"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Julio screamed as he shot up in bed. He was dripping with water.

Drake stood over him with a wry grin. "I told you to get up." He innocently shrugged, the large pitcher in his hand now empty. Ah, revenge is so sweet.

In one quick movement, Julio was out of bed. He reached for Drake, who was quick to dodge his grasp. The boy turned and bolted out of the room with his angry friend following right on his tail. Drake took the steps two at a time, then skipped the last few completely. The whole time, Julio was behind him, shouting obscene curses and death threats. Now they were in the kitchen. Drake was on one side of the island and Julio was on the other. Every time Drake would start to inch right, the other boy would follow.

"Bruh, chill, alright?" Drake said. Only a small part of him was scared. The rest on him was laughing his head off and struggling to breathe at the same time. "It was just a joke," was his attempt at damage control.

"We'll see who's laughing when I shove my fist down your fucking THROAT!" With that last word, he lunged at him and, again, he missed.

Drake just barely slipped by. He exited the kitchen and, this time, took the foyer stairs, but on his way up to the second floor, his ankle was grabbed and he tripped. Julio yanked him down a couple steps.

"Stop!" Drake yelled. He was flipped onto his back and he hit the wall harshly in the process. "Get off!"

They were only roughhousing, but even still, Drake knew that he would lose and he hated losing. He tried to fight for his freedom, but Julio was much stronger.

"Alright, alright," Ricardo groaned as he trudged down the stairs. "Christ, how are you already fucking doing this?" He looked exhausted and it was clear the two had woken him.

"Fucking get off!" Drake demanded.

"Julio, let him up," the oldest said in a tone that sounded like he was accusing them of acting like children.

Before he stood, Julio shook his entire body. Droplets of water flew from his soaked hair and clothes. Drake covered himself as best as he could. Once Julio was on his feet, he held out his hand and Drake took it.

"God, you're such a prick," Drake said, wiping off his damp face.

Julio replied with, "Oh, fuck off."

Ricardo elbowed his way past them, knocking them both against the walls on either side of the staircase. "You're both pricks." He smacked the backs of both of their heads then started towards the kitchen.

"Ow!" Drake clutched the injured spot. "Rude."

"I was trying to fucking sleep until I heard you two stomping around and yelling."

"It was Drake's fault," Julio said blamelessly.

"Fuck you," was Drake's response.

After turning on the coffee pot, Ricardo turned back to the boys and leaned against the counter. His brother was soaking wet, so he could put together what had lead up to this.

"Really, Drake?"

"You guys did it first," the boy said defensively. He was referring to an early morning just days ago when the two had gotten him up obnoxiously early for a hike up a mountain.

Julio interceded with, "Ricardo's the one who did it to you. I was just an innocent bystander. Why didn't you pour water on him?"

"No way," Drake said, softer now. "He'll kick the shit out of me."

"You're damn right," he said, then he checked the microwave for the time. "And I still fucking might. Christ, it's only four-thirty!"

Julio pointed to his friend. "Drake did it."

"Fuck you," Drake said bravely, but then he went on to apologize and explain profusely that he and Julio were supposed to start morning jogging today, but that the boy refused to wake up.

Ricky turned off the coffee pot. "I'm gonna go back to bed." He started up the kitchen staircase. "If I hear a peep out of either of you again, I'm seriously gonna bust both of your asses."

After he was gone, Julio looked at Drake. "Bitch." He removed his wet shirt and tossed it into the laundry room, which was towards the back of the kitchen.

"Well, at least you're up. I was just trying to be a good friend," he said. "You made a goal, and we promised to hold each other accountable. So you're welcome."

Julio glared at him as he walked past, but he didn't say anything because he knew that it was true. In fact, he had been the one who had basically stated those words first. He made his way upstairs and into his room to grab some clothes. When he was finished getting ready, he joined Drake in the living room. The boy was slipping on his shoes.

"You got your phone?"

Drake looked up at him with a furrowed brow as he pulled the back of his Converse out from under his heel. "Yeah, why?"

"To play music on. Your voice is like nails on a chalkboard to me right now and I'll probably fling myself in front of a car if you start trying to converse with me."

Drake rolled his eyes, then looked down at his shoe as he tied it. "Asshole."

Drake slowed his jog down to a walk when he caught up to Julio. He was breathing hard, his face was pouring with sweat and his legs felt like jelly. "Fuck," he exhaled between pants.

His friend was out of breath as well. "We're so out of shape."

Despite the pain and exhaustion, Drake was kind of into it. His legs had felt heavy and sluggish during the jog, but now that he was walking, he felt light. He imagined that this is what bouncing around on the moon felt like — like maybe if he took a forceful enough step, he would ascend into the air a couple of feet and then float right back down. It was like Drake could literally feel the dopamine, endorphins, and serotonin releasing from his brain. He and Julio had set a goal and then they'd seen it through, if only for one day. He had never really set goals before, so he had to admit that he was feeling really good about himself.

"I'm gonna need you to make a better playlist before tomorrow," Julio said. "Your depression music is kinda counterproductive."

"Yeah, I feel you."

Drake pulled out his phone, then turned off the melancholic song that was playing. He checked the time. They had left a little before five and it was just past five-twenty now. Since this was their first day, they were just going to slowly ease themselves into it. They'd circled around their neighborhood once, which wasn't a bad start.

They crossed the yard, opened the front door, then went inside. Both of them immediately went into the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"The fuck are we supposed to do now that we're up?" It's still dark outside even, Drake noticed.

"I don't know about you, but I've gotta shower and get ready for class."

"You think Ricky will wake up if I shower in his bathroom?" Drake asked. He was sweaty and sticky and didn't want to wait. Plus, he hated showering immediately after someone else.

Julio shrugged. "I don't know. Hey, you wanna be my best friend?"

Drake furrowed his brow. "I already am your best friend..."

"Can you, please, make that breakfast casserole thing before I leave for school?"

The boy groaned. "Ugh, Julio, I've already told you how to make it a thousand times."

"I forgot, though."

"How, though?" Drake said. "You literally just make sausage, grits, eggs, potatoes and cheese and then mix it all together."

"But it tastes better when you do it because you make it with love." He put his hands together to make a heart and wore a puppy dog face.

"Christ," Drake mumbled to himself. "I'll make it when I get out of the shower."

"Dope." He started to head upstairs. "You're my favorite friend. You know that?"

"I'm your only friend."

"Drake, is that you?" Ricardo's voice came from the other side of the curtain.

Drake winced. "Yeah," he called over the running water. "I dropped the fucking..." He'd knocked over the shampoo on the shelf, which had then hit the conditioner, then the body wash and so forth; they had all crashed onto the tub floor, but Drake had hoped that it hadn't been as loud as he had thought. "Did I wake you?"

The man lifted the toilet seat and started to relieve his bladder. "Yeah, kinda."

"Sorry. I was trying to be stealthy."

Ricardo's brows furrowed and he cracked a grin. "Stealthy? Since when the fuck have you ever used that word?"

Drake thought for a moment as he rinsed out the shampoo. "I don't know. Is that weird?"

"It's pretty fucking weird," Ricky said. "Are you high?"

"No, why?"

"You always say weird shit when you're high," he replied. "Maybe those books you're reading are doing you some good."

Those words gave Drake a sense of pride.

Ricardo said, "You know it's, like, six in the morning, right?"

"Sorry. I just really needed a shower."

The man tucked himself back into his boxers. "How was the run?"

"Exhausting, but...it feels good."

"That's good." He closed the lid, then smiled wickedly as he flushed the toilet. He moved over to the sink to wash his hands and waited.

It wasn't long before Drake screeched as ice cold water poured all over his skin. "Ricky, what the fuck?!"

"Don't fucking wake me up next time," he said before leaving with a sense of satisfaction.

"Breakfast is done." Drake huffed as he landed on the couch on his back.

Ricky looked up at him from his phone. "You still tired from the run this morning?"

"I don't know. I've felt like shit ever since I woke up, but now I kinda just wanna lay here and not move for the rest of my life." He coughed and it came from deep within his chest.

"You getting sick?"

"It feels like it." Drake grabbed the blanket that had been draped over the back of the couch and snuggled with it. "You work today?"

"Nah, I'm off," the man said.

"Let's watch a movie."

"Got something in mind?"

"Not really. You?"

"Nah." He stood, then grabbed the television and PlayStation 4 controllers. "Find something on Netflix while I grab food."

"What genre?"

"I don't care."

Drake pulled up Netflix, then started scrolling through his list. All three of them had separate profiles under one joint account, which they shared the bill for, or at least they had when Drake had had a job. That was definitely next on his list. He hated feeling so useless. However, Ricardo kept assuring him that they were fine money-wise and that it was important for Drake not to rush into things too quickly.

His head was already aching slightly, but scrolling through his list of saved movies made it hurt more and rolling his eyes across the screen left him with a wave of nausea. Unwilling to further expose himself to these feelings, he clicked on a movie: Creep. He remembered adding it months ago before his relapse. It was supposed to be one of those October night watches, but that kind of never happened. Even still it sounded good and it was a first-person flick, which he loved. Drake set the controller down and went into the kitchen to grab his cigarettes off of the counter.

"Pick a movie?"

"Yeah," he said, opening the front door. "I'm gonna smoke first, though."

Drake had enjoyed Creep so much that he immediately watched its sequel afterwards. By the time it was over, he was full-blown sick. He was running a fever, had goosebumps all over his body, was freezing and trembling, frequently switched back and forth from a runny nose to a snuffed up one and coughed a lot. He was now back upstairs, dozing in and out of sleep.

Ricardo gave the wide open door a double tap before stepping inside. Drake turned over and met his eyes. Despite the cold coming on so suddenly, he already looked worn out and unhealthy. He was pale and his eyes were dark and a bit sunken in.

"I made soup and grilled cheese," Ricardo said in a friendly voice.

The boy weakly pushed himself into a sitting position. He wasn't hungry, but he didn't want to come off as ungrateful. He sniffled as he rested his back against the headboard. "What kind?"

"Tomato." He carefully set a tray down on Drake's lap.

"Thanks."

"Still running a fever?" Without waiting for an answer, he reached out and touched his friend's forehead. "Shit. When did you take that medicine?"

"Two hours ago, I think." He really wasn't sure. Waking up so early threw his schedule off. He felt like he had been up forever when it wasn't even twelve o'clock yet.

"You can take two more around one-thirty."

Drake brushed his hair out of his eyes, then picked up his spoon with shaky hands. He noticed that Ricky still hadn't left yet, so he motioned to the empty spot next to him. "Wanna sit down?"

Instead of reclining on the bed, he went over to the desk in the corner and sat backwards in the swiveling chair. Although he didn't want to get sick, that wasn't the reason he had sat at such a distance. Drake took notice of this, but brushed it off as he took his first bite of the soup. The warmth soothed his irritated throat.

The man didn't know what to say. Despite the fact that they'd both had a mature discussion about what had happened between them, it was still weird for him to have to act casual around Drake everyday. He glanced around the room, searching for some sort of conversation topic. His eyes landed on the bright yellow chapter book on the desk next to him. He picked it up and started flipping through in search of Drake's bookmark. "How much more do you have?"

"I finished it last night."

"How did it end?" He'd listened to his friend read some of the book when he had free time and it sounded pretty interesting even though, for the most part, it was about making a pornographic film. At least, that's the parts that Ricky had listened in on.

"Sick Boy got burned again," Drake said.

"Shit."

"Yeah. He's kind of a jerk and a sex-crazed sociopath, but I really felt bad for the guy — betrayed by his best friend twice."

"What's next on your reading list?" he asked.

Drake took another bite of soup. "There's another book in the series: the prequel, Skagboys. I read them all out of order because Trainspotting was the only one they had in the shop at the truck stop and Porno was easy to find just because the semi-recent film release." Another bite. "I was planning on going to the library today, but I guess that's not gonna happen."

"Want me to pick it up for you?"

"Nah, I don't really feel much like reading. I'm so fucking tired. I have to fill out shit to get a library card anyway," he said. "Does it cost money, do you know?"

"I don't think so."

Drake sneezed three times consecutively, then groaned as an ache ran through his body.

Ricardo picked up a pen from the desk and started twirling it between his fingers. "Talked to Dahlia since we've been back?"

Drake was looking down at his soup. "No," he said softly. "I guess she's really done with me this time."

"Who knows with her?" he said with a snort. After it came out of his mouth, he felt bad. "You deserve better than her. I'm sure that, when things were good, they were really good, but when they were bad...she got really nasty. She's hit you, and some of the things she's said to you... It wasn't a healthy relationship."

"The fuck do you know? When's the last time you were in a relationship or even fucked someone other than me?" Drake was irritated, so these words had slipped out. He immediately wanted to take them back. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I know you wanted me to pretend like it never happened." He mumbled, "Forget I said anything."

Ricardo watched him look down at his soup again. Drake always got defensive when Ricky tried to talk to him about the kind of person Dahlia really was. He believed his friend put up with it because he was used to it. His dad had treated him poorly and, now that he was gone, Drake must have felt the need to find a replacement abuser. Before Drake and Clem had made it official, he'd had a couple other girls over. None had reached girlfriend status — not even friend status really. They basically just fucked, maybe hung around for a little bit and then left. Ricardo remembered one girl in particular. She was just as sweet as could be and he really thought she would be good for Drake. He really needed someone like her, but then Drake started bringing home Clementine. That's when the yelling started, then the frequent break-ups, then the name-calling and put-downs, then the hitting, and these were basically the things she needed to do, she'd learned, to get anything she wanted from him. She took advantage of him and Ricky didn't think he was blind to it. Drake had to be smart enough to know when he was being used, right? Still, it was like he needed Dahlia because she was the closest to Martin that he would ever get and, although he'd hated how his dad had treated him at the time, he'd never known how off-kilter his life would feel without it.

As an attempt to salvage their conversation, Drake quietly said, "The soup's nice. Thanks."

However, it was too late. Ricardo was already pissed that Drake had brought up that night, so he pushed himself out of his chair and left the room. Drake closed his eyes and sighed. He never wanted things to be weird and if he had known that their relationship would end up so rocky and awkward, he probably never would've done it. It didn't seem like a big deal to him, but maybe that's because he had just gotten back from living on the streets and sleeping with a bunch of guys. That night was obviously something that Ricardo was ashamed of and he couldn't seem to get past it.

Drake felt sick to his stomach and his nerves were creeping up on him. He set the soup, which he'd never wanted, on his nightstand, then turned over and curled up into a ball. He pulled his comforter up to his shoulders for comfort. His brain flooded with thoughts about Ricky hating him. Whether he did or not, he knew that his friend was too nice to ever tell him, which made it worse. His mind continued to go deeper and deeper until he had managed to convince himself that everyone hated him, that Ricardo and Julio wanted him out soon and that he would be on the streets again. To further prove that everyone hated him, he thought about his mom, who had moved without letting him know. He recalled Walter, who had kicked him out a total of three times. Ricardo was probably secretly boiling that he'd left him hanging at the bar, plus all of the other stuff that had happened after his return. He remembered what Julio had said to him this morning about being annoying and, despite it all being lighthearted stabs from a guy who wasn't well-rested, he convinced himself that Julio had meant every word.

Drake knew what he was doing, and he knew that he needed to stop himself from having an episode. He needed a distraction. He grabbed his phone off of the nightstand, then opened YouTube. He already knew what to search for: "deepest dive in the world in one breath." He'd seen a version of it years ago on Facebook and hadn't been able to get it out of his mind since. Over the last two and a half years of his near sobriety, he started watching this video whenever he got anxious and he found it to be incredibly calming. It was a short, two-minute clip about a guy who was swimming in the deepest pool in the world, called Y-40. Different areas reached lower depths and Drake liked to watch him make his way to the bottom.

Drake lifted his comforter over his head and felt the heat of his trapped, shaky breath warm him as the video played. He liked being wrapped up tight, he liked the dark and he liked curling up in small spaces — but not too small because he was claustrophobic (probably thanks to his dad). He didn't watch this video too often because he didn't want it to lose its calming magic, so he saved it for emergencies like now, when he had no one around to talk to.

The idea of being underwater was enticing. When you're underwater, all the noises of the world are drowned out. It's just you down there and nothing else and Drake wanted to feel that more than anything. The man in the video took his last jump off the final edge. He was in a smaller, circle-shaped part of the pool now and this led to the very bottom of the forty-meter dive. Drake let the music calm his nerves as the swimmer descended into the darkest depths. At times, the camera would aim upwards and show how far from the surface he was.

More than anything, Drake wanted to living there — in the dark, lonely, silent bottom of that pool — for the rest of his life. It was no wonder that this was so calming for him. When he thought about it, this pool had a lot of similar traits as Charlie, his most favorite drug in the world. Whilst tripping on those red pills, he used to always sit in the dark and he would lock himself in his bedroom usually to have his own space. The man looking up at the distorted surface from far away was like when Drake's blurry vision showed him life from the wrong end of a pair of binoculars, but four of those. It was like watching four televisions that would not stop swirling around. Most importantly, though, like the quiet from under all that water, Charlie had made the world around him so still. Taking Triple C's was like laying in a bathtub and having someone stand over you and try to talk to you. You could hear their voices, but you had to pay attention really hard to make out the words. That sounded really nice and Drake didn't mind living at the bottom of that pool even if it left him lonely. At least he would always feel calm down there in the dark.

Drake had a thing for quiet abysses and oblivions. There was another video he used to use to calm himself. It was a clip from the horror movie Get Out, which was a modern take on racism. During it, the main character, who is African American, visits his Caucasian girlfriend's parents for the first time. The mom puts the protagonist under hypnosis and, during which, she tells him to "sink into the floor." He does, and he begins floating in a dark, outer space-like oblivion. Of course, he is freaking out because he's paralyzed and can't do anything to stop it. All around him is darkness and quietness and, in front of him, it's like watching the real world on a super far away television. Despite the character's fear, Drake always felt at peace during this scene and sometimes even a little jealous. How he wished he could go into the deepest parts of his mind and watch while someone else controlled his body. He wouldn't have to stress about anything that way. It would all be someone else's problem.

Unfortunately, Drake didn't watch this scene much anymore. During his harmless Charlie relapses over the past two and a half years, he used to watch this specific clip on YouTube. He'd pretend he was the main character and that the mother was sitting in a chair right across from him, stirring away at the cup of tea. She would talk to him about personal things from his past, then she would tell him to sink into the floor and he would. He would float around in the dark, peaceful oblivion for a while. Looking back at it, it sounded fucking insane, but the drugs made it simple to hallucinate. He could close his eyes and picture himself anywhere, but that was the only place he ever wanted to go. He just wanted to get away from the noises of the world for a while.

Since he had watched that scene so much during Charlie nights, he sadly had to be careful about it because it had become a drug trigger. Just like with the movies he used to watch on repeat, like Requiem For A Dream, Rent, Trainspotting, and Purgatory House, he had to be in the right headspace before he could watch Get Out, or more accurately, just that one clip.

After finishing the dive video, a good chunk of his nervousness had subsided. There was, however, still some anxiety left and, although it wasn't as much as it had been moments ago, even the smallest bit of anxiety was uncomfortable. He started searching through videos of people swimming with sharks. Another thing that eased his mind, and possibly the first thing he had discovered, was looking at things involving sharks. He could remember watching 47 Meters Down, a movie about two girls going cage diving to see sharks. The cage gets disconnected from the boat holding it safely in the water and they fall towards the ocean floor. They're unable to swim back up due to the hungry sharks around them. It sounded scary, but this movie had had the opposite affect on Drake. When the cage had first been lowered into the water, everything had looked so calm and peaceful, even when the sharks started swimming by (despite one jump scare). Ever since that moment, Drake had wanted to swim with sharks, even despite how the rest of the movie plays out. Now he watches shark videos on YouTube, but he had to be selective about the ones he clicked on because some people tried to portray sharks as evil, man-eating monsters while others showed them as fascinating creatures. Drake believed in the latter.

Drake clicked on a video that peeked his interested, then immediately exited out of it when he heard the raucous, obnoxious background music. Whether or not he would have liked it on a normal day didn't matter. He needed something softer and smoother to still his rapidly beating heart. He chose a different video and found it to be a much better choice.

Drake opened his eyes and blinked despite the fact that the only light in his room was that from the window. He looked up and saw Julio standing over his nightstand.

"Shit," the boy whispered although it was a bit too late for that. "Sorry. I was gonna borrow your speakers. I didn't mean to wake you."

"S'okay." Drake's voice was just as quiet, but because of his fatigue. He rubbed his eyes, then reached over and picked up his phone. "Shit, it's almost six?"

"You have something you have to do?"

"No, I just slept all day."

"Yeah, my brother said something about you being sick. You and your weak immune system."

Julio always teased him about this whenever he got sick because it happened so often. It was probably heavily due to his drug use. Back when he was a frequent abuser, he had practically stayed sick, even during the summer.

"You getting up?" Julio asked when he saw Drake pushing himself up.

"Yeah, I need a cigarette." He let out a sneeze, then coughed a couple times.

"It doesn't sound like you need one," Julio said. "So I'm taking the speakers, yeah?"

"Okay."

"Cool."

Drake followed him out of the room and they separated there. Julio went into his own bedroom while Drake trudged downstairs, each step sending a wave of pain and dizziness through his head. He found Ricardo making dinner in the kitchen and, when the man saw him, he avoided his eyes. He was still clearly pissed at Drake and the boy was too tired to do anything about it, so he just went out front. It was pouring down raining outside, so much so that the roof over the small porch provided little protection. He was already wearing a sweater and jacket since his fever gave him chills, so he put the hood over his head and picked up the damp box of cigarettes that was laying on the rain-soaked banister.

He couldn't sit in his usual spot on the top step, so instead, he just stood there, his body aching and shivering off and on from the freezing gusts of wind and rain. He wrapped his arms around his body and lowered his head, making himself as small as possible to protect himself from the cold.

He had a bit of trouble lighting his cigarette due to his weak and trembling fingers. After he took the first hit, he inhaled deeply, held it, then let it go. Despite it's currently frantic, daunting ways, he loved the rain. It made the world dark and blocked out the sounds of everyday life. Drake was incredibly, incredibly, incredibly grateful to be back home at the Santos house. Although he had quickly learned to adapt to life on the streets, he couldn't imagine lasting out there much longer. He had started to appreciate things a lot more that most people took for granted: a water supply, socks, hairbrushes, tissues, chapstick, uncooked Raman noodles, the dollar menu, spare change, toilet paper, et cetera. He had done pretty well for himself at the truck stop, but there were days when his services weren't wanted, which had forced him to curl up on sidewalks and hold out an empty McDonald's cup in hopes that passersby would take notice and pity him enough to make even the puniest donation. Drake didn't like thinking about those days. He was more ashamed of this than he was the prostituting. At least with the sex work, he was earning his money. Sitting there leaned up against the wall, all hope gone, begging people to help you out — that was degrading. Some did and Drake had thanked them graciously, even if he was only given a couple dimes. Others talked down to him, teased him, or gave him a look of disgust. One guy had even spat on him, but that turned out okay because an older gentleman had seen it happen and offered to buy Drake a meal. However, the worst wasn't when people ridiculed him. The worst was when people wouldn't even look at him. They would ignore him and pretend he wasn't even there — like he was nothing. It's like, when you're no longer a contributing member of society, you give up your right to exist amongst everyone else.

*FLASHBACK*

"Could you spare some change, please, sir?"

Clang!

"Thank you, sir." Drake hated asking, but sometimes sitting there with a cup in your hand wasn't enough.

It was close to Christmas. He could tell because of how busy the street was. Traffic was almost at a dead stop and people crowded the sidewalk. One had even tripped over Drake and sent his loot scattering under dozens of shoes earlier. All of these people were so caught up in their own lives and they had every right to be. It was just unfortunate that so few people took pity on him. He was young — probably had so much potential — yet here he was, his body shivering and his teeth chattering. There were only days before Christmas and he had no family to go home to.

And no one gave a shit.

Drake understood, though. He had been on the other side of this before. He'd given something if he could, but there were times when he had walked right past a homeless person without so much as a glance. Maybe this was karma. Karma loved picking on him.

"Could you spare some change, please, ma'am?"

Her nose scrunched up as if she had smelled something disgusting and she didn't slow her pace. In fact, she walked faster.

Drake felt ashamed, but he couldn't afford to let that get to him, so when a different woman approached, he tried again. "Could you-"

She didn't look at him. She only held up her hand, silencing him as she passed.

"Spare some change, sir?"

Again, no eye contact from him either, but he did speak to him. "Get a job, you lousy fucking bum."

Drake felt a lump rising in his throat. He swallowed it down before saying, "Ma'am, could you spare some change, please?"

She was really young, possibly younger than Drake. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips widened into a grin. She turned to her friend as they continued walking by and she laughed obnoxiously, then said something that sounded like the word, "Gross."

Drake looked down at himself. Was she talking about the way he smelled? He probably did smell. He spent most of his time getting high or laying around depressed. He showered, but maybe not as often as he should. Or maybe she was bagging on his clothing? His clothes were dirty, ripped and worn. It was like he was wearing old rags. He'd left his soaked jacket at the park on accident and later came back to find that it was almost molded, so yeah, he probably did smell. It was the middle of December, though; he couldn't not wear the jacket.

He was humiliated. He rested his head in his knees, hurt and discouraged. Still, he held his cup out. His exhales warmed his nose, which felt so frozen that he thought it might fall off. If only his dad could see him now. He could already hear him in the back of his mind, taunting him...laughing at him. His father had always known that Drake would never amount to shit and, despite how desperate he had always been to prove him wrong, here he was. He wondered what his mom would think of him — what Megan and Josh would think of him — if they saw him like this. He already knew what Walter would say; he would tell Drake that he was a disgrace. He wasn't wrong.

"Hey, kid."

Drake lifted his head and saw a man who was in his late thirties or early forties.

"How much?"

The boy knew what he wanted. Despite the fact that the man had already expressed interest and didn't need to be persuaded, Drake combed his fingers through his hair to better his appearance. He gave the man a quick scan and figured he could take him for a decent price. "Twenty-five."

The man laughed as if what Drake had said was a cute joke. "I'll do five."

"Fifteen then."

"I'm willing to do five and if you try to counter me again, I'm walking."

Drake couldn't take that risk, so he nodded his agreement, accepted the five ones that were placed inside his cup, then followed him into the closest alleyway. They walked pretty deep into it before the man stood against the wall next to a large dumpster so that they were hidden from the street. He undid his jeans and pulled out his penis. Drake set down his change cup and got right to work. Within minutes, the boy was finished. He spat the white fluid onto the pavement, then looked up at him to see if he was pleased with his job. The man was chuckling as he fastened his pants. Drake was unsure of what that meant, but he had no time to decipher it before he was hit on the back of his head with a solid object. He fell over and clutched the injured spot, blinking at the pain.

"Looks like he was better than the last one, eh, Barney?" It was a third guy standing up from behind a slew of trash cans he had been crouching behind. He was laughing, too. "Why must you actually make them go through with it before you give us the signal?"

The man who had hit Drake with what he now realized was a garbage can lid picked up the boy's change cup.

Drake lunged for it. "Hey!"

He was intercepted with a hard punch from Barney. Drake fell onto his back, his cheek now bleeding.

"Well? How much is it, Dale?"

Dale counted the change. Unlike the others, he had a more serious tone. His withdrawals were probably starting, leaving him desperate for a fix. "Just under ten dollars without counting the five we put in."

"Don't," Drake said, now understanding what was going on. He also knew that he couldn't really do anything because it was three against one. He was kicking himself. Although Barney looked better than the others, it was still pretty clear that he was an addict and Drake should've seen that. He probably had and was just so desperate and taken aback at the sight of actual dollar bills in his cup that he did it anyway in hopes that it was sincere.

"Still short." He looked down at Drake, then made a grab for his jacket.

"Don't! Let go!"

The young man fought back, but they ganged up on him. Drake struggled against them and was doing pretty well until moments later when he received his first kick. He let go of a scream before receiving another from guy number three.

"Help!" Drake screamed, but just like when he had begged for help right in front of their faces while holding his cup, the people on the street walked right past. Somehow, Drake miraculously managed to crawl far enough away that he was able to get onto his feet.

"Christ, Finn, grab him!"

Drake was slung against the metal dumpster. He winced, then tried to defend himself from the three who surrounded him. They were still trying to get his jacket and, even though he knew that they would get it in the end, he still put up a fight.

"Stop it!"

Drake's cheek was met with a fist. It was so fast that it knocked him onto the ground. He received another hard punch from Barney before Dale took his place and forcefully removed his jacket. The boy was trapped against the dumpster and Finn was kicking him the whole time, keeping him in place.

"Please!" Drake begged, but they didn't care.

When they got what they wanted, Dale and Barney started running down the alleyway. Finn was still kicking away. Neither of his friends realized it until they were halfway to the street.

Dale was the most impatient. "Christ, Finn, let's fucking go!"

Finn gave him one last kick, then backed away panting as he examined his work. He wore a grin on his face and, as he ran off after the others, he howled a loud cheer as if mugging fellow homeless addicts was a sport and he had just won one for his team.

Drake clutched his rib cage with one hand and pushed himself into a sitting position with the other. His face contorted and he was crying now. Hours upon hours of degradation and humiliation — all of that work for nothing. All that time fucking wasted. Now here he sat, still cold and hungry and empty-handed. Thanks to a recent trip to Tad's this morning, at least he wasn't sober, but after what had happened, he could hardly feel the drugs anymore. He probably sat there and cried for a good five minutes before giving himself a self-denigrating pep talk and convincing himself to start over and get what he could before dark. Drake let go of a sob as he pushed himself onto his feet, using the dumpster to steady himself. He slowly limped over to his discarded McDonald's cup and checked to see if they had left anything behind. Of course they hadn't. Every last penny was gone. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, then made his way through the alley and back to his spot on the sidewalk.

He winced as he slid his back down the wall, clutching his side. "Fuck," he whined.

Although he'd thought that his day couldn't get any worse, he felt the first of many droplets of water on his arm. He looked up and saw more falling. He even noticed a snowflake. It was fucking sleeting! He wanted to find someplace warm to take keep dry, but he'd probably just take shelter in the tunnel on the playground at the park because, even though it wouldn't keep him warm, it protected him from the rain. If he started now, maybe he could take cover before the weather got too bad. His stomach growled and convinced him otherwise. It had been two or three weeks since he had left home and food was scarce. He was beginning to have hunger pangs, but they weren't immobilizing yet. He feared the pain he would feel if he went one more day without eating. He could always go back down the alleyway and dig through the dumpster and neighboring trash cans — this wouldn't be the first time — but he knew he wouldn't find Charlie in there and he wasn't sure if Tad would be recharged after the morning they'd had. He had to stick this out and get some fucking money. At least enough for one thing, whether it was a box or a pack of Ramen or some cheap alcohol. He refused to go back to the park empty-handed.

It was freezing and he was already quivering so much that he stuttered. He wrapped his arms around himself, unable to stop the shaking and teeth-chattering. Even when he physically tried, he couldn't do it. Maybe now that he was jacket-less and shoeless, people would take pity on him. Once again, he held out his empty cup and it vibrated with his trembling fingers.

His voice cracked because he still had that lump in his throat from crying and it was already almost impossible to talk due to the steady gusts of wind that felt like knives stabbing into his body. "C-c-could you sp-spare s-some ch-change, p-p-please, s-s-sir?"

The man kept walking.

*END FLASHBACK*

Drake sniffled up the snot that was starting to drip from his nostrils as he put his cigarette out in the ashtray. He was shaking from the cold when he walked back inside. Still, Ricardo didn't acknowledge his existence.

He hated that his best friend was mad at him and he honestly wasn't sure what it was about. Was it because he mentioned that night again? Why was Ricky having such a hard time with it? Drake had managed to move on with no issue, but despite talking it out the day after it had happened, Ricardo still acted strange around him. Because of who Drake was, he blamed himself. He knew that it was crazy to, but he couldn't help but feel bad about himself. Ricardo seemed to regret that night more than anything Drake had seen before and he acted like it left him with PTSD or something. Drake had never been someone's biggest regret before — well, except for his dad's, but that was different. This was in a sexual kind of way. Although he knew in his heart that these taunting thoughts were false, his brain kept telling him that the scars and flaws all over his body had turned Ricky off, that he was damaged goods, that he hadn't performed well, et cetera, until his mind convinced him, like always, that he was worthless. He didn't tell Ricardo any of this, though, because then his friend would feel guilty and conceal his own feelings to avoid the possibility of sending Drake into a depression spiral that led to another relapse. He wanted the man to be able to feel what he wanted to, but he just wanted to understand why. What had been so bad about that night? What was wrong with Drake?

The boy approached the kitchen island cautiously. He watched in silence for a short while as Ricardo cleaned off the counter. He had just put some chicken and white cheese enchiladas in the oven for dinner and now he was putting the ingredients he had used away and wiping down his prep space. It didn't take him long, so when he finished, he started to head upstairs for a quick minute, probably to get away from Drake.

Before he made it past the second step, the younger stopped him. "Could we talk for a minute?"

"About?"

"I just... I didn't mean to piss you off."

"I'm not mad at you." However, his voice said otherwise.

"I feel like I did something wrong that night and you're not telling me."

"You didn't," the man said. "And I don't wanna talk about that night. I've told you that."

"Maybe if you do, you know, just one time then-"

"I said no."

Ricardo was distant and Drake had never seen him that way before. He had never treated him like this and he hated it. If the man would just say what he was feeling, then things could get better between them. All he had to say was, "You sucked in bed" or "You're not very attractive with your clothes off" or whatever it was that had messed him up so badly. Drake could take it. He'd spent his entire life dealing with being talked down to and teased.

"I just wanna understand," Drake said.

"There's nothing to understand."

The boy was getting irritated, so his voice went from meek and cautious to desperate. "Just tell me what's going on," he begged. "I'm really confused and our friendship is really messed up and I don't know what I did and why it's such a big deal to you that we got drunk and experimented. So what if we fucked? Why does that have to change th-"

"Wait, what?" It was a new voice.

Drake turned and saw Julio enter from the foyer. He turned to see Ricardo's reaction and his face expressed betrayal and embarrassment.

"You two...had sex?! Like...together?" Julio was shocked by the news. "Wait, so are you...are you both, like...gay for each other or something?"

With this, Ricardo turned and quickly made his way up the stairs.

"Ricky-" Drake tried, but he was gone. He sighed.

Julio was still talking. "No one ever tells me anything in this house."

Drake had wanted to be alone, but Julio wouldn't allow that after the bombshell he had dropped, so he'd followed him outside — to the back porch this time since it was bigger and provided more protection from the still-pouring rain.

"So, wait. Who came on to whom?" Julio asked.

Drake didn't want to throw Ricardo under the bus, so he said, "It doesn't matter." He didn't want to say too much because clearly Ricky was super embarrassed about it, but he felt like it was best to catch Julio up on what was going on because secrets, obviously, were toxic.

"Bullshit it doesn't matter," Julio said.

Drake was sitting and chain-smoking all of his cigarettes. He had his feet pulled up on his chair and he was wearing one of Ricardo's old hoodies that the man had given him. He had his knees to his chest, and the hoodie, since it was larger than Drake, wrapped around his legs, too, like a blanket. He rested his chin on his forearm sullenly.

"Who bottomed?" Julio was still asking a thousand questions as he tried to wrap his mind around this new information.

"We both did."

Julio took a swig from his beer. "Did you go down on him?"

"Yeah."

"Was that too personal? I'm just — this is all new to me. I'm curious, like, to know how it works, but not curious in that way — to actually wanna do it myself."

"It's okay."

"Did he go down on you?" the boy asked.

"No."

Julio reached over and took one of Drake's cigarettes. He lit it. "Was it good?" he asked as a cloud of smoke left his lips.

"It was for me. I thought it was for him," he said. "I don't know what I did to make him act this way."

"I doubt it's you," Julio replied. "My brother's always been very masculine. I think he was curious, like he said during Never Have I Ever, and he wanted to experiment. He's probably got some things to work out about what happened, but I don't think any of that has to do with you."

"I feel like..." Drake knew the boy wouldn't like what he was going to say next, but he said it anyway. "I feel like I should go."

"Drake..." Julio said with disappointment, proving the boy right.

"I just think Ricky needs space." He didn't say what he really thought, which was that the man hated him and wanted him to leave.

"He has enough space. You know he wouldn't want you to leave."

"He wouldn't want me to use," Drake corrected. "And I won't."

"How do you know that?"

Drake couldn't give him a good answer. "It doesn't have to be for a long time. Just until he sorts things out with himself." To further convince Julio as to why this was the best option for everyone, he said, "Your brother can't even stand to look at me. He won't stay in the same room as me and he won't talk to me about anything."

"Where would you even go?"

"Don't worry about that."

"I don't want you living on the streets again."

Drake didn't want Julio to worry about him and his well-being. "I won't be on the streets. I'll be fine. I'll find someone to stay with. Maybe for a week or so," he said. "And I'll text you and let you know where I am, and I promise that I'll come back home before resorting to the streets again, so there's no need to worry."

"I hear you," Julio said, "but I still don't think it's a good idea. You aren't even a week sober yet. This is a very fragile time for you. Couch-hopping and instability is not gonna be good for your sobriety."

"Neither is staying here and feeling like one of my best friends hates my guts."

Julio sighed, then took another drink. After he swallowed, he stared at Drake, who accepted his challenge and met his eyes. Julio could see that he was being honest and this wasn't some ploy that he was using to get high.

"You swear you'll keep me updated on where you are?"

"I swear," Drake vowed. "I'm not gonna mess up this time."

Julio let out another sigh. "Alright. Fine."

"Where have you been? It's been a minute since I've heard from you," Gemini said as he closed his bedroom door behind Drake.

The boy sat down on the foot of the bed. "I know. Sorry. I had a bad relapse recently."

"Shit," the boy said. "For how long?"

"Two-ish months," Drake said, looking down at his phone.

Julio: ricky just found out u left. he's pissed at me for lettin i go

Julio: *u

"Damn," Gem said.

Drake: did utrll him were i am

"Thanks for letting me stay," Drake said. "If you get tired of me, just tell me. It won't hurt my feelings."

"You know I will, babe," he said.

"Things have just been a little rough at home."

Julio: i didn't know if u wanted me to

Drake: ill tect him

Drake sent Ricardo a text message explaining that he felt it best to leave for a short period of time. He told him he was staying at Gem's for the time being, gave him the address and Gemini's phone number and told him who else lived in the house. Maybe this would earn some of Ricardo's trust. Although Gemini smoked weed and drank, he didn't do much else. For a short while, he used meth when he was dating Rhinestone (before Drake had even met them many summers ago) because he wanted to get skinny (despite being pretty average in size), but he had only smoked it and he stopped before it ever became an issue for him.

"Yoo-hoo! Earth to Drake!"

The boy was aware that he was being rude. He set his phone down on the bed. "Sorry," he apologized. "What'd you say?"

"One of Tre's friends is staying here. He got kicked out of his house and sleeps on the couch, so you can sleep in here," he said.

"Thanks," Drake said. "I can sleep on the floor and fuck off whenever you want space."

"What even is space?" Gem laughed. "There's five people living in this house and all our friends go in and out at all hours of the day and night. That won't bother you, will it?"

"No, just, um..." He wanted to ask if they used drugs because he was at such a vulnerable time in his sobriety, but he didn't get the chance before his phone rang.

Drive boy, dog boy
Dirty numb angel boy

Drake looked up at Gemini. "Sorry." He picked it up when his friend gestured his permission and he saw that it was Ricardo. He answered. "Hey," he said rather awkwardly.

Ricardo jumped right into it. "Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

"I knew you'd try to stop me."

"Of course I would, Drake. You've only been sober for four days — not even four days. Today's not yet over and you were still pretty fucked up the first day you quit using. You've been sober for two and a half days. You know you shouldn't be putting yourself through big changes during the beginning of your sobriety."

Drake almost laughed. "Big changes like what? Fucking my best friend and then losing him because he won't tell me what the fuck is going on with him?"

"It's not this big of a deal."

"Obviously, it is," the boy countered. "Otherwise, you would tell me."

"It has nothing to do with you, though."

"Then why can't you even look me in the eye?"

"Because I don't wanna talk about it," Ricky said, "but that's no reason to leave."

"You are clearly uncomfortable around me. You shouldn't have to feel like you can't walk around in your own home without whatever negative emotions come with seeing me there, too. I just feel like it was best for me to leave."

"That's ridiculous."

"You don't have to worry about me," the boy said. "You know where I am. You know who I'm with. Gem, you'll rat on me if I use?" he asked, addressing the eavesdropper.

"In a heartbeat." And it was the truth.

"See?" Drake said. "I'm all good here. Just get your shit together and I'll come back home. In the meantime, don't worry about me, alright?"

Ricardo hesitated. "You'll call if you feel like you're gonna slip up?"

"Of course."

"No matter what time it is? Day or night?"

"I will," he assured. "I'll be fine here. Really."

There was more silence. He knew all of these promises that the boy was making meant nothing. He had sworn to clean up plenty of times before. Minds are made up in seconds. If he wanted to use and had no one around to talk him out of it, he was going to use. Ricardo wasn't ready to let him go. Drake's last relapse had really messed him up. He'd disappeared in the middle of the night and Ricky had had no idea where he had gone to. For months, Drake had been missing. Who knew what he was doing, if he was okay, if he was even alive? Ricardo couldn't take going through that again.

Finally, the man spoke up, quieter because he was revealing his emotions. "I don't wanna lose you again."

"You're not gonna lose me, Ricky."

That nickname — the one that only Drake got away with. He had so much love for this boy and he couldn't bear to see him throw his life away again. He never wanted things to come to this.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," he said.

"I know."

"Do you need any cash for food or anything? Does Gemini want anything for letting you stay there?"

"Julio gave me enough for food so I'm good, thanks."

"Alright," the man said. "Call me if you need me."

"You, too. You know you can always talk to me."

When their phone call was done, Drake set his cell down. "Sorry," he apologized.

"You slept with Ricardo?"

"Yeah, we were drunk. We were both pretty into it, but now he's really embarrassed about it."

"Hmm."

Ugh, that high-pitched "hmm." Rhinestone always did it, too, and it was one of the most annoying things ever. Any time either of them assumed something about you, like as if you had just told on yourself somehow, they would give you a "hmm."

Drake was baited, though. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just interesting."

Drake remembered back in the day when Rhinestone and Gem would swear up and down that he was gay. Maybe they had been right. He wasn't so sure anymore. He definitely preferred women — that was for sure — but if a guy came up to him, would he really turn it down? It was pretty fifty-fifty. Did he see himself in a relationship with a guy? No, not at all. Could he see himself having sex with a man again? It wasn't impossible. It was just a fuck and Drake liked sex a lot. It's not so confusing when you look at it this way. What rattled his brain was when people put a bunch of labels on things. Was he bisexual? Possibly. Now that he thought about it, he didn't fully understand what the word meant. In every scenario, he preferred a girl. Never would he seek out a guy to have sex with, but if the opportunity presented himself, there was a chance that he wouldn't decline, but it's not because he wanted to lay with a man. It's because he was indifferent about the fact that it was a man and he just wanted sex. He didn't know what that was called, but at this point, he was done with labels. It only complicated things. He was going to fuck whomever he wanted to.

"So look, we were all gonna go out to the club tonight. Did you bring something other than pj's?"

Drake hated declining his offer, but he said, "Actually, I'm sick. I've been running a fever all day. I was kinda hoping I could just sleep?" He said it as if he was asking for permission.

"Oh, come on." Gem grabbed the boy's hand and pulled him off of the bed. "It'll be super fun. I've got some things that'll look super hot on you."

The nightclub was filled with gays and lesbians. Drake didn't know what he had expected since he'd come with Gem and his roommates. He didn't mind, though. He was already on his fourth beer and the best part was that it was all free. However, he was in a somewhat sour mood just because he was sick, he didn't want to be here, he had a lot of shit going on at home and he was missing Clementine a lot. Someone would buy him a beer, they'd get to chatting and, because of his downer mood and purposely unattractive answers, the guy always ended up walking away. Just when he was getting used to his isolation, a man close to Ricardo's age crawled into the seat next to him.

"Two shots of tequila, please," he said to the bartender, having to yell over the loud dance music.

Seconds later, the man set two shot glasses onto the counter and filled them to the brim with alcohol. The brunette next to Drake picked one up, then slid the other one in front of his neighbor with a flirtatious smile. Drake hated tequila — he hated anything other than beer really — but he didn't know how to say no to alcohol, so he picked up his glass.

"Thanks," he said, then he tossed it back. His face twisted and contorted at its repugnance, then he coughed.

The drink buyer grinned as he watched him, his eyes sparkling with his own drunkenness and lust. "My name's Josh."

Just hearing that name again sent a wave of sadness through him. "Drake," he replied.

Josh was a little on the chubby side, but he was cute-teddy-bear chubby and he had a long beard that matched his brown hair. He had a hipster style going, complete with lensless neon glasses, a bowtie and suspenders. He wore a purple button-down shirt and black slacks, followed by a pair of purple Converse. "Wanna dance?"

Drake turned and looked at the dance floor behind himself. He saw Gemini, dressed in drag, grinding on some guy he had just met. His roommates were crowded around him as well, each with his own partner — sometimes partners — like one big orgy. Gem caught him looking and started to make his way over to the bar where he sat.

"I'm good, thanks," Drake said.

"Hey, you two!" It was Gem. "What's going on over here?"

"Just hanging out," Drake responded with a shrug. His voice was unenthusiastic and he felt bad that he couldn't muster up some sort of fake cheer since Gemini was letting him stay at his house for free.

Apparently he knew the other guy. "Josh, Drake's one of those guys who likes to party," he said, giving a wink.

"Ah." Josh met Drake's eyes with a mischievous smirk. "I'll be right back then."

"No, I-" Drake's attempt at stopping him went unheard because the man was already gone.

Gem hopped up onto his stool to keep Drake company and make sure that he wouldn't bail. "Stop being such a downer."

He felt guilty. "Sorry, I'm just-"

He heard his friend order two Fireballs, another drink he hated. He sighed, but getting drunk would make him feel a lot better. Gem put the shot into his hand, then clinked their glasses together with a wink. Drake gulped it down, his face once again contorting.

"Fuck," he said.

Josh returned. "I got us something." He opened his palm and showed off the two rainbow colored pills.

Drake shook his head. "I'm good."

"Oh, come on," Josh pushed.

"Don't be such a square," Gem added. "Live a little."

It wasn't like it was a big deal. He was addicted to Triple C's. He had no problem with ecstasy. Who knows how long his friend planned on keeping him here? He might as well have some fun. The two shots were starting to kick in and, after all those beers, he was feeling pretty good. He reached for one of the pills, but Josh pulled his hand away. The man smiled, then picked up a pill and placed it on his own tongue. As the alcohol swam through his head, Drake couldn't help but laugh. This guy was fucking smooth. However, Drake was pretty slick himself. He grabbed the other pill and put that one, too, on Josh's tongue, then he leaned forwards and let a starry-eyed Josh pass them both his way. When they pulled apart, both Gemini and the hipster were breathless. Drake used the last of his beer to gulp down the two ecstasy pills, then he slid out of his stool.

"Alright, fuck it. Let's dance."

"Huuullggh!" Drake spat into the toilet, then started panting as Gemini rubbed his back.

"I think you overdid it, sweetie," he said.

"I'm so sick," was all Drake could say in response.

"Do you think that's all?" When Drake nodded, Gemini helped him stand. He gave him some mouthwash, then he wet a washcloth. "Let's go lay down."

The young man followed his friend into his room. Exhausted, he laid down, his entire world spinning.

Gem set a trash can next to Drake's side of the bed. "Here." He put the cold rag on the boy's forehead.

"Thanks," Drake weakly said on an exhale of breath.

He tried to sleep, but when he closed his eyes, he felt like he was tumbling backwards out of a helicopter. That made him even more sick, so he finally gave up and pushed himself into a sitting position. He saw Gem in front of a mirror. "What are you doing?"

"Taking off my make-up," he answered. "Can't sleep?" When Drake confirmed this, he said, "You want me to turn on a movie?"

"No, that'll make me even more nauseous."

He pushed himself up, then made his way over to Gemini, who was sitting in front of his vanity. It was white, gold and light pink, which matched the color scheme of the rest of his room, and the rectangular mirror was traced with light bulbs like you would see in the movies. The tabletop was littered with different tubes and jars and sticks of make-up, but it was organized neatly. He had a plethora of brushes and combs and other types of hair products and even some hot rollers. When Drake approached, he scooted over so that the boy could sit with him on the furry pink bench. His mouth was open in a silly manner as he carefully wiped away his mascara. Drake picked up a thin, dark red pencil, which he assumed was eyeliner, then started twirling it around his fingers like a drumstick.

It was then that he realized Gem had the radio one. He recognized the song: Gwen Stefani's "Luxurious." Kenzly had been into her music when they were much younger. He missed Kenzly. It had been months since he'd last spoken to or even seen her. He felt bad about it now, but when he'd started dating Clem, she had given him an ultimatum. Either she would break up with him or he had to stop "associating himself" with Kenzly. It was because she knew about their history and maybe she feared that he might cheat on her. He understood in a way, but at the same time, he regretted going along with it. Kenzly was one of his best friends. Throughout everything, she'd stuck by him. Years ago, when his whole life had blown up and everyone found out what he had been hiding, she was the one person who never changed.

"Do you think I should start talking to Kenzly again?" He drunkenly blurted out.

Gem glanced at him through the mirror. "Because you and Dahlia aren't together anymore?" He put his attention back on his own reflection. "I mean, I don't know. I didn't think you should've ever stopped talking to her in the first place. That was kinda dumb, not to mention rude."

"I know. I made a mistake."

"I get it, though — why you did it — but you have to start sticking up for yourself, especially in relationships. Otherwise, the other person is just gonna walk all over you. I don't mean to assume — and tell me if I'm wrong — but I think you let Dahlia do it because your dad did it. It's like you moved from one abusive relationship to another."

Drake didn't take offense to his blunt perspective. He wanted to protest, but he honestly didn't know if Gem was wrong and he was too drunk to come up with some sort cohesive reasoning.

"Back when Rhinestone and I were dating — well, I mean, you know how that went. It wasn't healthy. He knew how to play off of my emotions and he knew what buttons to press in order to get the reaction he wanted. I still love him, of course. I think a lot of it might've had to do with the drugs he was using. I couldn't keep putting myself through that anymore, so we ended things."

Drake noticed that, when Gem looked back on his relationship with Rhinestone, he always blamed his partner in a way. When Rhinestone recounted the story, he threw Gemini under the bus, but he tossed in bits of self-blame to make you think he was being the most honest so that you would, therefore, lean towards his side. He was a master of the art in that respect. Even Drake had fallen for it until he'd learned who Rhinestone really was. He still loved them both and he still talked to both of them, but he didn't let himself get caught up in their bullshit and drama.

"Maybe it's not a good idea," Drake said, "to pop out of the blue and apologize. She probably hates me now."

Gemini knew Kenzly and had hung out with her several times, but they weren't friends that would hang out without the company of Drake. Therefore, he didn't know who she was on a personal level, but he refused to believe that she could ever stay mad at Drake.

"Weren't you two best friends? She'll definitely be salty, but honey, you've gotta start somewhere. I always thought you two were perfect for each other. I don't know how neither of you see it." He quickly corrected himself. "Obviously, I ship you with myself above anyone else, but deep down, I know we're not compatible. The infatuation would wear off after a couple weeks, but I'd hold on to it because of how hot the sex would be until I couldn't take it anymore and ended things by blowing up on you without telling you why. You'd get really sad because, obviously, you'd be madly in love with me, so you'll end up killing yourself, leaving me to feel really guilty about the whole thing. It's just too messy."

Drake had his hand resting on his head and his elbow on the vanity. He wore a grin as he gazed up at Gem with his drunken, sparkling eyes. "Wow, you really thought that one out."

"Well, I'm a Gemini and you're a Cancer. We'd never work out."

"I don't really believe in reading the signs or whatever," Drake said.

Gemini seemed offended, but he went right back to doing what he had been doing, which was combing through his hair. "I don't know why. Your sign fits you perfectly."

"What, a crab?"

"No, the meaning behind it."

"Bullshit."

Gemini gave him a look that expressed how excited he was to prove him wrong. He picked up his cell phone, did a quick search, then started reading. "Those born under the zodiac sign Cancer need to be needed. They have a great desire to feel loved and appreciated in every part of their lives. This is needed so that they can develop a sense of security and identity. To the Cancer zodiac sign, their sense of home is very important to their feeling of safety and comfort. They find it rather difficult to achieve unless they feel safe in their home. They are talented at developing home environments for people that are close to them — in both an emotional and physical sense. The positives: nurturing, supportive, healing, compassionate, unconditionally loving. The negatives: dependent, indirect, moody, passive aggressive, unable to let go. Now if that doesn't define you, then I don't know what does."

"Passive aggressive, huh?"

Gemini rolled his eyes at the passively aggressive way that Drake had said those words. "Trust me. It fits."

Drake took the phone from him. "Okay then. What's yours?"

"Gemini. Obviously," he said in a snobby way, but he meant nothing by it. That's just who he was.

Drake almost immediately realized that he was still too drunk to see straight, so it was impossible for him to read anything. "Fuck."

"I mean, basically, it's not that we're incompatible. A relationship between us would just take a lot of extra work. Cancers have trouble communicating clearly, but communicating clearly is what defines us Geminis. We're almost opposites."

"That's too bad," Drake said sarcastically.

"I know. It just crushes you right in the soul, doesn't it?" he said, playing along.

"Totally. I'm never gonna get over this."

"Oh, sweetie..."

"I'm gonna be depressed and alone for the rest of my life."

"How will you ever manage without me?"

"I don't know. There's no way. Guess I better go ahead and kill myself to end my suffering." With that, Drake stood and carefully supported himself on passing objects to avoid falling. He left the room, then closed the door behind him.

He made his way down the hall and into the bathroom, where he relieved himself. After washing his hands, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. It was blurry because of his drunkenness. He knew he would later have to tell Ricardo and Julio about tonight. Ricky would probably be disappointed about the ecstasy, but not mad, and Julio might freak out a little. Drake had never had problems with ecstasy before. In fact, the last time he had taken any was at Marcellas' club almost three years ago. Revisiting the drug tonight was amazing. He had felt so alive on that dance floor. He had been surrounded by a bunch of sweaty guys who were on more than just ecstasy and alcohol. They were all dancing pretty dirty and DrunkDrake had decided that it would be fun to get his "date" Josh all riled up. He couldn't fully remember everything he had done. He knew he and Gemini had danced together pretty provocatively and he could recall sensually making out with one of Gem's roommates.

At one point, he'd had his back to Josh, but he was pressed against him and was guiding the stranger's hands up his body. He remembered feeling a hard bulge in his dance partner's pants and, the next thing he knew, they were in Gem's roommate's car. He couldn't remember who had initiated it, but he felt like he himself had. They made out for a while, then he blew him, but he didn't know why. Maybe it was the drugs and drinks. Maybe Ricardo had been right and he just did things because he knew the other person wanted it. He didn't get his dick sucked in return and he didn't care to. Being used for sex was such a normalcy for him. It was as if, when he felt Josh's erection, he had known what was expected of him. Pleasuring him when he wanted just came naturally when he had done that exact thing for Tad. When he'd lived with the coach all those years ago, he had stopped whatever he was doing any time the man approached him with a need. Sometimes it felt like it was all he was good for. At the truck stop, he had done whatever those men had asked. He was just an object. Shit, if Gem came in here and asked him for a blowjob, he'd probably give it to him. He felt like he owed everyone so much for all the shit he had put them through and he was making up for it the only way he knew how — the only way his dad had taught him. Maybe Gemini had been right about the signs and the fact that Drake needed to feel needed. Maybe his dad was right and he'd always known that his son was a worthless, cock-sucking slut. Despite the fact that he was wearing a shirt, Drake's eyes moved to the space underneath his right breast. It's where he had been branded and, although he'd gotten it covered with an encouraging tattoo, he knew those words would always be burned into his skin. He could never get rid of it — not completely. Even though it was hidden, he knew what was there and he knew what his dad felt about him and, for the rest of his life, he would carry that around with him.

When Drake met his own gaze in the mirror, he found that he was crying. His vision had already been so blurry and his face so warm due to drunkenness that he hadn't noticed before, but he had tears streaming down his cheeks.

-and tears boy
And all in your innerspace boy
You had
Hands girl boy
And steel boy-

"Drake," Gem said from the other side of the bathroom door. "This is the second time your phone has rang."

The boy sniffled as he wiped away the wetness from his eyes. He opened the door and took the phone without making eye contact, then he closed it again. He looked at the screen and saw that it was Julio calling. "Fuck." He wasn't ready to tell him about how he'd spent his first night away from home and he definitely didn't want to have to do that while going through a mental breakdown because it would all just prove that Julio was right all along about him leaving — prove that he was fucking hopeless on his own. He knew he'd better answer, though, because not answering might make him fear that he had relapsed. Again, he sniffled, then cleared his throat. He slid the green button, then put it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I was up."

"Up doing what?" he said suspiciously. It was obvious that he had Drake on speaker phone and was busy doing something else. It sounded like he was brushing his teeth.

"I went out with Gem."

"Oh, well, I was calling to make sure you were awake. You didn't sleep at all? Shit, this is really gonna suck for you."

Drake was still drunk from the alcohol and, therefore, confused. "What is?"

"Our morning jog. Did you think we were just gonna give up on a goal we set just because you're not staying here?"

Fuck. "Julio, I'm sick."

"But well enough to stay out with Gem all night. If you can do that, then you can do a twenty minute exercise." Julio was adamant on this and part of Drake thought that it was because he wanted to see for himself if Drake had truly stayed clean. Maybe he did owe it to him.

"I'm kinda drunk still," he admitted.

"Well, you better sober up because I'm gonna be there in thirty." He spat toothpaste into his sink. "I gotta go. I'm gonna finish getting ready. Be dressed when I get there." Before Drake could protest further, he hung up.

"Fuck."

Drake had changed into a pair of sweatpants he usually used as pajamas and he had on a tee and jacket. He had cooked a couple sausage patties despite the fact that he was nauseous and not at all hungry. They were super greasy and he hoped they would aid in sobering him up and clearing his vision a bit. It had been quite a while since his last drink, so by the time Julio got there, he felt as though he had come down enough to run.

They had just begun their work-out when Drake asked, "So how are you?" He was worried about his best friend's well-being now that his closest supporters were forced to separate.

"I'm okay." Like Drake, he was already breathing heavily.

Drake cracked a small smile and glanced his way as he ran. He repeated himself because Julio often said bullshit like that the first time he was asked about his well-being. "So how are you?"

The corners of Julio's lips twisted upwards. "It's great. I finally don't have to see your fucking face every second of everyday. Totally enjoying my Drakation."

"Asshole." But he laughed. "Did you just say Drakation?"

"Yeah. My vacation from Drake. My Drakation."

"Wow, you've got jokes," he replied. "How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

"About two hours after you left," was his answer. "But for real, though, it kinda sucks. I mean, it's only been one night, so I'm not moping around crying all day and missing you. I guess I'm just more worried about you honestly."

"I'll be fine. Nothing's gonna happen."

"I know you feel that way now, but you and I both know how fast and hard a craving can hit. I'm not saying that I don't trust Gemini to talk you out of using if that happens. I just think me, you and my brother had a really good system going." Julio hated being serious even more than the other boy, so he had to lighten the mood. "You just had to go and be so irresistible — always flaunting around, flipping your hair and biting your lip. Clearly, my brother's into that kinda shit."

"Apparently." He was short with his answer because he was so out of breath and he felt like shit. He was sick, plus he had a hangover, and those didn't mix well.

"Have you guys ever done anything before? Like, even flirting or anything?"

"No."

"So it just came out of nowhere?"

"Yeah, he just came in my room because he couldn't sleep and we talked for a second, and then we just...kissed."

"So he came onto you," Julio realized.

"I didn't say that."

"He went to your room, which means he knew what he was doing and what would happen. This was all premeditated."

"You think?"

"I think he's in love with you, dude."

"Fuck off." He knew that it was a joke, but it was a sensitive topic for Drake just because he had no idea what was going on in Ricardo's head. He decided to change the subject. He approached the situation bluntly. "So I took some e last night."

"Drake..." He was clearly disappointed.

"Don't freak out, okay? I mean, I've never had a problem with it before and you know I would tell you if I felt like it was going to become one."

Julio still wasn't too thrilled about it, but he let it go because he appreciated that Drake had told him the truth about it. If he was being secretive about it, then it was an issue.

"Also, I kinda blew some guy I just met."

"Okay..." Julio nodded his head slowly and squinted as if trying to understand. "Why...?"

"I don't know."

"Like...are you gay or bi or something? Because you can tell me. I'd still love you either way."

"I feel like I like girls. I don't know why I keep doing stuff with guys. When that stuff with me and Ricky happened, he said he thinks I just go along with things whether I really want them or not because I've always had to do that to survive. Ever since he said that, I've just been obsessing over it. What we did was consensual, but still, I don't know why I did it. I just kinda went with it," Drake said. "And last night...I feel like I was the one who initiated it. I was pretty drunk, but I don't remember him asking or anything. I think I just led him to the car and just, you know...did it. I didn't even care for him to do it back. I just knew what he wanted and knew he had a boner and I felt like he wanted me to help him out so I did." Talking so much was hard to do while jogging, but he already had a lot to say to his best friend despite only being separated for a few hours. "I'm not gonna lie, though. I knew where it was gonna go with him because I was trying to turn him on, but I don't know why I was doing that. Gem thinks it's because I need to feel needed. I don't know. I'm all fucked up."

"Shit," Julio said, taking a moment to take it all in. "Maybe he's right. Maybe you feel kinda insecure? You don't think it's just because you're into guys?"

"Not really."

"It's probably just some confusing shit spawning from your daddy issues then."

Drake's feet dragged against the concrete and he almost tripped twice. He could feel a wave of nausea hit harder than the ones before. "Dude, I gotta stop." He panted as he slowed.

Julio turned and walked over to him as his friend hunched over. "Come on. We just started." When he saw Drake put the back of his hand over his mouth, he asked, "Are you gonna throw up?"

Drake didn't have time to answer this. He leaned into the bushes nearby and hurled up last night's alcohol.

Julio turned his back to him and waited for him to finish. He waved sarcastically at an obviously disgusted jogger running in the opposite direction on the other side of the street. "Hi. How are ya?"

Drake sniffled. "Fuck," he breathed, then spat. He straightened and wiped off his mouth.

"You alright?" Julio asked.

"I feel like shit."

"We'll just walk the rest of the way. I didn't even have time to stretch anyway."

Drake rejoined Julio, his pace slow. He pulled out a cigarette, then lit it.

Julio saw this. "How on earth?"

"Well, my mouth tastes bad."

"And you wonder why you can't fucking breathe."

The young man shrugged it off and he took another drag.

"So Maurice from Flux messaged me — said he had a spot open this Saturday. He asked if we would wanna make a reappearance."

"What did you say?"

"I said I'd talk to you and get back with him."

"I don't know," Drake said.

"Come on. I think it'll be really great for us to jump back into an old hobby."

"We don't even have a drummer anymore since Stevie moved."

"We'll just do an acoustic set or something. It's no big deal."

"I haven't picked up a guitar in years. They said I wouldn't be able to play after I broke my wrist."

"But have you tried, though?"

"Julio, I've been out of practice for three years at least."

"Well, all you have to do is sing. I still have Stavros on Facebook. I'll ask him if he can play guitar for us."

Drake remembered him. He hadn't liked him at the time, but that was only because Julio and Stevie had replaced him with Stavros as their lead singer and guitarist during the summer his life had turned to shit. "Maybe you can just get him to play the gig with you."

Julio could tell that none of his reasons were actually why Drake was so hesitant. "What's up?"

"I just feel like Saturday's so soon."

"Seriously, what's up?" he asked again.

Drake caved. "I just haven't been to Flux in forever and, when I was there, I was always fucked up."

"Things are different now. You're clean."

"I just have a lot of triggering memories from there."

"I'll be there with you, though," Julio said. "Maurice said he lost a lot of business when we stopped performing there. People loved us, Drake. This used to be our dream, remember? We created something and we put ourselves out there and they loved our music. They wanna see a reunion show."

"It was never about the music. They showed up to watch my life spiral out of control," he said. "Don't you remember how they all cheered when I'd pop pills on stage or pass around a blunt or just fucking lay down and let you sing because I was too fucked up to move? They were all watching my life fall apart and it's embarrassing." He took hits from his cigarette more often because he started to feel anxious talking about this subject.

"Then show them they're wrong," Julio persuaded. "Show them how well you're doing." Since his friend was silent, he continued talking. "Maurice said he can spread the word and there will be a full house. A lot of the old audience will come. You can prove to them that you've changed."

Drake still wasn't thrilled about it. "I guess."

"But look, I don't want you to do this and then it triggers a relapse or anything, so if it's really not gonna be good for you, don't do it. But if you're just scared of putting yourself out there again, I mean, so am I, but I know it's no good crawling back into my shell. This is a good opportunity, so just think about it and really question why you're so afraid of it. Just sleep on it today and then you can tell me your answer later, but I do have to get back with Maurice by tonight."

"Okay."

"Oh, also, I brought your book. I didn't know if you would wanna read in your downtime, like when Gem goes to work or something. It's in my car."

"Thanks, but I don't know if I'll get the chance to read. I feel like the only time I'll be able to sleep is when Gem's at work."

"Does he do meth like Rhinestone did?"

"No, he just sleeps four or five hours after work and wakes up ready to go clubbing and then sleeps another four or five hours and wakes up to go to work. I can't do that shit."

"Damn."

"I know. I don't know how he does it."

"Well, I mean, our door is always open. You know that."

"I know," Drake said. "I just think I need to go my own way for a little while."

"That hasn't exactly worked out for your before," Julio said, "but you do you." There was a pause, then, "But hey, if you do slip up, we can deal with it, okay? So don't start letting your brain tell you things that you know are not true. Don't ever feel too ashamed to talk to us. You can always, always come back home. We'll never hate you and you'll never be too much for us."

He didn't want a repeat of last time. Drake could've put a stop to it. He could've called either Ricardo or Julio, but instead, his brain had convinced him that they were done with his bullshit. This had led to the most embarrassing and degrading two months of his life.

"Stop, you're gonna make me cry," Drake said with a smile.

Drake was the kind of person who needed constant reassurance and Julio and Ricardo gave him that. If you told him one day that you weren't mad at him, he'd still need to be told the next day as well, then the day after that and the one after that. Even if there was no reason for you to be mad at him, his brain could convince him that you were. Sometimes, he just needed a check-in. He needed to know that, "Hey, we're okay. I love you. I enjoy living with you. You're still my best friend. I'm proud of you. You're doing exceptionally well. Your hair looks great. Your outfit is fine. I believe in you. You're doing a fine job. Life is okay." He hated being this way. Years ago, he couldn't care less what other people thought of him. Now it was everything.

"So other than spending your night wasted on drugs and alcohol and giving a stranger a blowjob, how's life at Gem's?" Julio said it in a somewhat teasing manner.

"Fuck off." Drake's lips turned up into a smile. "I don't know. The second I got there, I was basically dragged to the club. He said they've got a lot of people staying there right now, so I'm guessing it'll be like a college frat house, but with less douchey and less masculine guys."

"You'll probably be completely out-of-the-closet gay when you come back home then."

"Probably," Drake joked back. "I've already made out with one of Gem's roommates. I don't remember his name, though. It's the new one."

"Christ, Drake, alcohol turns you into a slut."

Had it've been anyone else, because of the words his dad had carved into his skin, this would've upset him and sent him into a depression episode where he non-stop cried for three days straight. Because it was his best friend, however, he knew that it was light-hearted teasing and it made him laugh.

After a moment, Drake looked in his direction. "You should come one night."

"Are you asking me to come to a gay nightclub with you?"

"I mean..." He shrugged with a grin.

"Are you gonna seduce me like you seduced my brother?"

Drake gave him a friendly shove. "I'm serious," he said. "We'll get some drinks, maybe do some e," he said innocently, but he averted his eyes.

"Maybe just drinks."

Drake groaned. "Ugh, fine. And the best part is it's free. You just sit at the bar looking lonely and some guy will come up and buy you a drink. After a couple shots, you say something super unattractive about yourself to chase them away before things get too serious, then another guy will come along and you repeat the process."

Julio was laughing. "Are you serious?" When he saw that Drake was, he said, "Like, do you hear yourself right now?"

"Girls do this all the time, right? Kenzly did. Why is it so bad when I do it?"

"You're an asshole."

"I mean, if they stick around, I give them what they want in return, so I don't think they really mind."

Julio took a breath and let it out slowly. "There's so much wrong with what you just said. I don't even know where to start."

"You're right. When I said it out loud, I heard it."

"You're basically prostituting yourself for free alcohol."

"Shit, I'm really fucked up. Why doesn't it sound bad when Kenzly does it?"

"I don't know, dude. Maybe she doesn't fuck every guy that buys her a drink and, if she does take one home, it's probably because she wants to get laid. You just blow them and bail because you don't actually wanna do it. You just feel like you have to."

"I feel like...it's hard to tell the difference."

"What day did Ricardo make you that appointment with a psychiatrist?"

"I think in a couple weeks."

"Maybe you should mention this? It's not normal, Drake."

The young man was still analyzing and obsessing over everything he had done the night before. "I kinda hate myself."

Julio kicked his shin. It wasn't hard, but it was enough to grab Drake's attention. "No." And that was all Julio said before he jogged the rest of the way to Gemini's driveway.

Drake quietly pushed open the door to Gem's bedroom, but the boy was still awake.

"You were in the shower forever." By the sound of his voice, Gemini was clearly tired.

"I was having an existential crisis." Drake got in the bed and pulled the comforter up to his neck.

"You're shivering," his friend noticed.

"It's freezing." Even his teeth chattered when he said it.

Gem leaned over his nightstand, then passed Drake two Advils and a bottle of water. "For the hangover. It'll help with the cold, too."

"Thanks." He gratefully took them and swallowed down the pills.

"Is everything still spinning when you close your eyes?"

"Just a little."

"I don't know how on earth you got out there and worked out after all the drinks you had." He flipped the switch on his lamp. "Goodnight, sweetie."

"Night."

Drake opened his eyes cautiously. After living on the streets, this had become a learned habit to avoid being blinded by the sun the second he woke up underneath the sky at the park. Instead of on a thin, used, moldy blanket, he was in a bed. For a few seconds, he wondered where he was and even went so far as to recall if a truck driver had offered up a place to stay before his brain cleared up and he realized he was at Gemini's. The sun was shining through his light pink curtains. He turned over and found his friend leaning against the headboard and looking over his phone at him. His legs were underneath the comforter, but from the top up, he looked like he was already dressed and ready for work.

"You okay?" Gem asked.

"Mm-hmm," he said tiredly.

"You were making these weird noises. I thought you were having a nightmare."

Drake tiredly closed his eyes again. "I was."

"I've gotta leave for work in a little bit. You need anything?"

"Advil?"

He felt like shit. You know how, when you're sick, you wake up feeling awful, but then you get a little better — even just slightly — throughout the day, and then you go to bed and wake up feeling like you're going to die again? That's what Drake felt like. Mornings were always the worst.

After he took the medicine, he laid down and was asleep again within seconds.

Drake didn't know how it was possible, but there he was, standing right in Gemini's doorway. Martin looked the same as he had that day — the day he'd attempted and almost succeeded at viciously murdering his own son, his flesh and blood. He still had that familiar rage in his eyes and hatred was spewing from his pores. The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, revealing his razor sharp teeth. This was new. Drake tried to back away when he saw this, but he couldn't move. He was glued to his spot on the bed, paralyzed and afraid.

It had been a while since he had last suffered from sleep paralysis. He'd heard that using drugs could potentially be a possible cause, but he found that he usually only ever got it when he was sober. Despite knowing that this was happening to him — knowing that this was all just some hallucinatory nightmare — he was terrified. It felt real. He didn't dream that he was at his dad's house or Ricardo's house or somewhere that he dreamed about a lot. He dreamed that he was in Gemini's bedroom, which he actually currently was. Gem's outfit from last night was even hanging over the edge of his dirty clothes hamper and a bottle of Advil was on the nightstand where he'd left it. It all felt so real and that was the power of sleep paralysis. Although his eyes were actually closed, they felt open and, although he knew that it wasn't physically possible for Martin Parker to be standing in front of him, he believed that he was.

He tried to yell for help, but the words got stuck in his throat. He tried to get up, but it was as if someone was pinning him down. In his hallucination, he closed his eyes. He kept them that way for ten seconds, then looked to see if his father was gone. He wasn't. Instead Martin had a knife stuck through his arm. He yanked it out and blood poured from it like a waterfall. Drake fought to move again. If he could just wiggle even a finger or toe, he could shake the rest of it off and escape. He stared in horror as a pool of blood flooded around his father's feet, then Martin took his first step towards him.

Drake managed to get his arm free then. He reached over and tried to knock the lamp off of the nightstand. He didn't care if it broke. He'd find a way to pay Gem back. He just needed to make a loud noise so someone would come in here and wake him up. However, when he pushed on the lamp, it moved away from him instead of towards the edge until it was no longer in reach. His dad was moving closer slowly. Blood was still dripping off of his skin, leaving a dark, contrasting trail on Gem's white carpet.

Drake frantically felt around on top of the nightstand in search of something that could make a noise. That's when he found his cell phone. He picked it up, slid his thumb across the bottom to unlock it, then tried to open up his contacts list, but suddenly, in the blink of an eye, the phone was gone. It was back on the nightstand and his arm was still glued to the mattress. This always happened to him during sleep paralysis. He always thought he was making progress when, in fact, he had never actually moved a muscle. It was all apart of the hallucination. Although his body had reset, Martin was still moving closer and closer.

The young man again fought for freedom and again managed to move his arm. He went for his phone once again, but when he tried to open up his contacts list, his fingers felt heavy and he accidentally clicked on the App Store. His heart pounded against his chest and, for the second time, he found his body reset. It was always soul-crushing when he realized that he had never actually moved from his spot on the bed. Each time, he thought, "Finally, I'm almost free," but then his brain would make him restart and he learned that he had not really moved the entire time.

Drake reached for his phone a third time. He felt a bit of comfort because this time felt real. Both of the times before had also felt real, but this time felt really real. All he had to do was call Ricardo. He didn't even need to scroll through his contacts really. He could just look at his recent calls and he'd find it right under Julio's number at the top of the list. Ricardo could help him. Drake felt a sense of security when the man was around. He felt safe, which made sense because Ricky had practically saved his life. He was there for him when shit went down with his father. He was there for him when the drugs had him on the verge of death. He was there for him even when he didn't deserve it, so even though things were weird and uncomfortable between the two — even though Drake felt like Ricardo hated him now — he knew that his best friend would answer the phone and he wouldn't let Martin touch him ever again.

Unfortunately, before he could call the man, his body reset once again and he learned that, although it had felt real, that time, too, had been a lie. Martin was next to him now, so there was no more chances of an escape. Drake could only gaze up at him helplessly as he watched his father hold the knife now in a more threatening manner. He still couldn't find his voice to beg for mercy. He tried and tried to scream — to get something to come out of his throat — and just when he started to feel something, Martin clamped his hand over his mouth, his long, inhuman fingernails digging into his cheek.

Tears streamed down Drake's cheeks as his father lifted the knife up so that he could see it.

"Are you okay?" he heard faintly.

It wasn't his father. It was one of Gem's roommates! Drake suddenly realized that he had actually been making a noise this entire time, or he had been until his dad had put his hand over the boy's mouth. It wasn't exactly a scream, but it was a loud mixture of moaning and whimpering that came from the depths of his throat. It was a sound of pure fear. It left him in exhales and, embarrassingly enough, sounded somewhat sexual. He didn't care. He was just grateful that it had managed to attract someone's attention. However, now he couldn't make a sound. He tried and tried, but Martin's hand kept him silent. Please, don't leave. Please, wake me up. Please, wake me up. He just needed this guy to shake him awake, then he would be able to move. Although Gemini's roommate was actually there in reality, Drake still only saw his dead, vengeful father and, even though he wasn't actually there, he felt like he was going to die.

"Are you okay?" the guy said again. He reached out and softly shook Drake's shoulder.

Within a few seconds, Drake shot up, his eyes wide. "HUUUHHH!"

The roommate jumped back as the now awake boy gasped for air. His face was pouring with sweat and, when he yanked off the comforter, the confused onlooker saw that he was sweating through his clothes as well. Drake got out of bed. He was weak and unsteady as he left the room.

"Is everything okay?" The roommate went after him and found him in the hallway.

Drake slid his back down the wall and sat in the floor. He was still panting for breath and he was shaking. He couldn't be in that room anymore — not for a little while anyway.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

The young man gulped. When he spoke, he sounded out of breath. "Yeah. Sorry." His fingers trembled madly and he brushed his damp hair out of his face. "Sorry."

"It's okay." The roommate squatted down next to him. He was the one Drake had made out with at the club.

Sawyer, was it? He was still anxious and scared and he didn't know what else to say, so he apologized once again for his meltdown. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Sawyer said soothingly. He reached out and rubbed Drake's bicep. He had no idea what was going on, but he felt sympathetic because the boy was crying.

Drake sniffled, then wiped his eyes with embarrassment. "Thanks for waking me up."

By the looks of it, Sawyer was the only one home. Drake was incredibly grateful that he had been here. Who knows how long he would've been stuck in his sleep paralysis had someone not woken him? He'd once suffered through a three hour long paralysis. If he would've had to do that this time while hallucinating about his father, he probably would've died of a heart attack.

"Let me get you some water."

Drake was left alone for a short time to collect himself. He got his shaking and crying down to a minimum, but neither went away completely. When Sawyer returned, he handed the boy a glass of water.

"Thanks," Drake said. He took a sip.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"There's a bottle of Advil on the nightstand if you don't mind."

"Sure." Sawyer brought it back to him. "Are you still feeling sick?"

"I'm..." Drake honestly didn't know what he was feeling right now. He was so shook up by that nightmare that he didn't have time to process anything else. "I'm okay." It was then that a deep cough erupted from him, telling Sawyer the opposite.

The young man reached out and touched Drake's forehead with the back of his hand. "You're burning up," he said. "Maybe you should stay in tonight and rest up."

Drake agreed, but he didn't want to upset Gem. "I don't know."

Sawyer knew why he was so hesitant. "Don't be scared to tell Gem no," he said. "I'm staying in tonight, too. We can order a pizza and watch a movie."

That did sound much better than going out to a loud and crowded club.

"Drake!" Gemini exclaimed as he entered the living room. "You're not dressed!"

"I think I'm just gonna hang back this time," he said not-so-confidently.

Sawyer came to his rescue. He slid past Gem and sat down on the couch next to Drake. He had two sodas in his hand and he passed one to the boy. "We're gonna stay in tonight and do dinner and a movie. I had a shit day after all that stuff with Ryan and Drake said he'd keep me company."

"Oh..." Gem nodded his approval, but he wasn't approving of Drake staying home; he was approving of Sawyer hooking up with Drake.

Drake knew what he was assuming, but he let it go. Gemini could believe anything he wanted as long as Drake got to stay home.

"How do I look?"

Drake's answer was, "Hot." He'd quickly learned that this was always the right thing to say to Gemini or else there would be hell to pay.

The fabulously dressed boy struck a pose before he picked up his keys. He winked at Drake. "You bebes have fun."

When he was gone, Sawyer went over to the television and scanned through the DVD case. "Any preferences?"

He was grateful that his new friend had gotten him off the hook, so he was willing to sacrifice two hours doing whatever Sawyer had in mind. "Doesn't matter," he said. "Who's Ryan?"

"My ex," he replied. "Slimy prick cheated on me and then kicked me out when I caught him."

"Shit. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, and thankfully, Xavier and Gem let me move in here. I've been sleeping on the couch for two months. And then Ryan had the audacity to show up today and beg me to come back."

"Here?"

"Yeah. Like, no, boo. We're through."

Drake had somehow slept through it. Maybe Sawyer and Ryan were calm and collected talker-outers. Drake was just used to Rhinestone's and Gemini's blowups.

"The Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

"I like that one," Drake said.

"You've seen it?"

"Several times, but I can always watch it again."

Sawyer opened the case. "It's one of my favs. Did you see Fox completely butcher their remake?"

"They did a remake?"

"Yeah. Fox remakes musicals every now and then with popular celebs. I will admit that some were okay. A Christmas Story, for example. I loved it. But their Rocky Horror was just — I mean, maybe it wasn't bad for someone who has never seen the movie or the live performance. I'm just a huge fan and I feel like this is one of those movies that can never be remade. You know, like A Clockwork Orange or something."

"I love that movie," Drake said. He was finding that he had a lot in common with Sawyer, which made him much more comfortable.

"The book is good, too. Hard to understand, but you catch on to the lingo as you go. The ending's totally different from the movie, too. Have you read it?"

"Not yet, but I want to. I literally just got into reading a couple months ago. I've been working on the Trainspotting series."

"Oh my God! Irvine Welsh is brilliant! And the movies — Danny Boyle is just perfection."

Drake said nothing. He was just surprised that he and Sawyer had the same taste. They were practically the same person.

"I'm gonna smoke first and wait until the pizza gets here before I start the movie. Care to join?"

Drake knew that he meant weed and not cigarettes, but he followed him out front anyway. Drake lit a cigarette while Sawyer hit the pipe. "What other things do you like?" he asked.

A cloud of smoke left Sawyer's lips. He held out the pipe, but the other boy declined. "Have you read Party Monster?"

"Not yet. My friend told me I should a long time ago, but I just haven't had much time to read lately. I'm super obsessed with the movie, though."

"Right? Macaulay Culkin all grown up and addicted to drugs — what better movie could exist?" Sawyer said. He looked over at Drake as if he was trying to study him. "So you're into those drug movies, huh? You shoot dope?" He saw the young man's hesitation and said, "Not that I'm judging. Shit, I used meth for a little over six months. Thank God I never got into needles, though. I don't think I would've ever been able to quit."

"How long have you been clean?"

"Four and a half years." He was twenty-five now. "You?"

Drake hung his head. "Not long. I mean, it wasn't meth, though, but things got really bad."

"Drugs can ruin your life," Sawyer agreed.

Drake felt his phone vibrate against his thigh. He pulled it out of his pocket.

Julio: u up yet?

The boy held his cigarette with his lips as he typed back. He knew what he wanted. Julio wanted to know if he was going to perform at Flux with him. He didn't want to, but he knew Julio really wanted to do this and he felt like he owed it to him, especially after all the shit he had put him through recently.

Drake: yea ill doit

A bright light flashed his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He noticed that it was a car pulling into the driveway. A short time later, a guy in a red uniform shirt and kacki pants walked up onto the porch carrying a red, square bag.

"Medium Hawaiian?"

Sawyer stood and pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

Julio: how are u? Still sick?

Drake: kinda had a ever earler but i think.. ts gkne now

They had been friends for a long time now, so somehow, Julio understood him.

Julio: going out tonight?

Drake: no

When he looked away from his phone, he saw the pizza delivery guy taking a hit from Sawyer's pipe. The newbie was ranting about some ridiculous customer he'd served earlier, but he told the story in a comedic manner rather than a complaining one. Sawyer laughed with him.

Drake: talk to stave is yet

Drake: *stavos

Drake: *stavros

Drake: wutevr tf

Julio: he's in. Will do guitar or whatever we need. Said he's good with drums & keyboard also.

Julio: think U'll feel up to oacticing tomorrowv

Julio: ?

Julio: Christ why cant either of us type for shit

Drake: we need to. .dont evn no if i rember the lyrics

Julio: we can skip the job if ur still sick and double up when u aren't.

Julio: *jog

Julio: and I'll pick u up at?

Drake: mabey 12 idk ill txt when i up

Julio: need me to drop off some meds tonight?

Drake: i hav advil

Julio: k goodnight

Julio: & MAKE SURE U SLEEP!

Drake put his phone away just in time to see the pizza guy direct a goodbye wave his way. He returned it, then pushed himself up when he saw Sawyer getting his things up to go inside.

(4 days later)

By the time the night of the Flux gig rolled around, Drake was exhausted. He had spent most of every day practicing at Stavros' house and most of every night getting wasted at a gay nightclub. It was hard to find sleep in between, but somehow he managed to do it.

Just like promised, Flux was packed full of people. Drake didn't recognize anyone, but he had always been too high to remember faces anyway. Still, he knew that this crowd was full of their old "groupies" because they went crazy the second the band walked out on stage. They opened with one of their older upbeat songs to loosen everyone up. A lot of people still remembered their lyrics, which made Drake think that the night would actually turn out okay. He could hope anyway. He just had to ignore what he knew they were all waiting for. They wanted to see his chaos. They wanted to see the disaster that was his life. Well, not today. This was his chance to show everyone that he was okay now.

The first three songs went great and now was the time for a slower one. It was a song that Drake had recently discovered and he'd fallen in love with it immediately.

Here stands a man
At the bottom of a hole he's made
Still sweating from the rush
His body tense
His hands, they shake
Oh this, this is a mad boy

Here stands a man
With a bullet in his clenched right hand
Don't push him son
For he's got the power to crush this land
Oh hear, hear him cry, boy

Don't you ever leave me alone
My war is over
Be my shelter from the storm
My war is over
I am a sad boy

When Drake opened his eyes, he caught sight of something bright yellow as it flew through the air. It landed on stage at his feet. Drake was sure his heart missed a beat when he looked down at the box of Triple C's. An eruption of cheers and chants of encouragement emanated from the audience. They were all urging him to take the pills. For them, it was fun watching him get high and act like a fool on stage. For him, it was hell. He had a hard enough time getting off the pills. Look at where they had led him. None of these people gave a shit about him. They wanted him to destroy his own life solely for their entertainment.

Suddenly, Julio appeared next to him. He kicked the box back into the audience, his hands still strumming his bass guitar. "You okay?" he asked his friend over the music.

His words went in one ear and out the other. Instead, Drake was listening to some of the audience members persuade him to take the pills. He was so focused on them that he missed his cue to begin singing again. Stavros looked at Julio questioningly.

The craving hit him fast and hard. Just do it. Just take the box. Swallow them before Julio knocks them out of your hand. Give them what they want. Give yourself what you want.

"Drake?"

His attention moved over to Julio. He saw the look of concern in his eyes and immediately felt guilty. He couldn't take these pills, not right in front of his best friend. That'd probably send him into a panic or something, which was just the disaster the audience wanted. Drake wouldn't do that to Julio, though.

The young man turned and rushed backstage. Julio pulled off his guitar and set it down. He motioned for Stavros to stall, then he hurried after the boy. He found Drake in the green room. He was crying and shaking like Julio had never seen. It wasn't just his hands this time. Even his knees violently and manically wobbled. Drake held a small garbage can underneath his mouth. He couldn't quite throw up, but he was salivating profusely. His cheeks were red and hot and he was sweating. Julio didn't know this, but these were all signs displaying that Drake had already made the choice to get high. He was going to do it. His nerves were shot, though, and he needed to calm himself first.

"Are you okay?" Julio was clearly worried.

"I'm fine." Drake's teeth was chattering even though the room's temperature was fairly comfortable. Again, this was another sign that his best friend was unaware of. This was how nervous Drake was to use again.

Julio didn't understand what was happening. Just moments ago, Drake had been fine. After seeing the cough medicine, he looked physically sick. This was a bad sign.

"Do you want me to call off the show?"

"No, don't do that." His voice trembled almost as much as his body. After he finished his sentence, his teeth went back to chattering together.

"What do you want me to do?" He put his hand on his friend's shoulder for support, but was pushed away.

"Don't touch me!" Drake had too much going on and he didn't want to be touched at the moment. He knew he needed to act normal, though, if he wanted to get high. He put the trash can down and tried to control both his weeping and shaking. "I'm okay."

"Do you know who threw them? We can have them kicked out."

"No, don't. I'm already embarrassed enough."

"What do you want me to do?" Julio asked again. He was starting to regret pushing his friend to do this gig with him.

Drake took deep breaths and sat down on the couch. "I can't go out there like this," he said. "Just take my spot. Just for a couple songs."

"I don't want to leave you by yourself."

"I just need to be alone and calm myself down for a few minutes. I'll put in my earbuds and watch my comfort videos." He was referring to the deepest dive and shark videos that always made him feel better and his friend knew this. "I just need a second to breathe and then I'll be back out there."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm okay."

Julio was hesitant.

"I promise," Drake assured.

The boy nodded, then went back out on stage. He said something to Stavros before they started another song.

He was late. He'd left the bar much later than he had meant to and he had to stop by the house to change, but now he was ready to go to Flux. Ricardo checked his pocket for his keys and wallet. When he confirmed that he had them, he opened the front door. Briskly walking up the driveway was Drake. Ricky immediately noticed that he was sobbing. His face expressed concern.

"Drake, what's wrong?"

Here stands a man
At the bottom of a hole he's made
Still sweating from the rush
His body tense
His hands they shake
Oh this, this is a mad boy

Drake held a Walmart bag in his hand. When he made it to the front door, he held it out, averting his eyes with shame. "I don't know what I'm doing," he said through his tears.

Ricardo took the bag from him and opened it. He peeked inside and knew what it was the second his eyes landed on the bright yellow color. "Drake..."

"I need help," the boy said pathetically.

"Did you take any?"

"Not yet."

Not yet.

"Come inside." Ricky put his arm around him and led him to the living room.

Drake collapsed on the couch. He hid his face in his hands with shame. "I can't do this." His words got caught in his throat and he let go of a strangled sob.

"What happened?" the man asked.

"I just wanna get high," he cried.

Here stands a man
With a bullet in his clenched right hand
But don't push him son
For he's got the power to crush this land
Oh hear, hear him cry, boy

"I don't wanna end up on the streets again," Drake said. "I'm tired of feeling like this."

Ricardo pulled him into a hug. "I know." He rubbed the boy's back soothingly. "You're gonna be okay. Everything is okay," he said. "I'm so, so proud of you for coming here. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah," he choked out.

"I know it's hard right now. I know it feels like you're never gonna stop feeling this way, but this is just a craving. You're gonna get through this. We'll get through it together, okay?"

"Yeah." He was crying so many tears that the shoulder of Ricardo's shirt was soaked.

Ricky heard Drake's phone alerting him of text after text. He assumed it was his brother and that he'd just realized Drake was missing. "Does Julio know where you are?"

"No."

Ricardo took Drake's cell phone. "Let me text him really quick and let him know so that he doesn't freak out." After he did this, he set his phone down and gave Drake his full attention. "Talk to me, Drake. What happened?"

Don't you ever leave me alone
My war is over
Be my shelter from the storm
My war is over
I am a sad boy

Drake told him about the guy throwing the Triple C's on stage and the crowd urging him to take them. "They only like the old me and they hate who I am now and I hate who I am now," he whined. "They just wanted to see me spiral out of control. They all know what my dad did to me and what I did to him. They all think I'm so cool, but they don't know what kind of shit these drugs had me doing. I had a threesome with my gym coach and some meth addict. My high school teacher caught me jerking off for her husband. I slept with a seventy year old man for thirty bucks. I've done so much shit that I'm ashamed off. I get so sick thinking about it that I just wanna kill myself, but that's the only way anyone likes me. Everyone hates sober Drake and I hate him, too."

"I love sober Drake," Ricardo said. "I love addict Drake, too. I love fuck-up Drake. I love chaotic Drake. I love anxious and depressed Drake. I love supportive and caring Drake. I love lay-in-bed-all-day Drake. I love chapter-book-reading and coffee-drinking (even though you shouldn't) Drake. I love Darren Aronofsky-obsessed Drake. I love pineapple-belongs-on-pizza (even though it doesn't) Drake. I love I-climbed-up-a-fucking-mountain Drake. I love I-whined-and-complained-the-whole-way-up-though Drake. I love I'll-fuck-you-if-you-want Drake. I love I'll-do-the-Flux-gig-with-Julio-because-I-know-how-much-he-wants-it-and-I-love-him Drake. I love I-had-a-threesome-with-my-gym-coach-and-some-meth-addict Drake and my-high-school-teacher-caught-me-jerking-off-for-her-husband Drake and I-slept-with-a-seventy-year-old-man-for-thirty-bucks Drake. No matter what you do, I will always love you and so will Julio. We're your family and family is the only thing that matters. We're the Santos brothers, right?"

He still wanted to use, but his insecurities were washed away by his best friend's kind words. "Right."

"Somos un familia, right?"

"Yeah." Drake repeated, "Somos un familia."

Don't you ever leave me alone
Be my shelter from the storm
My war is over
I am a sad boy

Author's Note: I don't have too much to discuss this time, but I really just wanted to respond to my reviewers. (If you're not them, please at least read the last two paragraphs). Since the last chapter was posted, I received one review for this story and one for the first in the series, Charlie Freak. Both of you, Guest and Ellie, specifically mentioned my characterization being well-done. You guys have no idea how much that meant to me. I started writing somewhere around ten or so years ago and I was shit at creating my own characters. That's what led me to fanfiction. I remember reading one of my S.E. Hinton books and there was an interview with the author in the back. Someone had asked her about fans writing fanfics with her characters, which led me here. I started reading fics about The Outsiders, but didn't start writing until Flight 29 Down, then House Of Anubis and now I'm here. My biggest issue — I felt like — was characterization. Also, being descriptive wasn't my strong suit. I used to mostly only have dialogue. When I started the Charlie series, it was something very close to my heart and it was a subject that I knew much about. Obviously, things are way exaggerated for entertainment purposes, but I learned that the secret to good characterization was to base characters off of the people around you. I have a Rhinestone. I have a Julio. I don't have a Ricardo, but that's the person I always felt I needed. Like the other two characters, Mindy was also slightly based on one of my best friends. Funny story. Mindy was pregnant in Charlie Horse, which I completely made up, but soon after I wrote that in, the "Mindy in real life" learned that she was pregnant. Anyway, back to the subject at hand. Those two compliments about my characterization really made my day. Ellie, I know you're probably about to begin Charlie Horse if you haven't already, but I hope you continue reading the series and make it here so you can see how much your words impacted me. I haven't yet written a story with my own characters, but I think I might give it a shot soon. I heard someone say that every single person has a story inside of them and I think this is mine. Well, maybe less graphic. I've just gotten into a lot of television series like Shameless (the title says it all) that freely show and say literally anything, so I've been practicing with new things like that. I don't know if it works, but it's all a learning experience. Somewhere in this story is my story, or maybe it's just part of my story and I haven't lived through the rest of my story yet. I don't know. Maybe in another ten years, I'll be ready.

Okay, so I actually went on way longer than I thought I would, but two more things. One: please review. Blah, blah, blah. That whole spiel. But I seriously appreciate each one because I can't become a better writer if I'm not told what I need to approve on. Secondly, you guys should really, really, really listen to "The War" by SYML. Obviously, I think every (or almost every) song I use in this story deserves a listen, but this one specifically — the one the chapter ends on — is absolutely fucking beautiful. That's one of those songs that you can just feel. So maybe reread the ending, but with that song playing in the background. Or don't. Just listen to the song!

Also, I just came up with this idea right now, but would you guys be interested in a soundtrack for this story? I just know that I have a YouTube playlist that I listen to that puts me in Drake's mood so that I can write and it includes songs from the story or songs that I want to put into the story. Would anyone actually listen to that? I don't know. Maybe it's just me. I've been so desperate for new songs, but I'm sooooo picky about music. Anyway, just let me know what y'all think. See you in the next one.