that Drake needed one. He needed something to keep him busy, something that meant something to him, something that was worth staying sober for.

Then again, maybe movies aren't Drake's thing. That's okay. There was something else out there, though, and Ricky was always going to be there to support it.

The oldest Santos brother looked over at Drake when he saw movement out of the corner of his vision. The boy was wiping fervently at the tears that were escaping his eyes. He was trying his best to be silent and he had been doing a good job because he'd started crying almost fifteen minutes ago, but now he was caught and he knew it, so Drake sniffled all the snot that had gathered up in his nostrils. Julio pulled his eyes away from the screen and looked at his friend.

"You alright?" Ricardo asked.

Drake's voice cracked. "I don't know why I'm crying."

He felt pathetic. He often had these so-called "crying spells" out of nowhere and he hated them. He felt like less of a man because of them. His father used to do violent and perverted acts towards him and, more than half of the time, he had remained emotionless. Back then, though, he was using Triple C's everyday. He had been numbed and lived in a constant dream state for a good bit of his late teenage/early adult years. Now it was a miracle for him to get through the day without crying at least once. He'd never learned useful ways to cope without drugs — not any that actually helped him anyway. Luckily, Ricky and Julio never teased him — not seriously anyway. Martin would have.

"Why don't we take a break from the movie and finish it later?" Ricardo suggested.

He was honestly confused as to why his friend was crying. Nothing was happening that was really worth the tears. He didn't think so anyway. Things were different with Drake, though. Just like with the music he chose to listen to, they had to be careful about what movies Drake watched. There were so many things that could trigger him — a few being drugs (obviously), cruel and torturous violence and rape or a sexual assault of some kind. Sometimes, these things couldn't be avoided, though, and some of Drake's favorite movies and shows included these things. Sometimes, he was okay. Other times, he would look away or leave the room or fast-forward through the hard-to-handle bits. It all just depended on the day and his mood.

There was quite a bit of violence going on in the film at the moment. It had come out of nowhere and it made no sense to Ricardo whatsoever. However, it had Drake in tears.

"No, it's okay," Drake answered. To be honest, he was just as confused as the other two boys. He knew that what was happening in the film was all symbolic and it all meant something important, and he'd watch an "Ending Explained" video on YouTube afterwards if he still couldn't piece it together when it was over. Maybe one day, he'll have seen so many of these movies and looked up what they meant that he could start to solve the puzzle himself. "I don't know what the fuck is happening, but I can feel it, you know?" he tried to explain so that he could convince Ricardo not to turn off the movie so close to the end.

The two boys didn't know what he meant, though. Neither of them felt anything really. Well, except utter confusion. Drake, on the other hand, was feeling what Jennifer Lawrence's character must be feeling. He felt betrayed, he felt unimportant, he felt worthless, he felt unloved. He was good at being empathetic for this protagonist in particular because he had felt all of these emotions in his own life. Sometimes, he still does.

"I just wish her husband would listen to her and make all those people leave," he said.

"Yeah, this movie makes me anxious as fuck," Julio agreed. "These people are so fucking rude. Who just enters someone's home and starts destroying shit? I literally would start killing people at this point." He put his eyes back on the television.

"You sure you're good?" Ricardo asked.

"Yeah. This is definitely one of my new favorite movies," Drake said.

"You just said that you had no idea what was happening."

"But I can feel it. That's what's important."

---

"Wakey wakey."

Drake opened his eyes to see Julio. "Mmm," he groaned.

"Time to get up."

"Time is it?"

"Like, don't ask me that because you're gonna get pissed."

"Mmm, fuck off." Drake turned his head and closed his eyes again.

"Come on. Get up," Julio urged.

Drake gave no response.

"My brother said that if you're not up by the time he's finished getting dressed, he's gonna pour water on you."

Drake believed him because Ricardo had done this to him on a couple of occasions before. He groaned as he grumpily looked up at his friend. "What the fuck does he want?"

"Did he get up?" It was Ricky, who had just entered the living room.

"I'm up," the boy said, his voice filled with annoyance. "What the fuck?" he asked again.

"Get dressed. We're going for a hike."

Drake was stupefied. "Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice slurred from tiredness. "You woke me up this fucking early to walk up a fucking mountain? The fuck is wrong with you?" Drake closed his eyes again and nestled his head into the pillow.

"Get up," Ricardo said, yanking the blanket away from the boy.

Drake pretended like he was unbothered although he was pissed. "Fuck off. I'm not going."

The two left him alone for a while as they filled their backpacks with snacks, a breakfast, water bottles and other hiking necessities. When they came back, Drake was asleep again, but Ricardo was prepared this time.

"HUUUH!" When Drake realized he wasn't drowning, he tried to calm his heart rate. He was sitting up now, and he was soaking wet. "THE FUCK?!" he screeched.

The other two boys laughed hysterically.

"God, I fucking hate you both!" He wiped off his face.

"Oh, good, you're up," Ricardo said. "And you don't even need to shower. You're welcome."

"Fuck you."

"Get dressed. We're leaving in ten." With that, he was gone.

"Fucking asshole." Drake flinched as he put his feet on the floor, his eyes half closed still. When he stood, he winced.

"You good?" Julio asked.

Drake massaged his shoulder as he moved it in a circular motion. "I feel like I got hit by a fucking train."

Although it was the same feeling he'd had all day yesterday, which was somehow caused — he was sure of it — by the drugs he'd used the night before, Julio assumed it was because he'd slept uncomfortably. "Why'd you sleep on the couch?"

"Couldn't sleep," Drake said, rubbing the inner fold of his elbow. "So I watched that movie again."

"You watched a whole movie? Shit, so you probably got, what, two hours of sleep?"

"Two hours? What fucking time is it?"

"Four."

"What the fuck? Is this a fucking joke?"

"He wants us to watch the sunrise from the top of the mountain."

"What the fuck?" He couldn't stop responding this way. Again, he was getting angry. However, he knew he couldn't fight it unless he wanted to wake up in another pool of ice cold water. "This is so fucking stupid." He had to practically drag himself into the room that he was staying in. He still hadn't unpacked, so he opened his bag and reached for some clothes, only to find that the shirt on top had a mixture of dried spit and blood and toothpaste. "What the fuck?" Apparently, he didn't remember brushing his teeth in Ricardo's car on the way here and thinking he had nowhere to spit.

Drake absently threw on something that would keep him warm, brushed his teeth, then combed through his hair. After that, he made his way into the kitchen and took the cup of coffee that Julio offered him. It was lukewarm and black, just the way he liked it.

Ricardo entered the kitchen as he zipped up his jacket. "Why'd you sleep on the couch?" he asked, picking up one of the apples that was in the decorative bowl on the center of the island.

"Why'd you wake me up so fucking early?" he snapped back.

He was obviously still pissed. Ricky was used to it, though. He always had to deal with a grumpy Drake when he woke him up for work.

"Stop whining," the man said.

"And chill with the fucks," added Julio.

Ricardo handed Drake a book bag. "We packed you some shit."

Drake retorted with, "If it's not a pillow and blanket, then I don't give a shit."

Ricardo rolled his eyes. "Just put it on." He looked at his brother. "You got everything you need?"

With a confirmation nod, the three headed into the night sky.

---

Drake had trudged up the mountain, and despite his slow pace, Julio and Ricardo stayed by his side. It was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life. He didn't know why he was hurting so badly. This whole thing where Charlie left his joints in pain on the day after using was new to him and the fact that it had lasted two days was ridiculous. Imagine sleeping wrong and waking up with a crick in your neck and not being able to turn your head without feeling pain. Now amplify that quite a bit and picture that feeling all over every joint and muscle in your entire body. That's the best way he could think of to describe it to his two hiking buddies. Drake kept flipping back and forth between wishing he was high so that the drugs could numb him and help him walk up the slope with ease and regretting having ever taken the pills in the first place.

He kept asking for a break, but they were racing against the sun, so the two boys encouraged him to keep moving. He'd even begged a couple of times, but they wouldn't let him stop. Ricardo did take his bag to remove some of the extra weight he was carrying.

"This is why drugs are bad," Julio said. He kind of enjoyed getting to tease him.

"Fuck you." Although it was all light-hearted and friendly, Drake wasn't in the mood. He looked at the oldest. "You told me yesterday that this was supposed to be a relaxing vacation and not a punishment."

Ricardo shrugged innocently. "Well, I mean..."

"This could be our new tradition," said Julio. "Next time you relapse, we'll just come back out here and climb up the mountain again. I think it's doing you some good. Just fifteen minutes ago, you were swearing up and down that you'd never use again. That's progress."

Drake abruptly dropped onto his knees at this. He caught himself with his hands just before he landed face-first in the dirt. "Guys, I'm serious. I fucking can't."

Ricardo opened Drake's backpack and pulled out a bottle of water. He passed it to him. Drake's fingers ached when he wrapped them around the bottle. He imagined that this is what it would feel like for an old, brittle, dried tree to have its withered and frail branches snapped off, if only a tree had nerves. His fingers hurt gripping the plastic, his arm hurt lifting it over his mouth, his neck hurt tilting his head back.

"You two just go. I'll just wait here."

"You're giving up then?" Ricardo asked.

"Look, I'm really hurting, okay?"

"Who's fault is that?" Julio wasn't being rude when he said it.

"I know it's my fault. I fucked up and I regret that, but this is just too much."

Julio squatted down in front of him. "What about when life becomes too much. You're just gonna give up then, too?" He didn't wait for an answer. "No. You're not. I won't let you. We're gonna keep pushing and give it everything we've got."

Drake was beginning to believe that he was speaking in metaphors now, but he was too exhausted to understand the magnitude of his friend's words. He got the gist of it, though.

"So you take a few minutes, but then you're gonna get up and we're gonna get to the top of this mountain together. You got that?"

Drake wasn't scared of him, but there was something about a firm, confident and authoritative voice that made him listen. It was like when Martin or Coach Tad told him to do something, only this time, it was something beneficial for himself. Although he knew that Julio wasn't going to hurt him like a lot of the other men in Drake's life, there was something in his strict voice and stern gaze, and he didn't dare disobey him — not for fear of what Julio would do to him, but because he genuinely wanted to make his friend proud of him and he wanted to be proud of himself.

"Okay," Drake said.

Ricardo was surprised that that had worked. He placed his hand on his brother's shoulder to let him know that he'd done a good job. He then looked down at Drake, who was still sitting on the dirt trail. "You want a granola bar? It'll give you some energy."

Drake declined. "No, can you hand me a cigarette?"

"You sure? That's kinda counter-productive."

Drake nodded, then took one after Ricardo grabbed the pack from his bag. He lit it, then passed the lighter back to the man so that he wouldn't lose it. "Thanks," he said as he exhaled.

Julio sat down, too, then placed his own bag on his lap, unzipped it and grabbed his water.

"How much longer?" Drake asked.

"I'm not sure," said Ricardo. "I haven't been up here in years. It looks like we've got about thirty-five — maybe forty minutes — until the sun comes up. I think we'll get there before then."

---

What they didn't tell him was that the mountain got much steeper towards the top. There were places along the trail where they all actually had to do a bit of climbing. He wasn't crying, but a quiet sob left Drake's lips as he used the muscles in his arms to heft himself up onto a rock that was at the same height as his belly button. He felt his shoulder blades exploding with pain, but he kept pushing, just like Julio had told him to.

The next and final rock they came to was taller than Drake. Ricardo instructed them to lift him up, so the two boys positioned themselves in front of the rock wall and cupped their hands to boost him. Once Ricardo was up, Julio allowed Drake to go next since he was hurting. Drake was hoisted up, then Ricky grabbed his hand and pulled him the rest of the way. The young man helped lift himself up, then he and the oldest both reached their arms down. Julio took a bit of a running start, then jumped and grabbed on so that they could pull him up. After that, Drake rolled into his back and massaged his shoulders.

"You alright?" Julio asked, taking out his water and squirting some into his mouth.

Drake was panting for air, but he managed to get out a, "Yeah." Despite the chilly weather, he was sweating.

"You need a second?" Ricardo asked.

"How much further?"

"I don't think it's long. If I'm remembering right, it should be right past those trees up there." He nodded his head forwards.

"Nah, I'm good." He stretched out his arm, and Julio gripped his hand and helped him to his feet.

Ricardo's memories had proved to be correct when they maneuvered through the trees. Three minutes later, they entered a clearing and found themselves at the highest point of the mountain. It was still dark overhead, so they could see the lights from cars and stores in the distance. Ricardo wrapped an arm across Drake's shoulders and messed up his hair. He wore a huge smile on his face and it made Drake smile, too.

"Wooooo!" Julio yelled as he looked down at the world below him. He had his arms outstretched king-of-the-world style.

When Ricardo joined his brother's celebration, Drake took a seat on a nearby rock. He opened his bag and pulled out his cigarettes and water. He desperately needed a smoke and a drink. He gulped down a good bit of water first, then lit up. It wasn't until he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and tried to light it that he realized his hands were shaking, which they sometimes did if he was scared, anxious, cold, or if he just overly-exerted himself. This time, it was probably caused by the last two. Although he was sweating like crazy, it was still February. On top of that, they were on a mountain. Drake could practically see his breath leave his lips.

Although he wasn't as visibly ecstatic as Julio and Ricardo, he felt really proud of himself that he made it to the top of the mountain. He was tired as shit, but it was still kind of worth it.

Why? It's not like you did anything great. You climbed up a fucking hill. Whoopdi-fucking-doo.

Drake lowered his head and closed his eyes, then massaged his temple as if that would force the unmistakable sound of his father's unimpressed voice to leave. Please, not now.

You think just because you made it up this mountain, it all of a sudden means you're not a pathetic addict anymore? That's bullshit. You're still gonna want to use every single day and you will eventually relapse. What's the fucking point?

Stop. Just think positive. Don't ruin this, Drake.

Don't ruin this like you ruin literally everything else? Ha! Fat chance.

You made it all the way up this mountain. You didn't think you could do it, but you did.

And what does that prove exactly?

It proves... What did Julio say it proves again? What does walking up a mountain have to do with getting sober? Fuck, I'm never gonna be able to stay clean.

Exactly. You're gonna go right back to fucking strange men for money, you disgusting skank. I only wish I was alive to fucking see it in person, sorry piece of shit.

Just stop. Drake's hands shook even more now, this time from the two other reasons on the list: fear and nerves. He took a quivering puff from his cigarette, then ran his trembling fingers through his hair.

How could you do that? I mean, I knew you were a worthless mutt who would never amount to anything, but to let yourself get that fucking low? I never would've expected that, even from you.

I didn't mean for things to get that bad.

But go ahead and tell yourself you actually achieved something by climbing this mountain. All of a sudden, it made you a changed man, right? Now you've got a clean slate. You never sucked all those dicks, let all those men touch you, bent over and spread your cheeks for them. You made it to the top of this mountain, so all that has gone away now, right?

Drake could feel his eyes welling up with tears.

Just give it up, Drake. You're never gonna clean up.

Maybe if I could somehow get Ricky's keys-

That's right.

-and then I can disappear without them noticing me.

Mm-hmm.

I'll have a head start down the mountain and I can just borrow-

This is stealing, but continue. I'm intrigued.

I'll just take the car for...an hour — two hours tops. Just long enough to find the nearest Walmart or Dollar General or something.

They're gonna be really pissed, Drake. They planned this whole thing for you. Drake's inner addict, which disguised itself with Martin's voice, didn't really care about these facts, and now, Drake was starting to not care either.

I never asked for this. I never wanted to come here.

You're really going to hurt their feelings, though. Here, I have a better plan. Why don't you get up, walk over to the edge and just fling yourself over? Just fucking end it, you hopeless junkie.

Fuck, Drake, why are you like this?

"Come on. What are you doing?" Julio called. "Let's celebrate." When Drake lifted his head, Julio saw that his friend was crying. He smile immediately faded as he jogged over to him. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I just need to go."

"Go where?"

Drake didn't answer, but by his silence, Julio knew what he meant.

"Drake..."

"I'm sorry, okay? Just ignore me. I'm not gonna use." He honestly didn't want to, but he wasn't sure if he could hold this one out or not. He wanted to try, though.

Ricardo had joined them now. He took a seat next to Drake while Julio squatted in front of him.

"What happened just now?" Julio asked. "You were just super excited about reaching the top of the mountain two seconds ago, and now you're upset and on the verge of a relapse before you've even finished a cigarette."

"I don't know." Drake hung his head. He was suddenly ashamed to let himself cry in front of them although he had done it a thousand times before for reasons way less severe than this.

"Talk to us." Ricardo rubbed his shoulder.

"I just hear his voice sometimes. Like, I could hear what he would've said if he were here." They knew who he was talking about without him having to tell them. His voice cracked. "I just feel like it's never gonna end and I just wanna die sometimes." He let go of a couple sobs after saying this out loud.

Ricardo sighed as he pulled Drake into a half-hug and looked down at his brother with a worried expression. He had no idea what to do anymore. He'd tried everything that he could think of. He'd given Drake a hard task, and the boy had actually completed it. He'd climbed up a fucking mountain while going through drug withdrawals, and even still, that wasn't enough to hinder Drake's mind from tearing him apart from the inside out. He needed help — like, actual help.

Julio was thinking along the same lines. "Look, Drake, I know my brother brings this up a lot and it annoys you, but I really, really think it's time that you give counseling a chance. Or just start with a psychiatrist. They're too busy to let you get personal anyway. They talk to you for five minutes, give you a prescription, and then you're on your way. It's really not that bad. I went to one. I just hate taking medicine." Julio's voice was soft and kind. "But you can't keep going on like this. These thoughts that keep taking over your mind — they're not healthy and they're not normal. You're my best friend, and I hate seeing you sad all the time."

Ricardo spoke up. "We're doing everything we can, but what you went through — what you're going through — it could take years of professional therapy. We're not trying to get rid of you. We just want you to be happy again."

Through his weeping, Drake said, "I know you're right. I'm just embarrassed and scared."

"There's no need to be embarrassed. This is what therapists deal with on a daily basis."

"Why are you scared?" Julio asked.

"I don't want them to lock me up somewhere."

He remembered when he was younger and his mom had him committed to a mental hospital after she found out he had cut himself. It had just been an experimental cut out of curiosity. When he was younger, the kids at school who wore an excessive amount of black clothing and a lot of hairspray in their hair to hold up their "emo" and "scene" styles and had Escape The Fate and Black Veil Brides songs on their MySpace page would brag about cutting themselves. They'd talk about how good it felt and, upon hearing that, Drake's interest had peaked. At this time in his life, he was thirteen. The divorce was still pretty fresh and his father was constantly hitting him and putting him down every chance he got. Drake had been desperate to feel good again, but cutting didn't do that for him. Despite his attempt at hiding it, his mom had seen the deep cut and, before he knew what was happening, he found himself in a mental hospital.

He'd spent a good bit of time in solitary confinement because he acted out, misbehaved and cussed out two of the night nurses, who were complete pricks by the way. Solitary confinement was a tiny room with blue padding on a small portion of the floor. It wasn't like in the movies where the entire floor and walls were covered — not the place he was in anyway. There was a door with a small window and he could occasionally see someone checking in on him to make sure he hadn't smashed his own head to bits. It had been hell, and what was worse was his stay at his father's after he had been released.

"I'm sorry, Ricky," Drake said. "I didn't wanna ruin this for you."

"Don't worry about it," the man said. "You didn't ruin anything."

"Will you still make that appointment for me?" He was finally taking the man up on what he had offered before his big relapse.

"Of course," he said. "I'll start looking for a place today." When Drake sat up straight, Ricardo brushed his bangs out of his face, then rested his hand on his shoulder.

"You can go back to celebrating. I'll stop crying in a minute." Drake wiped the water away from his eyes.

"We'll wait," Ricky said.

"And fuck whatever your dad would say," Julio added. "I mean, he was kinda shit anyway."

"I guess."

Drake knew that what his father had done to him was wrong, but there were times when he felt like maybe he deserved it. He had hurt too many people and Martin had been the only person who ever punished him for it. Despite everything, a part of his family was gone and he missed him dearly. Just because he was a psycho, alcoholic murderer/rapist, it didn't make it any easier to lose him. He was still his dad and, before things had turned to shit, Martin had raised him. He took care of him, helped him with homework, played basketball with him, let him stay up and watch scary movies after Audrey had gone to sleep, then let him crawl into their bed later that night when he complained about nightmares. He wasn't always a bad person. He just got lost somewhere in his addiction and rage. Drake understood that, but he was lost in different ways. The only person he had ever hit was Meelah. It was one time — when she had flushed his pills — and he's regretted it ever since. Instead, he hurt people unintentionally, but it was still a great pain all the same.

---

"I don't know what you're talking about," Julio said. "I would a hundred percent win in a fight."

"That's such bullshit!" Ricky argued. "Are you kidding me? Out of us three? You think you would win?"

"I know I would win."

The man laughed incredulously. "Drake, break the tie. My idiot brother has lost his fucking mind."

"He's just gonna say himself and make it a three-way tie," Julio said.

"Nah, I've had my ass kicked by both of you before," the boy said. "I know I wouldn't win."

"My brother beat you up?" Julio asked, his attention now redirected.

"Oh, yeah. Several times."

Ricardo disagreed. "I beg to differ. I beat you up one time. The other times, I was just...knocking some since into you. It wasn't that bad. I'm your older brother. It's what I do."

Julio said, "Now I do remember you picking Drake up from Tad's right before he overdosed and he had a couple bruises on his face."

"Yeah, that was me knocking some since into him."

"Well, shit, what do you call actually beating him up?"

Drake answered. "It was when he found out I had moved back in with my dad after the first time he put me in the hospital. He was pissed that I went back and I was so fucking stubborn, I just kept smiling. Blood was pouring down my face, but I was smiling. He finally left, I started crying and then my dad came in and was like 'Let's get drunk.' I woke up two days later with no memory of anything, then I overdosed on a bunch of shit I didn't remember taking. It was Megan's birthday."

"Fuck," Julio said.

Ricardo interrupted their conversation. "Alright, alright. Never — hush."

"Rude," Julio said. "I wanted to hear the story."

"Whatever," Drake said. "I don't even like to think about it anyway."

Ricardo continued. "Okay, never have I ever drank so much that I blacked out."

While Drake swallowed some of his beer, Julio said, "The fuck do you mean? You work at a bar for Christ's sake."

"I'm responsible," Ricardo said.

"I call bullshit."

"I'm serious."

Julio squinted his eyes skeptically, but he took a sip anyway. He was on his second, Ricardo was on his third and Drake was working on his fourth. It was around ten or eleven at night and they were all sitting around the living room in the cabin. Drake was on the floor. He struggled to keep his eyes open since he had gotten up so early, but he was having a good time and he didn't want it to end.

Julio took his turn. "Never have I ever had a wet dream about a guy."

Both the other boys drank. Julio was shocked when he saw Drake turn the bottle over his lips, but even more baffled when his brother did the same.

"What?!"

"It was around the time I first hit puberty and I was really curious about it," the oldest said.

Julio looked over at his friend. "Yours, too?"

"Nah, my sex life's just always been weird. I've had them a couple times when I was younger because of the shit I was going through," he admitted, "but now my dreams are all over the place, especially when I relapsed." He'd had sex with a lot of strange men and the memories of them carried over into his unconscious psyche. "I've had dreams about..." He stopped himself, but Julio wouldn't let it go.

He lifted his eyebrow when he asked, "You've had dreams about me and my brother?"

Drake felt his cheeks getting hot. He was feeling tipsy at this point, so a lot of things were slipping out. "Anyway, is it my turn?"

Ricardo jumped in now. "Admit it," he said with a teasing smile. "You have!"

"I mean..." Drake squinted his eyes, the alcohol making him grin despite his embarrassment. "Is that weird?"

"That's pretty damn weird," Julio said.

"Was it, like, full-on sex or...?" Ricardo was curious.

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?!" Julio's eyes exploded. "How many times have you had these dreams?!"

"I can't help what I do in my sleep," Drake defended. "If you walk up to me with your dick out, chances are I'm gonna..." Again, he stopped himself, then took another drink. He wasn't nearly drunk enough for this. "Who's turn is it?"

"Bruh, don't even worry about it. It's totally fine," Ricardo said. "We're just giving you a hard time. I dreamed Bobby Felcher from high school gave me a blowjob once."

"Did you reciprocate?" Julio asked.

"Well, I couldn't just not return the favor."

"You guys are fuckin'... I don't even know."

Drake spoke up. "Anal is actually really nice if you — you know — if you've given your consent and you're relaxed. I mean, I didn't really have a choice the first time I did it with a woman. She was paying me and I needed the money to give to Marcellas. She said I'd have to do anal if I wanted her to give me the cash. She made sure I was really comfortable, though, and it turned out to be one of the best sexual experiences I've ever had."

"Well, the male g-spot is in his ass," Ricardo said.

"So you let a girl shove a dildo up your ass?" Julio asked.

Drake shrugged. "Yeah."

"Leave him alone," Ricky said.

"I'm just — no, I'm not judging you," the boy said to Drake. "I just feel like — just wow. I never would've guessed. I mean, I'm genuinely curious. Not that I wanna try it, but I've just never talked to another guy who has let a girl do that. Do you like it better or... Like, are you bi?"

"Honestly, I don't even know at this point," Drake said. "So much shit has happened. I think... I'm just really confused, I guess."

"Shit," Julio said and Drake could see his gears spinning.

On a serious note, Ricardo said, "Maybe that's something you can bring up with your counselor when you go."

"Yeah," said Drake. "I mean, I like girls. I've just fucked a lot of guys, too, recently, and I guess...I kind of...liked it?" He knew that he wouldn't have been able to admit any of this without the alcohol. "I don't know," he said, shutting down again. "Rhinestone used to call me gay all the time. Maybe he just knew something I didn't."

"Well, Rhinestone was a prick," Julio said, "so who gives a shit what he thinks? Anyway, back to the important question. So," he said, "me or my brother? Who was the better fuck?"

"Julio!" Ricky scolded.

"No, I don't wanna answer that." Drake lowered his head, his cheeks a bright shade of pink.

"Come on," Julio pushed. "Just tell us."

"Nah, man. Don't."

"Drake, come on. It's just us three. No one else has to know. We're best friends. Just tell us. Me or Ricardo?"

The answer was Ricardo. Julio had been a great fuck, though, but it was just that: a fuck. It was different with Ricky; he was gentler and kind, and that's something that Drake wasn't exactly used to during sex. There was some emotional level with his sexual fantasy about himself and the older of the group. It was probably somehow related to the fact that he'd practically saved his life. There was a specific type of love and respect Drake had for the man that he could never put into words.

For a second, he looked like he was going to answer. He met Ricardo's eyes and held his gaze a bit longer than he meant to before he stared down at his lap again. "No, I don't want to."

"Leave it alone," Ricky said. "They're just dreams anyway. How would he know who's better?"

---

Despite how exhausted he was, Drake had a hard time going to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was falling out of the back of a helicopter while the world spun around him. Maybe he shouldn't have drank so much? How many did he have again? Eleven, right? They'd bought two twenty packs at the store. Julio drank a shitload even though he didn't really even like beer. Ricardo had a lot, too. The only reason Drake had been cut off was because he started whining about how much better he would feel if he had Charlie, too.

Maybe laying on his side would help him feel more grounded. He wished he had his cell phone. That way, he could call Clementine. No, that was definitely the worst move he could make right now. Right? Or was it? Maybe taking away his phone wasn't such a bad idea after all.

He wasn't sure what he had expected when he'd showed up at her house. Drake had abandoned her, he'd broken his promise, and he'd cheated. Why would she take him back after that? If someone had done that to him, he would've left in a heartbeat.

He wondered what she was doing right now. Maybe she was fucking her new boyfriend. Maybe he was giving it to her really hard and maybe she was really into it. Maybe she was moaning and squealing and maybe she accidentally calls out Drake's name. Maybe the new guy gets pissed and storms out and maybe Clem is crying and trying to get in touch with Drake because she wants him back. Maybe he should ask for his phone.

After glancing at the clock, he realized that it was almost three in the morning. Maybe she's just asleep. God, but how he wished she was here. Going to bed alone was one of the saddest things in the world.

He heard his bedroom door open and looked over his shoulder. "Hey," he said when he saw Ricardo.

"Hey." He was still clearly trashed himself and it was obvious when he stumbled across the room. It was a full-sized bed, so Drake scooted over and let him in. "I just wanted to check on you," Ricardo said. He was whispering even though Julio was probably passed out in his own room right now. "To make sure you hadn't snuck off."

"Like there's anywhere to fucking go."

"You're pretty resourceful."

"I guess." Drake turned over onto his other side so that he faced him. "You can't sleep either?"

"No."

This reminded Drake of all the times that Ricky had laid with him until he'd cried himself to sleep. Those were hard times and getting sober had seemed like such an impossible feat. Sometimes, it still does.

"Hey, thanks for bringing me up here. I know I've been shitting all over everything you're trying to do. I wouldn't be me if I didn't ruin things somehow. I do appreciate you trying, though. I know I get all pissy every time you try to help, but I'm so grateful that you do. You and Julio are the only two people who haven't given up on me," Drake said. "I'm sorry I relapsed again. I know it came out of nowhere and we'd just had a bunch of positive talks that made everything seem like they were okay, and they were at the time. I know you're disappointed. I'll do better. I'll... Well, I know my words probably don't mean shit to you at this point. I just wish I would stop using."

He was pretty drunk, so instead of saying something encouraging, his real fearful self showed. "I wish you would, too."

Drake looked at him and started to speak, but he stopped. What was there to say? Another promise that he wasn't sure he could keep? An apology he'd repeated so many times that it was starting to lose its meaning? That's all that ever came out of his mouth anymore and he felt guilty for it.

Just then, Ricardo surprised Drake by pressing his lips against his. The boy's immediate instinct was to pull away.

"I'm sorry," the man said.

"No, I just..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Drake reassured. To prove it, he connected their lips again. To say that he was utterly confused was an understatement, but he went along with it anyway. He was drunk and nothing in his life made any sense anymore, but whatever.

Ricardo lifted himself up so that he hovered above him. He never pulled his lips away. Instead, he added tongue and Drake reciprocated. They both tasted like alcohol and they reeked of it as well.

Drake's hand moved down his chest, over his belly button and then disappeared into the waistband of his sweatpants. Ricardo cringed with pleasure at his touch, then he mimicked the boy's action, putting his hand in Drake's pajamas.

Ricardo only pulled his mouth away to ask, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah." Drake lifted his head off the pillow and connected their lips again.

Ricardo wasn't as skilled in this department, so he basically followed the other boy's lead. Whatever Drake did to him, he would do back.

It wasn't long before Drake got hard. Ricardo, on the other hand, was still a bit shy about everything. Drake flipped him onto his back, then got on top of him. He removed the man's shirt, then felt Ricky sliding up his own. He pulled it the rest of the way off and tossed it to the side, then he slid his partner's pants and underwear down and dropped them in the floor. Ricardo was completely naked now as Drake went back to kissing him. They made out for a while, then the young man's lips moved down his neck, across his collarbone, over his chest, past his belly button...

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Ricardo slurred. "You want this, too?" His friend had been mistreated and used by a lot of different men in his life and he didn't want his name to be added to the list.

Drake responded with, "Yes. Do you?"

Ricardo nodded his confirmation and then loudly let go of his breath when Drake wrapped his lips around his penis. It was thick like Tad's, but unlike Tad's, it was also lengthy. It probably matched Drake's eight inches. Pretty soon, the boy felt Ricardo's member stiffen. This didn't surprise him. He was much better with his mouth than with his hand anyway. As he continued his work, he started massaging his balls, rolling them around in his hand. Ricardo's breath caught in his throat. He closed his eyes, his breathing deep. He reached down and put his hand on the back of Drake's head. Moments later, he had eased into it enough to clench his hand into a fist, the boy's hair entangled between his fingers. He pushed his head down further, urging him to let him go deeper. Drake complied as Ricardo let go of a moan. The younger one's head moved up and down over the man's crotch and his hand followed suit. He moved his tongue rhythmically over the sensitive skin, and he swore he could taste the saltiness of pre-cum. Just when he thought that he should ease up a bit, Ricky pushed his head down even further until he was touching the back of the boy's throat. Drake went with it for a couple pumps, but he was quick to pull away when he started gagging.

"Sorry. The alcohol's got me all nauseous."

"I didn't mean to... Just tell me if I'm doing something wrong."

"Don't worry. I will," Drake assured. "So what did you wanna do? Did you just wanna do mouth and hand stuff? Or go all the way?"

Ricardo let him know that he wanted to try the latter.

"Do you want me to bottom or...?"

"I've never done this before," he said. "I guess I wanna try both."

"Which one first?"

Ricardo had performed anal on a girl before, so he figured it would be the same thing basically. He was more comfortable with that, so that would be a good starting point, then he could ease his way into the other. "I'll top first," he said. "Do you have any lube?"

"I have lotion." Drake reached into his nightstand and pulled out a squirt bottle. While Ricardo lathered himself, he took off his pajama pants and boxers. Drake had done this a thousand times before, so he was okay letting his partner make all of the decisions. He wanted Ricardo to be comfortable since this was his first time. "How do you want me?"

Ricardo didn't seem to know how to respond.

Drake figured that Ricardo might get uncomfortable facing him, so he turned and rested on his hands and knees. "How about this?"

"What do I do?"

"You just ease your way in."

Ricardo got behind him and gripped his hips. He slowly poked his head inside. "Is this okay?"

"I'm fine. Just keep going."

Ricardo got the hang of it pretty quickly and soon, he was going at it with full force. Drake's sex dream had been wrong. Ricky was anything but gentle. He just kept ramming it in harder and harder and harder, and then he roughly snatched the boy's hair back so that he could hear him better although he didn't need to. If Julio wasn't passed out drunk right now, even he would be able to hear Drake's moans and pants and Ricardo's grunts.

Drake asked him to get more lotion on his palm and jerk him off at the same time. He did for a while, but he couldn't concentrate on doing both, so Drake eventually took over.

They went on like this for a good while until Drake climaxed and squirted all over the sheets. Ricardo asked where he should cum and Drake said he was fine with him doing it anywhere as long as he gave him a warning first. He didn't feel right about releasing inside of him, so he, too, shot his sperm onto the bedsheets.

After that, they rested, and during which, they cleaned up and wiped themselves off. For a while, Drake stimulated Ricardo's backside with his fingers to get him ready for what was to come. When they were both recharged, they got each other hard, then repeated their earlier process, but with Ricardo on the bottom this time. Drake took it slow. He was patient and calm, and he talked to him and checked in a lot just like Molly had done for him. Drake kept having to remind him to relax his muscles and he offered to stop several times, but Ricardo urged him to keep going. It took a good bit of time, but Ricky finally started to get used to it. While Drake thrusted, he reached around and tugged on the man's penis. Ricardo was consumed with a pleasure he had never felt before.

---

Drake hefted himself out of bed, his heavy bare feet stomping against the floor as he bolted out of his room and into the bathroom. He had just enough time to lift the toilet seat as a river of vomit spewed from his lips.

He didn't mind the process of throwing up. It wasn't that bad. Leaning over the toilet and puking his guts out gave him Charlie flashbacks and, although he shouldn't, he welcomed those. Right before the high would begin, he would vomit and, when he was finished, his eyes would be blurry and his brain fuzzy. This time, though, it wasn't. He couldn't help himself for wishing it was. What he would give to be able to take a handful of Triple C's again...

Another round of puke slipped out when he swore he could taste the tiny red pills on his tongue. Despite his undying love for them, they made him sick and nauseated as fuck. Just thinking about them so suddenly and intensely gave him a false sense of the pre-high he longed desired to feel. He let it overcome him. He felt it numb his body and mind, but he knew that it was only wishful thinking. He had to snap himself back to reality. Julio and Ricky don't deserve to go through this again, Drake.

Ricky... Now memories of last night were coming back to him. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It was too early to tell. Maybe it was a good thing that he didn't have immediate feelings one way or the other. He didn't regret it, but he wasn't head-over-heels in love with Ricardo either. It was just a fuck and it was fine. He only hoped his best friend felt the same way.

Drake gave himself some time before he stood just to make sure he didn't have another round in him. He flushed the toilet, then cleaned himself off and brushed his teeth before leaving the bathroom. He kind of wanted to lay back down, but there was something about hangover mornings that he really enjoyed. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. It just felt quieter and more peaceful somehow. Usually, someone was always blasting music or watching tv or roughhousing or bickering. They were three boys living under one roof. There was rarely a dull moment. Today, however, no one felt up to any of that. The headaches and fatigue and nausea were to blame. Drake didn't plan on wasting this time of solitude. He made his way outside and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. It looked like it was going to rain today, which would perfectly match his mood — not that he was feeling down. Rain and grayness made him feel calm. He leaned forwards and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter off of the porch banister. This is all he did for the next thirty minutes until Julio joined him.

"Hey," the boy said, announcing his arrival.

Drake looked over his shoulder. "Hey."

"I didn't know you were up yet." He took a seat in the second rocking chair, then passed Drake a Corona while taking a gulp of his own.

Drake watched him, surprised that he was having another beer. He wasn't in the mood. He just wanted the sickness to be gone and he never wanted to drink again. That's how he always felt after nights of heavy drinking. Just the thought of it made him want to vomit again.

"I've been playing on my phone forever," Julio continued. "I've been so bored."

Drake could tell that he was buzzed despite it being eleven in the morning. They'd drank most of the beers last night. Julio must've finished them off today. For some reason, Drake felt like he should drink the one his friend had offered him just so he couldn't have it, so he tilted the bottle over his lips. He didn't know why. He was just getting Martin vibes from him. Just two days ago, Julio had basically told Drake he was shit, then he'd beaten him up in the front lawn, and now he was drinking first thing in the morning.

"How long have you been up?" Julio asked.

"Not long. Maybe half an hour or something."

"Ricardo's been awake, too. I heard him throwing up, but he won't talk to me and I can't get him to come out of his room. Did I piss him off last night and I just forgot?"

Drake now knew Ricardo's feelings about last night, but he didn't mention it. "No, I don't think so." He went for another cigarette. "He probably just feels like shit."

Without asking, Julio picked up the pack that Drake set down and took one out for himself. Drake didn't mind. It wasn't like his broke ass was paying for them anyway. He had to get a job soon. He felt so guilty for being such a bum. Julio didn't have to work because he was in school full-time. After buying the books he needed with his financial aid, he was practically getting paid to go anyway. Drake thought about going. Ricky and Julio both pushed him hard when they had their semester sign-ups. He always thought of a reason not to go, though. He had his GED, which he also wouldn't have gotten without a push from Ricardo. He just didn't feel fit for college. The job titles that follow are doctors and lawyers and business executives. Sure, there were other normal people jobs, but he wasn't normal. He was the type of guy who would grow up, live in the trailer park, drink a shitload of beer, take a bunch of pills and work at shitty fast-food restaurants or figure out a way to scam the system. He was going to be like his dad, and that's just how it was.

"Jesus Christ, Drake," Julio said, breaking the boy out of his thoughts.

Drake furrowed his brows. "What?"

"I know what you're doing."

"What?" He was genuinely confused.

"You're sitting there thinking yourself into a depression and you practically just woke up."

Was it that obvious? "I was actually."

"Stop that."

Somehow, magically almost, those thoughts were gone. If only it were this easy the rest of the time.

Drake took a drag from his cigarette, then let go of his breath. He rubbed one of his eyes and yawned. "I'm so fucking tired."

"I don't know how you're gonna be able to wake up at five every morning and go for a run," Julio said.

"Five? Shit, me neither."

"Me neither actually. I hate waking up early."

"Why at five?"

"I don't know. I've just always wanted to be one of those people."

"Can't we push it to, like...seven? At least until we get used to it?"

"That's probably better. I don't know. I just wanna do it when it's dark outside because I just like the idea of being awake when the rest of the world's asleep."

Drake understood, but for different reasons. He preferred the cover of nightfall solely because he felt more active in the dark. His mood was always much better — possibly because lights had a tendency to make him feel nervous or headachy. Darkness was almost like a snug security blanket to him. He felt much more focused with the lights off, and running while the moon was still out would probably make him feel the same way.

"Well, we can try five and see how it goes," Drake said, putting out his cigarette. "That's probably better anyway so you'll have time to grab a shower and breakfast before class." He stood. "I'm gonna find something to eat. You want anything?"

"I am kinda hungry." Julio stood and followed him inside.

Drake really wasn't hungry. He hadn't been all day. In fact, the thought — and smell especially — of food made him sick. He braved them anyway because he knew it would be better in the long run.

---

It was close to five in the afternoon and Drake was on his second plate of fries. That's what he'd decided on for breakfast. Something greasy would cure his hangover in no time. The worst of the nausea was gone and, after he finished this second full plate of French fries with ketchup, he should be in the clear. He'd definitely still feel fatigued and shitty, but at least the constant feeling of needing to vomit would be gone. Despite his indifference toward actually throwing up, he despised the feeling of nausea.

They were watching Drake's all-time favorite show It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia. The television here didn't have any channels, but luckily, Ricardo had thought to bring one of Drake's discs. He had all the seasons thus far, which was one of the first things he had bought with his paycheck after Netflix had removed the show. Ricky had randomly picked up the season eight disc, which had been playing ever since Drake finished making the fries.

For the most part, both he and Julio had their eyes glued to the tv, but at times, they would start talking about something, or they'd be in and out of the living room and the show supplied a nice background noise.

Both had attempted to coerce Ricardo to come out of his room, but neither were successful. Drake was starting — like always — to feel like he'd ruined things. He'd been drunk last night — there was no denying that — but he still had a state of mind to say no. He should've. Now Ricky was spending his entire vacation locked away with a hangover and no food to aid its passing.

"You want the rest of these?" Drake asked his friend.

Julio looked over and saw a handful of French fries left on the boy's plate. "I guess. Are we still waiting for my brother or do you wanna go ahead and do dinner?"

"I'm gonna smoke, but I guess we can go ahead and cook." He stood and made his way out front. He opened his pack of cigarettes and started to light one, but then something occurred to him.

Drake put the cigarette back, then made his way down the porch steps. He turned to the right and walked around the house until he came to one window in particular. He pushed on it and, miraculously, it was unlocked. He lifted it higher, then hefted himself up. It was kind of high up, but he was good at climbing through windows. He had spent a good bit of his younger teenage years climbing through girls' windows and a good bit of his older teenage years climbing through friends' windows to escape his dad's misdirected wrath.

His body wasn't hurting like it had been yesterday and the day before — not from the Triple C's anyway. The back of his calves were on fire, but that was because of the hike. Despite how much he had complained at the time, it was a good kind of burn. It made him feel healthy and proud of himself. He wanted his legs to feel that way all the time if it came with those emotions.

After getting inside, he found the room to be empty, but not a second later, the master bathroom door opened and out stepped Ricardo. The man was stunned, then seemingly embarrassed, and then a tad bit angry.

"How did you get in here?" He noticed the open window before Drake could even answer.

"I think we should talk," the boy said softly. He knew that his friend was in a mood he had never seen him in before, so he approached the situation cautiously.

"There's nothing to talk about." He took a seat on his bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Drake furrowed his brows, baffled that he was trying to deny that anything had ever happened. He wasn't offended — just surprised. "I just don't want things to be weird."

"It's not."

"Then why the fuck have you been hiding in your room all day?"

"Because I don't wanna be bothered." He gave Drake an accusing look when he said this.

"So we had sex. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Will you shut the fuck up?!" Ricardo hissed quietly.

Drake could tell that he didn't want Julio to hear. "Look..." He sat down on the foot of the bed and could distinctly see a look of discomfort flash across his friend's eyes. This time, his feelings were hurt, but he brushed that to the side. "Let's just put everything out there and then it doesn't have to be weird."

"I don't wanna talk about it, okay?"

"Well, we're gonna talk about it," Drake snapped back. He immediately felt bad. He wasn't one to be so demanding and authoritative like his father. In fact, he was the exact opposite. His own voice scared him a little. He retracted in a more timid manner. "I just want you to be able to talk to me. You always make me tell you everything." He quickly added, "And I want to. I just want you to be able to do the same. Nothing good is gonna come out of ignoring it. You let me know where you stand, I'll let you know where I stand, and then that'll be that."

"I'm not all of a sudden in love with you if that's what you're saying."

"Okay." Drake shrugged as if to show him that his feelings weren't hurt and that opening up to him was a good thing. When Ricardo shut down again, the boy said, "I'm sorry. I thought you wanted it. I should've put a stop to it-"

"I did want it." Ricardo didn't want Drake blaming himself like he always did, especially when he was the one who had initiated the whole thing.

"Were you just... Was it just because you were drunk and horny or...?"

"I don't know."

"You can tell me," Drake assured. "You know I'm the last person that would judge you. I mean, look at all the shit I've done. You don't have to feel embarrassed."

"I guess I was just curious. I mean, I've always been curious. That's normal." He seemed to be trying to convince himself instead of Drake.

"Absolutely," the boy reassured.

"I was just laying in bed and I just kept thinking about what you had said during Never Have I Ever..." Ricardo said. "And I was super wasted."

"I feel like I took advantage of you," Drake admitted.

Ricky furrowed his brows. "I feel like I took advantage of you."

The younger of the two didn't understand. "What?"

"I just feel like... I don't know..."

"You can tell me."

"I don't wanna say something that's gonna hurt your feelings or trigger you or something."

Drake was starting to understand. "You mean because of what my dad did?"

"Not just him," Ricardo said. "You've had all these men in your life that have used you and made you do things that you don't wanna do. I didn't wanna be one of them."

"You're not."

"What if it had been my brother? What if, instead of me, Julio came into your room and started kissing you? Would you have kissed him back? Would you have let it get as far as we got?"

Drake thought it over before replying with, "I guess."

"That's the problem. 'I guess.' You would do those things because that's what you would feel like he wanted. Just like last night. You went with it because I wanted it. You did what your dad said because he wanted it. You did what Tad said because he wanted it. You did what those guys at the truck stop said because they wanted it. Don't you understand?"

"That's not true. I mean, part of it, but-"

"Yes, it is."

"I promise you that I don't feel like that about what happened. I did with them, but with you, I wanted it."

"So you're gay?"

"No. I don't think so. I've just been so confused about everything. Last night was like an experiment, and I thought that that's what it was for you, too. I wanted to try going with a guy that didn't force himself on me just to see, you know, how it felt."

"And?"

"I don't know. I liked it. It was really good. I just feel like I'd rather do that stuff with a girl, I guess." He still wasn't so sure where he stood on the subject of his sexuality. "I don't know, but I swear to you that it was consensual on my end, and you know I would tell you if it wasn't."

Ricardo studied him just to see if he was telling the truth. Drake was a hard read sometimes, but he felt that the boy was being sincere.

"Was it okay for you?" Drake asked.

He couldn't meet the boy's eyes when he said, "It was fine."

Drake couldn't shake the feeling that there was more than what his friend was letting on. Like...maybe Ricardo was...gay? Maybe it wasn't because of Drake and his constant neediness that the man was single. He was kind, supportive, hot, intelligent, funny and he made an adequate living for himself. Girls should be all over that, right? It suddenly occurred to Drake that he couldn't recall the last time Ricky had brought a date home. In fact, when was the last time he had even gone out on a date? Plus, Ricardo did get super into it last night.

"You know if...if you're into guys-"

"I'm not into guys," he snapped with anger in his voice.

"Okay," Drake conceded meekly. "Sorry. I just... You know me and Julio would love you either way."

"I'm not gay," he repeated.

"Okay." Drake dropped the subject. He said, "You're my best friend, and I don't want last night to mess things up between us. You're the first guy I've ever experimented with willingly and I'm glad I did it with someone I trusted, but I don't want that to ruin our friendship."

"Of course it won't," Ricardo promised. "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk. This is all just really new to me. I didn't know that you would be so okay with it."

"I came three times. I was very okay with it." Drake offered a humorous smile, which made Ricky smile in return. Like always, he could turn anything into a joke.

"You're so gay," Ricky laughed.

Drake shrugged. "So will you come hang out with me and Julio now? He's ready for dinner."

"Sure." He stood after Drake, but stopped the boy before he could open the door. "But could you not say anything about any of this to Julio?"

"You want me to lie to your brother?"

"It's not lying really. I just — this was a one time thing. He doesn't need to know everything about our sex lives, does he?"

"I guess not."

"Thanks," Ricardo said. "So what are you making for dinner?"

"Me?! No, no, no. I did dinner last night."

---

Drake somehow, of course, had gotten stuck with dinner duty again. After making chicken fried rice, the three had sat down in the living room, ready for a movie. This was the last night for their three-day mini vacation and, despite the many trials and tribulations that had occurred, things were mostly okay. Going home tomorrow, they would take with them a sober Drake, a more positive Julio and a less stressed Ricardo. Overall, the man's spontaneous plan had been a success.

---

Author's Note: Discussing the addiction stigma, future plans for this story, a mini spoiler to look out for and IS KENZLY RETURNING? Read on to learn more and don't forget to drop a review to let me know if this story is still interesting to anyone!

That kinda came out of left field, huh? I just wanted to really focus on what Drake is feeling and thinking after everything that happened to him over the years and how everything has left him feeling lost and confused, especially sexually. I'll delve deeper into this subject in coming chapters.

I wanna thank all those who are reading, but especially my two guests reviewers. To the first one: I'm glad I'm getting the ups and downs of addiction across well. There's a big stigma attached to addiction and I just hope that this story can help people to better understand and openly discuss addiction. It could affect anyone, even people who haven't had to deal with nearly as much shit as Drake. Throughout this story, Drake has crossed paths with several other people who have struggled or currently are struggling with addiction. They each have their own personalities and backgrounds. Some were raised well, like Meelah and Gemini, who used meth for a while when dating Rhinestone (before meeting Drake that summer). Others have dealt with trauma and sexual abuse, like Rhinestone, Drake and even Drake's dad. Some people are full-blown out of control like Kyle and the prostitute neighbor Drake once had while staying in a motel. Some people are good at hiding it like Julio with his growing alcoholism. (Hint, hint! Keep an eye out for that now). Anyway, I just went off on a whole tangent. You get the point.

To the second guest reviewer: I promise Kenzly is coming back. I have huge plans for her character. Now just isn't the right time. Give it about three or four more chapters. That's not a promise, but I'm currently writing the seventh chapter and it looks like it's beginning to head in that direction. Please, bear with me.

I love you guys and if you have any suggestions for the story, lemme know! I have a general direction as to where things are heading, but as for the little things that basically fill up space — I'm struggling a bit and that's what's really taking me so long. Totally open to big plot ideas as well. Just remember that everything's a process in my stories and I have to set certain things up chapters beforehand sometimes.

Anyway, I'm rambling on for no reason. I would appreciate your thoughts whether you loved the chapter or hated it. Reviews are really uplifting and encourage me to focus on my writing. Have a fantastic day. You are amazing.