Sorry, Charlie Chapter 18: Captivity, a drake & josh fanfic

PREVIOUSLY ON SORRY, CHARLIE: After a nasty break-up with Clementine Dahlia Martin, Drake is now single and trying to figure out fatherhood. Julio had a relapse after alcohol magically appeared in his room (it was Dahlia), and Ricardo blamed Drake during a heated phone call. Although Ricky wanted Drake to stay with Julio, Drake felt like he couldn't skip work at his new grocery store job. He left Brett with his withdrawing friend and came back home after work to find an angry Ricardo. He learned that Julio was in the hospital after a bad fall. Ricardo placed more blame on Drake, even going so far as to tell him not to called him by the nickname Ricky anymore. Ricardo stayed at the hospital a couple days with his brother while Drake stayed home alone. During this time, he started to feel strange, but didn't know why. He eventually came to the conclusion that Dahlia was drugging him somehow, and the Santos bros, along with Dee, return home to find him trashing all of their food. They didn't believe Drake's claims and thought he might be shooting up meth due to track marks they found in the fold of his arm. Drake was so paranoid that he wouldn't eat or drink, but finally, the boys discovered that Drake had been telling the truth. Dahlia had been drugging him by replacing the Tylenol he was constantly taking with some concoction of Xanax and sleeping pills. Julio realized that this was the reason he had fallen and ended up in the hospital. Just as they made these realizations, the police came and arrested Drake on a claim that he had raped Dahlia. The brothers thought that this would be an easy fix until they learned that his bail was set at a hundred grand. What made this even trickier was that, just minutes before his preliminary hearing, Drake informed Ricardo that his semen had been found inside of Clementine, and that there was photo evidence of a violent attack. Ricky then realized that, while Drake was home alone and passed out from the drugs he'd been unknowingly taking, Dahlia had broken into the house and sexually assaulted him. Drake said his lawyer had convinced him to accept a plea deal for a two year prison sentence. When his friend protested, he told him that he would get ten years if they found him guilty, and the evidence against him was strong. Still, Ricardo urged him to plead not guilty, but their conversation was cut short when it was time for the hearing to begin. Now it's time to find out what Drake decided and what the consequence of this choice will be.

Drake stared dully at the styrofoam box in front of him. Inside was a little rectangle — a mixture of meat, vegetables, beans and breadcrumbs baked into a strange texture. The guards called it nutraloaf, but when they opened and slid it through the little slot in the door, he'd heard his neighbor call it prison loaf. "What's on the menu today?" his fellow inmate would say. "Could it be...prison loaf?" Once, he'd called it disciplinary loaf, and it definitely was. Back when Drake was in general population, they'd had actual food. It wasn't great, but it was better than this. For the two weeks that he had spent here, it was prison loaf. Every. Single. Day.

Like yesterday, he couldn't convince himself to stomach it. He wasn't hungry anyway. He was never hungry when he was anxious. If he forced himself to eat, he'd just throw up again. He'd lost quite a bit of weight here. If someone he knew saw him like this (minus the orange jumpsuit and handcuffs), they'd probably think he'd relapsed again.

The young man lazily lifted his arm and closed the box. They weren't given enough food to be completely satiated and Drake didn't even eat half the time, so he had little energy. He spent a good portion of his day napping. He probably took three or four naps per day. There wasn't anything better to do to pass the time.

He stood, then carried the box over to the door. Two others were stacked up there already because trash was only collected every other day. He added the prison loaf to the pile. The entire jail was unsanitary in general, but the solitary housing unit was especially unkept, so it was no wonder he'd seen a rat just a few days ago. After having lived with Megan, he'd grown indifferent towards snakes, but rats were a whole other story. There was just something about their little squeaks that left him feeling unsettled. Plus, they were fast as fuck and he'd watched one climb up part of the wall without issue. Snakes were similar, he supposed, but the way rats gnawed on their food freaked him out. They could climb all over you with their claws and bite you a hundred times before you could even do anything about it.

When he'd seen the rat the other day, it had been right after the squeaking had woken him from his second nap of the day. It was on the floor right next to his bed and wiggling its tiny nose, sniffing the air. He'd jumped onto his feet in less than a second and the animal scurried away. He'd tried to alert one of the guards, but they'd ignored him. Drake sat there for hours, warily watching the rat. When he got tired, he laid back down, but he kept his eyes on it, watching as it chewed its way into the Styrofoam boxes he had by the door. Despite his discomfort, it gave him something to do to pass the time for a little while. He'd fallen asleep at some point and, when he awoke, the four-legged creature was gone. He'd immediately searched his body and his bed, then, without putting his feet on the floor, he'd scanned the rest of the room. There was no other living being in sight and, after a while of not seeing or hearing the rat again, Drake started to wonder if it had even been real. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he had hallucinated the entire thing. Maybe he was going crazy. If the rat was real, how on earth had it gotten in and out of his teeny tiny solitary cell?

Drake made his way to the back wall, having to squeeze by the pull-out tray on his way. He relieved his bladder, then washed his hands in the small sink. He had no soap, though. After that, he sat down on his bed — if you could even call it that. It was really just a concrete bench. It was about the size of a couch, yet it somehow seemed to take up most of the space. There was no mattress on it, nor was he given a pillow or blanket. He literally had to sleep on a concrete slab.

On the wall opposite the bed was his desk/table/tray — whatever you wanted to call it. The room was so small that Drake could sit on the bed and place his prison loaf on the table and eat it without reaching. This is where he wrote his letter to Julio and Ricardo, too. Thankfully, it could be folded up so that it hung flat against the wall. Whenever he needed to use it, he would just pop it back out. For now, he closed it, then restlessly stood again. Now it was time for his second favorite pastime: pacing.

He faced the door, which was gray like the rest of the room. There was a small, square window at eye level and then a slot a few feet below. Both were sealed off and locked and only opened a few times a day for meal or mail deliveries. First, a guard would open the window to check the inmate's location, then he would open the slot and slide the food through. When Rhinestone had told Drake about his own solitary confinement experience, he said the guards checked on their residents every fifteen or so minutes and he'd specifically mentioned how that fact had made it near impossible to masturbate. Drake was having a similar issue, but for different reasons. Unlike Rhinestone, who could have a surprise visitor peeping through his window at any second, Drake was monitored via video camera, which was secured to the wall in the corner, its red light reminding him that someone was watching him at all times. Any time his tireless mind wandered to dirtier places, he'd consider giving in and allowing himself the stress relief therapy, but then he'd look up and see that daunting camera glaring at him. He pictured a man sitting in front of a screen, his job so boring that any action was enough to have him gabbing about it for days. The screen-watchers all probably had bets going. They were probably just waiting to catch Drake masturbating so the winners could collect their earnings, or maybe they just enjoyed seeing his orgasm face. Maybe when an inmate in ad seg started playing with himself, the guard who had his room on their computer screen would call everyone over and they'd all stand around and laugh. Drake felt like it was absolute hell to be this bored, yet unable to pass the time jacking off.

Now that the tray was folded against the wall and out of his path, he started walking: one...two...three...four...five... Stop. Turn. One...two...three...four...five... Stop. Turn.

He seldom got to leave this room, which meant he seldom ever made it more than five steps before some object stopped him from continuing in that same direction. Door...toilet...door...toilet...door...toilet...door...toilet. There were a few times he was able to leave. Twice a week, he was allowed a ten-minute shower. A guard would summon him and lead him, handcuffed, down the hallway and into the shower room. Bathing with an audience was extremely uncomfortable, just like shitting with an audience was. However, using the bathroom in front of a camera and being watched by people he couldn't see didn't feel as degrading as washing his balls a few feet away from some stranger who kept both eyes on him at all times. He'd actually prefer showering with the rest of the men back in gen pop. That way, he didn't have to be the only one doing it.

Besides bathing, he was also allowed to spend a little time outside — emphasis on the word "little." Two days a week, he was given forty-five minutes in the cage. The cage was basically just another room, but with brick walls and no ceiling and it was maybe twice the size of his cell. However, it wasn't nearly as crowded. In fact, it was pretty empty. The only thing in there was a basketball. Well, that's what used to be in there before some asshole flattened it. At the beginning of this week, there was a day when it had been raining. That was Drake's scheduled cage time and he was still taken out despite the weather. It really depended on who was on shift that day. It had been drizzling when his first cage time approached and the guard wouldn't take him and Drake wasn't able to make it up whenever the rain stopped. Luckily, it only rained one other day during his scheduled outside time, which was earlier this week. It had been pouring, but the guard still took him out. Drake didn't care about the rain. He was just super excited to play basketball. There was no net or anything, but there was this one darkened spot on the bricks that was pretty high up, so he would pretend that was the goal. When he got outside that day, he found the basketball gutted. He spent forty-five minutes in the pouring rain, circling the cage and crying his eyes out over a basketball. He cried everyday now.

It was possible that one of the guards destroyed the ball just to be a prick, but Drake didn't think that was the case. There were one or two guards who were assholes just because they could be, but for the most part, the others were neither power-hungry, nor sympathetic. They were just indifferent and doing their jobs. Drake believed that the person who had busted the basketball was one of the inmates. He didn't really know any of them, but the one who was at the top of his list was just a few doors down. Drake suspected that he had been here a while and had gone crazy because of it. The guy would scream at the top of his lungs at random — day or night, for hours on end. Occasionally, he would say something in English and, a lot of times, he spoke Spanish, but usually, it was just unintelligible screaming. He'd often smear his feces all over the walls of his cell and he wasn't the only one, which left a permanent stench that seeped into all of the rooms. Drake had been here for two weeks and he still hadn't become nose-blind to the sickening odor.

Sometimes when he got to thinking too much, which was quite often due to his lack of options, he would think about how long it would take before he cracked. It was like that man was a future version of himself and he would stress about trying to stay sane at least twice a day, which really only made things worse and he knew that, but he couldn't get himself to stop. He wasn't sure how much longer he could take being cooped up in here.

The third and final reason he was allowed to leave his cell was when his attorney came to discuss his case, but he was a busy man, so that wasn't incredibly often. Drake had spoken with him once within the first few days after being arrested, once before his arraignment, and once before his preliminary hearing. Each time he visited, the inmate was cuffed, then led into the hallway. Not too far away from his cell was a small, open area. There were tables and chairs bolted to the floor, but those seats weren't for him. They were just secured so that those in orange wouldn't suddenly attempt a violent outburst and begin throwing things on their way to where they were to sit whilst visiting whoever was helping their case. Where they were put was, unsurprisingly, another cage. This one was tall — about seven foot — but was incredibly tiny. In fact, it was uncomfortably close to the dimensions of Martin's closet. Inside was a hard stool and Drake had enough room to sit and that was it. There wasn't much wiggle room and he was a small guy. A larger-framed man's shoulders would probably stretch from the bars on the left to the bars on the right, or he'd be pretty close anyway.

Drake's attorney kept things short and to the point. Whenever he came, the boy's spirits lifted, but his visitor never stayed longer than absolutely necessary and he never joked or small-talked. Drake hated small-talk, but he was so desperate for some sort of connection that one meaningless conversation probably would've made his entire week. Although not ideal, speedily going over court stuff was alright, too. Sometimes he would try to make it last by asking questions that had already been explained to him and he'd attempt to pretend it wasn't obvious that he was working his attorney's nerves by doing this.

"How many times do you think you've walked back and forth like this?" came Drake's quiet voice. "Maybe twenty thousand." And then, as if to agree with himself, he said, "Yeah, probably." He walked towards the door of his cell. "I bet that's more pacing than Rhinestone has done his entire life, even with meth. He used to pace for hours — days, it felt like. I would just lay there and listen to him go on and on and on about some shit." He turned and made his way to the toilet. "It was me and Charlie and I was trying to listen, but Charlie kept distracting me." Back to the door. "How many times do you think Rhinestone's called? I'd say...three times. He probably knows something's up by now." And to the toilet. "I doubt he'll be surprised, though. I don't know why I always end up disappearing on people. I've done it to literally everyone at least once. I just disappear without a word. Just...poof." ...Back... "Sometimes it's not my fault, though. Like, if dad locked me in the basement, I couldn't do anything about that." ...and forth... "And Walter made me leave. I didn't want to go. He literally kicked me out of his car — out of the whole family." ...and back... "I don't know. I mean...can you blame him? You're kind of a piece of shit, Drake." ...and forth...

He got quiet after that and moved in silence for the next few minutes. He had to be careful about allowing himself to mull on depressing thoughts because things were already depressing enough here. When he spoke again, his voice was just above a whisper and it had an amused tone to it. "Hey, remember that time you said that really funny joke and made chocolate milk come out of Julio's nose? That was funny. What was the joke again?" Pause. "Fuck, I can't even... He probably remembers. I wish I could ask. I'll have to put that in my next letter. That'll probably be...fuck, I don't know. Why does mail take so fucking long to send? It'll probably be within the next couple days hopefully before I could ask. Great, so then I'll probably get my answer in, like, two weeks. Fucking hell." He sighed as his feet sluggishly shuffled across the floor. "What do you think Julio's doing right now? He's probably...doing some kinda dumb shit. He's always doing dumb shit, but it's usually pretty entertaining, like when he bought that universal remote so he could fuck with Mrs. Tarby next door and change the channels during her favorite soap opera. Or when he thought it was a good idea to jump off of Rhett's roof and onto his trampoline." The memory of Julio screaming as he flew across the yard just before eating dirt played in his mind. For a second, a small smile flashed across the boy's face, but then it was gone in an instant. When he spoke again, his voice was filled with melancholy. "God, I miss you, bro. I hope you're doing enough dumb shit for the both of us."

As he thought about his best friend, his heart grew heavy and a lump rose in his throat. He blinked and, when he opened his eyes again, they were filled with water. He stopped pacing. "Fuck," Drake whispered, then he took a seat on his concrete bed. As he sat there, he looked around his tiny prison and wondered how many hilarious things he had missed Julio do because he was locked up. He was missing out on everything. He was stuck here, but life was still going on outside his cell. Everyone was moving on without him. The world was still turning without him and that reminded him of just how meaningless he was. It didn't matter if he ever got out or not. It wouldn't make a difference. No one really needed him. If he never came back, everyone would be just fine.

Drake leaned forwards and rested his head in his hands as he cried for probably the hundredth time since he's been in this room. If he didn't beat this, he was going to be stuck here for ten fucking years. He should've taken the deal. He should've taken the fucking deal! Two years behind bars would've sucked, yeah, but at least he wouldn't miss out on everything. He'd only be twenty-four. Charlie would only be five. What's two years when you've already missed the first three? But ten years?! That's too fucking much. Charlie will be at that age where friends are more important than family. She's not going to care to speak to a man she probably spent ten years hating. Plus, she's going to find out one day why he's here. She'll think he's a fucking rapist. He'll have to register as a sex offender. He'll legally have to inform his neighbors of this fact for the rest of his life and his photo and address will be plastered on the paper they send out to neighborhoods when they do an update on local sex offenders. Charlie will be so fucking humiliated when her friends see that. She'll despise him. There won't be any room for Drake in her life.

Fuck, he should've pled guilty. He was going to plead guilty. Even after talking to Ricardo, he was still set on pleading guilty. What changed his mind was when he stepped into that courtroom. At his arraignment, he'd kept his head down and he wouldn't even look at Ricky. That was his plan for the preliminary hearing, too, but then something changed. When he walked through the door, he felt it...a shift of some type. Intimidation. Fear. He felt it before he saw her. She was sitting there. Dahlia was sitting there...just glaring at him as if he was inconveniencing her in some way. Other than the night the alleged rape happened, the last time he had seen her was when she showed up at Hero's house. It wasn't the last time she had seen him, though. He'd felt her presence many times after that, like she had been watching him...following him. He'd brushed it off as paranoia, but now he wished he wouldn't have. Maybe if he would've called the police about his stalker, they'd have proof of how fucking psycho she was. They'd know she was lying and he wouldn't have to be subjected to all this humiliation and torture.

It wasn't Dahlia that changed his mind about his plea, though; it was his mom. When she said his name — when he heard that voice — he immediately knew who it was.

"Mom..." he'd said dumbly.

He never wanted her to see him like this: orange jail clothes, red-rimmed eyes, heavy chains. Why didn't Ricardo warn him she was here? Why didn't he stop her from coming? She was in the first row directly behind the table he was to sit at, so he was led closer to her.

"I didn't do it," he'd quietly said to her. He really didn't care what anyone else in the room believed. He just needed his mom to know that he was innocent. "I swear I didn't do it."

She'd replied with, "I know, baby. I know."

A chair was pulled out for him and the guard motioned for him to take a seat. "I'm sorry," he'd told his mom.

"Don't be sorry."

"Can you leave?" He'd felt the guard's hands on him, trying to spin him around so that he would take his seat. He'd heard the man's voice, but it sounded distant.

"I know you didn't do it, sweetie," she'd assured.

"Mom, please." He was losing his battle against the guard, so as he was forced into the seat, he'd begged, "Just go home. Please."

He didn't get to say anything more to her during the actual hearing, but he knew she never left. Because he had been so shocked to see her, it didn't occur to him until he was sitting there picturing what she would think of everything that Julio and Dee had also been next to her. Drake soon heard Ricardo join them and he'd heard Julio ask his brother what was wrong.

Drake felt sick to his stomach and he was so nervous that he was shaking. His attorney whispered words of comfort to him a couple times, but he couldn't quite focus on what he was saying. As the seconds passed, he'd felt like he was closer and closer to having a full-on panic attack, which was the last thing he needed right then because his most recent one had gotten him in a lot of trouble.

He'd flinched when the gavel banged against the wood. Upon seeing Clementine again, his mind had been running a mile a minute and seeing his mom only made that worse. The entire day felt like a blur. First, they'd started with his change of plea. He'd just sat there silently. He couldn't plead guilty to a rape charge — not in front of his mom. Had she not been there, he probably would've done it, but with her sitting only a few feet behind him, he couldn't say it. He thought about how embarrassing it would be for her to have a son registered on the sex offender list. He imagined Megan's reaction when their mother got home and told her the news — that her big brother was a rapist. The judge pushed him for a response, waiting for confirmation that he was guilty. Drake's attorney had leaned over to whisper to him, telling him to speak up. That's when the boy had told him he'd changed his mind and his attorney wasn't quite happy about it. They argued quietly for a short moment, but the judge impatiently prodded again, so the attorney was forced to tell him that Drake had retracted the change in plea.

Next up, they'd went through the evidence. First was his semen that they'd found inside of Dahlia. Too scared to face him, Drake could only imagine what Julio's expression had looked like right then. Because of his stay in solitary confinement, he'd been unable to update his friends on the case, so only Ricardo had known this information and that was just because he'd been told five minutes ago. All this time, Drake had sworn he hadn't slept with his ex and now his family and friends were learning that that was a lie. He never meant to lie. When he was first told, he'd been just as shocked about his DNA being found inside of her vagina as everyone else was now.

There was a mid-sized screen off to the side and this is where more evidence was shown. They showed photos that Drake was forced to take soon after his arrest. There were a couple scratch marks on his chest, which he'd never even noticed until the pictures were taken. Upon seeing them for the first time, he'd informed them that he had cats. After that was when the images of Dahlia were shown. Drake had already seen them a few days ago when his attorney brought them in to show him what evidence they had against him and advise him to take the plea deal. He couldn't look at them again. He lowered his eyes. They showed everything: her swollen, scabbed lips, bruising on her face and body, a dark handprint around her neck that indicated strangulation, bite marks on her breasts and collar bone. There was blood on her lips and boobs and genitals. Whenever new evidence was discussed, Drake's attorney would object and fight for it to be left out, but the judge always ruled in favor of Dahlia.

All Drake could do was sit there feeling ashamed as his mother and friends were introduced to the photos for the first time. He really wished his mom would've left when he'd begged her to. Once they'd decided on all the evidence, they moved on to the bail motion. They were hoping to get it lowered by a few thousand, but any slack would help. The judge brought up the fact that Drake was in administrative segregation for a violent altercation involving a few guards and he reminded the accused of the severity and the maliciousness of the photos of Dahlia. Instead of lowering his bail, the judged ruled to deny it completely. This was a huge blow considering how close Ricardo and Audrey were to getting the money together. Now there was no chance of him being bailed out. He'd have to sit behind bars until his trial.

After it was all over, the guard gave him just under a minute with his family. It wasn't much, but Drake really appreciated it because it might be the last time he got to do that for the next ten years. When he saw his mom crying, he started crying, too. Julio had looked like he was on the verge of tears as well as a panic attack. Drake apologized over and over even though he wasn't guilty. All three men gave him encouragement and his mom hugged him tightly and told him that it was okay. Because of his chains, he couldn't even hug her back.

When he was taken back to the holding cell, he cried some more. More chains were put on him when he was put in the transport van. After returning to the jail, he was strip-searched, just like he was every time before leaving and before returning to his cell. After entering his jail inside a jail, his home for the past two weeks, he'd curled up on his concrete bed and sobbed. Just like he was doing now. Just like he had done every day, multiple times a day, since. There was too much evidence against him. They were going to find him guilty. He was fucking done for.

Drake hated himself. He hated himself for being such an idiot. Over and over again, he was warned. Several people told him that Dahlia was no good: Ricardo, Julio, Kenzly. Fuck, even some of his co-workers at the bar had tried to caution him when they noticed him coming in with bruises or scratches. Why didn't he listen? Why didn't he ever fucking listen, especially to Ricky? He was right about literally everything always. All the advice he had given Drake over the years was great advice. Every time he'd stepped in and forcibly made the boy do something, like get off drugs or climb a mountain, it was always a good idea. Drake did almost everything he'd ever said, so why hadn't he listened when it came to Dahlia? Looking back on it, even he could see just how fucked up their relationship had been.

Manipulation was like an art for Clementine. She started off slow. She did small things to humble him, then she started to use that to control him. Over time, she would push more and more, crossing boundaries so subtly that Drake hardly noticed it happening. One thing he did remember was the first time she'd hit him. They had been arguing like they often did. They always got so heated over the smallest, dumbest shit and, back then, Drake used to argue back quite often. Dahlia would threaten to call the police and she did a few times and he was forced to leave. Sometimes, though, he would grab her phone from her and he'd even broken one by slinging it against the wall once. Looking back, it was insane some of the things he did. It wasn't like him at all. Being with her had turned him into a different person. He became crazy. They were both crazy, but they were crazy together.

On the first day she hit him, they got into it in the living room. He didn't say anything hurtful about her character and his reasoning was rational. At this point in their relationship, she was already insulting him and calling him every name in the book. It was this day she took that next step. He was mid-sentence when she wound her fist back and then let him have it. She slugged him right in the face. Drake was immediately silenced as he stumbled backwards. In an instant, his mindset changed and he remembered who he was and where he'd come from. His father's rules were instilled in him even though he was dead, and talking back was breaking one of those rules. His face expressed defeat and, without another word, he just plopped down right where he was, taking a seat on the couch. She mistook his surrender as meaning that she had been right, so she continued to belittle him for a while, then she disappeared in her bedroom. The argument started because Drake had wanted to go out to a bar, where Julio was celebrating his birthday — just the guys. He ended up not going and Dahlia didn't even spend time with him, so he didn't understand the point in why she was so insistent that he miss his best friend's birthday celebration. However, he said no more about it. The make-up sex that night was rough and super fucking hot at least.

Drake suddenly flinched when he heard the lower slot on his door slide open. An obnoxious wave of odorous shit wafted into his room and filled his nose immediately. His psycho neighbor must be flinging his feces at the guards again. Drake didn't care about the smell. He jumped to his feet and hurried towards the door as a white envelope was slung through. He received no greeting — no 'hello' or 'you got a letter' or 'on your feet, inmate' — and the slot was closed before he even had time to say a proper thanks. He snatched the envelope up and tore it open without reading who it was from. He already knew it was from the Santos brothers because they're the only ones he's sent a letter to. He sent one weeks ago and then he sent another one three days ago when he thought his best friends were mad at him because he never got a response.

The eager young man unfolded the paper and, sure enough, he saw Julio's writing. He could feel the release of dopamine in his brain as a grin took over his features. This was the most excitement he's experienced in weeks and he was practically bouncing up and down. As he read the message, he chewed on his thumbnail and began pacing back and forth.

It wasn't long before he slowed to a stop and his smile faded. The further he got, the more depressed he became and, when, he was done with the one-page note, he crumbled it into a ball and tossed it towards his trash pile with frustration. Everything Julio had said was old news. He talked a lot about what would happen at the preliminary hearing and gave his friend encouragement and he mentioned how Drake would be released afterwards, which never came true. He told him about how his cats were doing a week ago and how he was doing with his sobriety a week ago and that everyone loved and missed him a week ago. Nothing was recent. It was like he was living in an alternate universe where time moved slower — where he was behind the rest of the world. He felt detached and isolated. Any day now, they would completely forget about his existence.

The anxiety attack hit him so fast that he didn't even have time to grasp what was happening to him. He suddenly found himself on the floor and, within minutes, his panic overtook him no matter how much he tried to fight it. Drake was hyperventilating and somehow the loose-fitting smock and long-sleeve tee started to feel like they were shrinking. He tugged at the collar of them, so frantic that he ripped the material. He wanted them off. He couldn't breathe with them and he felt like all his troubles could be solved if he could just remove his shirts.

In his struggle, he found himself having to bend his knees because the wall was in the way. He shoved the soles of his feet against it so that he could straighten his legs, but then he hit his head against the side of his concrete bed. He gripped the injured spot for only a second, but when he saw what had happened, his hands moved to the bed. With clenched teeth, he pressed against the immovable slab, but it wouldn't budge. He planted his feet firmly on the wall for support and tried again, grunting as he pushed, but the room continued to grow smaller. He stomped and kicked and punched and punched and punched until his swollen knuckles were busted open, but that didn't stop the four walls from swallowing him whole.

A low, demon-like growl left his lips as he thrashed around on the floor. He managed to move in a position so that the wall and bed were next to him rather than above and below him, so his head and feet were free, but the relief was short-lived when his arms came into contact with concrete as he flailed them about. He screeched as tears bled from his eyes. He placed his palms against the things that were trapping him and wasn't even able to stretch out his elbows. It felt like someone had put a plastic bag over his head. It felt like he was going to die.

He continued screaming although he himself didn't hear it. His thoughts were irrational and non-sensical. If he couldn't stretch out his arms, then the only solution he could come up with was to remove them. He began clawing at himself, his nails long overdue for a trim. However, the room only got smaller, so he had to sit on his bottom and curl up against the wall. Pretty soon, he was back in his father's closet and Martin was waiting outside the door with a belt in one hand and a switch in the other.

(2 days later)

Julio looked around the room, the walls of which were a soft yellow color. There were several tables — either sky blue, mint green or pastel pink — scattered about and, in a way, the room kind of resembled a daycare...except for the fact that the windows were barred up and a couple guards stood watch with batons attached to their belts.

Some of the tables had people seated around them. Patients of the psych ward wore white while their visitors sat across from them poorly attempting to hide their expressions of unease. Even if the patients weren't in uniform, it was mostly obvious who the crazy one was in each family — or maybe, like Drake, they weren't crazy at all. Maybe they struggled through similar issues as Drake did and were misunderstood by those around them or maybe they ended up here because they just needed a break from reality every now and then. Either way, there was a certain look about them that made them stand out, although Julio couldn't quite put his finger on how.

Both of the young men turned their heads towards the door when they heard it open. However, just like the last four or five times, it wasn't Drake. Instead, it was a young woman who was probably somewhere in between their ages. She seemed to be in a daze, like she was watching invisible butterflies flutter around her head. One of the orderlies, who, Julio noticed, wore soft-colored smocks, led the patient over to a table, where her family was waiting.

"This is fucking weird," Julio whispered to his brother.

"I know. Just don't make Drake feel embarrassed about it."

Another orderly opened the door and, this time, their friend was with her. She guided the boy over to his visitors, then instructed him to place his hands on top of the table. When he did this, the Santos brothers saw that he was in cuffs. The orderly picked up a curved piece of metal that was made into the table and she flipped it closed over the chain connecting Drake's cuffs and locked it with a key, securing the prisoner. After that, she let the group know that visitation would last for half an hour, then she left them.

They expected Drake to be distant and quiet and timid, but he wasn't. In fact, he was the first to speak up.

"Hey," he said and he even shocked them by offering a small smile with his greeting.

Ricardo immediately went into father-mode. "How are you?"

"I'm okay. So what's been going on with you guys?" He was unexpectedly nonchalant, yet still clearly desperate for information and conversation.

"Not a whole lot. I've mostly been working.

His brother spoke up. "And I've been doing a lot of research to help your case."

"Find anything?" Drake asked, although without hope.

"Well...not yet, but I will," he assured.

"I guess my whole life's pretty fucked, huh?"

Ricardo squinted skeptically when he saw the boy crack a small smile. "No, it's not," he said firmly. He was quickly growing frustrated with his friend's attitude towards the situation. "We're gonna figure this out. I'm gonna get you out."

Drake grinned. "Wow, my hero."

"The fuck's the matter with you right now?"

"What?"

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

Ricardo had to focus on keeping his cool. He felt like Drake wasn't taking the situation seriously — like he'd already given up. "Like you don't give a shit?"

"Oh." He smiled again when he said, "They've been feeding me zannies. And they gave me some shot this morning."

Now the man was angry. "You're letting them dope you up right now? You really think that's what you need?"

"What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Sit here and stare at the wall obsessing over the fact that I'm about to lose ten years of my life?"

"No, you're supposed to keep a clear head so you can figure out how to get the fuck out of here. You're supposed to stay sober so that, when you are released, you're not gonna run back to the truck stop the second things become a little inconvenient for you."

"Fuck you."

Before his brother could respond, Julio broke in. "Guys, shut the fuck up. We're not doing this right now. We haven't seen each other in weeks and you guys wanna do this?"

Drake looked like he was actually feeling guilty about his behavior despite the medication and Ricky knew that he would cave in and apologize any second now even though he hadn't been the one to start the argument. Therefore, he spoke up first, interrupting his friend just as he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just miss you being at home and it stresses me out honestly that I can't..."

"What? Hover over me and tell me what to do?"

"I was gonna say 'offer close guidance.'"

With those words, they both chuckled and the tension lessened.

"Sorry," Drake said anyway. "I've been having hella mood swings."

"Did you just say 'hella?'" Julio asked with disgust. "I hate you."

"Oof," Drake said, using another one of his friend's least favorite words, then they all laughed.

Afterwards, an awkward silence settled over the table. It was strange how little they had to talk about. Drake definitely lacked exciting stories, but he was hoping he could live vicariously through his two friends who were free to leave through the front doors whenever they wanted. What was left of his smile faded when he saw them looking down at his forearms. They were bandaged up nice and neat, but underneath was a mess. During his anxiety attack, he'd clawed at his skin viciously enough to draw a worrying amount of blood. He even had a few stitches.

Ricardo broke the silence, his voice now somber. "They said you tried to kill yourself again."

"Not really."

He was looking at the gauze wrapped around Drake's head now. "They said you started banging your head against the wall until you lost consciousness."

The young man pointed his head downwards and stared at his white uniform and the white floor. If he kept very still, it was hard to tell where the floor ended and his matching shoes began. It was as if he was becoming part of this place. He was blending in with these people. Perhaps that's what frightened him the most — the fact that he actually fit in here.

"I don't really remember," Drake admitted softly. "I don't think I would've knowingly...done anything...to hurt you guys. I just...freak out sometimes, but I wouldn't...I wasn't trying to kill myself." He then lifted his eyes to gauge whether or not they believed him, but his medication seemed to be clouding his judgement and he couldn't quite get a read on either of them.

"Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

"I don't really like to think about it. I'm just glad I'm not in ad seg anymore."

"How long have you been here?"

"I got here yesterday," Drake said. "They took me out of my cell and moved me to suicide watch for a while, but I didn't do any better there, so then I got transferred here."

"Why do only a few people have to wear handcuffs?" Julio asked after a quick glance around the room.

"Not everyone came from prison. They said they won't use them as often if I show good behavior."

"You look like you've lost a lot of weight," the man noticed.

"I got tired of eating the same shit everyday."

"Prison loaf? Shit's disgusting."

"There was a rat that would get in my cell sometimes. Even he wouldn't eat that shit."

The two laughed.

"Wait, you had rats in your cell?" Julio asked, clearly appalled.

"Just one. I named him Ratthew. We used to have staring contests and sometimes, when I'd talk to him, he used to squeak back. I'm pretty sure he knew what I was saying."

His friend stared at him speechlessly for a moment before saying, "You've lost your damn mind, Drake."

"He's probably wondering where I am," he said in a bit of a sad tone, but that feeling seemed to go away as soon as it came because of the drugs in his system. "Have you seen any new movies lately?"

Both were baffled by the sudden mood and topic switch, but Ricky answered him. "Dee took me to see this new action flick a few nights ago."

"What was it about?"

As he described it, he noticed that Drake was clinging to every word despite the fact that action wasn't his usual film genre of choice. The movie sucked honestly, but when he saw his friend's eyes light up with childlike wonder as if this was the first bit of excitement he'd felt in his entire life, Ricardo made it interesting.

"That sounds so dope," the mental patient said when he finished, and seeing his smile made the older Santos bro smile, too.

The group continued chatting. Ricky and Julio kept the conversation light for the remainder of the time because their friend looked like he really needed that right now. When visitation was over, orderlies rounded up the patients. As Drake's cuffs were being released from the table, the young man spoke.

"I love you guys."

"We love you, too," Julio said.

For a moment, it looked as though Drake wanted to say more and his facial expression changed and expressed something that resembled fear. It only lasted for a second or two, then it was gone. "Tell my mom and Charlie and Megan and Kenzly I love them," and then he added, "and that I'm okay." He felt a hand grip his bicep, so he stood.

"We will," Ricardo promised. "We're gonna get you out. Just keep your head up."

The patient was led over to the door, where a line was forming. He was one of the last ones and they soon started leaving the room. The Santos brothers watched as he gave them one last reassuring smile, then he was gone.

When they showed up for the next visitation three days later, Drake wasn't nearly as relaxed. The second he walked through the door, both could immediately tell that something was up. They waited in silence as his cuffs were secured to the table. When the orderly walked away, Ricardo spoke up.

"How are you?"

Drake shrugged. "I'm okay." His knee was bouncing up and down rapidly.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. Instead of answering, his eyes moved to Julio. "Have you found anything yet?"

His friend frowned when he had to deliver the bad news. "Not yet."

"Drake, did something happen?" the oldest asked, his brows furrowed with concern.

"I told them to stop giving me that shot and the Xanax like you said. I met with my doctor the other day and she put me on some medication, but I had an allergic reaction to it, so they took me off until our next meeting, which is today," he said. "I've just been really anxious and..." He averted his eyes and instead looked down at the soft-colored table, then shrugged. He was quiet for a moment, then he said, "I wanna go back to jail."

"What?"

"Do you think you could talk to somebody? My attorney maybe? I tried earlier and he didn't answer. Can you ask him if he can get them to transfer me back?"

Again, Ricky asked, "Drake, did something happen?"

"No, it's — I just wanna go back." He still had his eyes low. "Please, just ask him, okay? Please."

"I will."

"Drake, what's going on?" Julio asked with worry. "I thought you said you liked it better here."

He shook his head.

"Look at me," the oldest said and the boy hesitantly obeyed. He enunciated his words because sometimes he had to use a strict voice to get his friend to open up. "What happened?"

Drake hesitated. "They know," he said quietly.

"They know what?"

"They know what I was arrested for. They think I'm a fucking rapist," he whispered.

"Did you tell anyone?"

"No! Why the fuck would I tell anyone that?!"

"Have they threatened you?" asked Ricardo with a no-nonsense expression, which made it sink in for Julio just how serious the situation was.

"Can you just call my attorney and get me transferred back to where I was?"

"I will," he promised. "I'll call the second we leave."

This seemed to calm the boy down some. Julio noticed that his eyes were wet like he was trying not to cry. He felt awful that his friend was dealing with all this and that he was alone while doing so. Drake didn't usually do so well when he was on his own. When he didn't have friends or family by his side (whether by choice or by circumstance), things usually turned out bad. Some unfortunate byproducts of these times were physical and sexual abuse, drug addiction, depression, panic attacks, suicide, homelessness, toxic relationships, etcetera. The list goes on and on.

"Let's just talk about something else, okay?" Julio tried to lighten the mood with, "Your cats miss you. Well, I don't know what they feel, but I sure as hell miss you because now they never leave me alone. I gave your dumb cat my leftovers one time and now it won't stop following me everywhere."

This did make Drake crack a smile and he even chuckled, then he sniffled.

"It woke me up in the middle of the night massaging my neck. I thought it was trying to kill me. I pushed it off the bed and it jumped right back up and literally laid its whole ass body across my neck and went to sleep." He saw that his story was helping his friend, so he kept going. "This morning, I had to splash it with water so it'd stop meowing outside the shower. Damn thing never stops."

Again, Drake let out a small laugh, but then his mask broke and his face contorted. He tried to hide his face by hanging his head, but both of the Santos brothers saw him crack before he could conceal it. He sniffled and, after he gathered his composure, he lifted his head again. Water was pooled up in his eyes and it was amazing that they could hold so much without spilling over.

Drake's voice cracked slightly when he asked, "How's Charlie?"

"She's great," Ricky said. "She's really great. She misses you."

Julio added, "She said she loves you and she can't wait for you to come back from your trip."

The prisoner bit the inside of his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"And she wanted me to ask if you're bringing her back a surprise."

A short laugh left him and he hung his head as a tear escaped. He sniffled. His friends could only watch with broken hearts. Not once did he break in front of them in jail. Why here? What was happening when they were gone?

"Tell her I will. I promise." He choked out a sob and, although it was quiet, if he continued this, everyone was going to notice.

"Drake," Ricardo whispered with empathy as he glanced around the room, "you've gotta pull yourself together. You can't do this now."

A moment went by in silence, then the boy nodded with his head still hung. He sniffled. He couldn't lift his hand due to the cuffs, so he wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his white uniform.

For the remainder of their visit, they discussed lighter subjects and told funny stories in hopes that the mental patient would stay calm. Drake didn't look at them for the rest of their time together. Even when his cuffs were unlocked from the table and he was led to the door, he kept his eyes on the floor.

Visitation number three took place four days later and things only seemed to get worse although Drake gave them no verbal confirmation of such. The patient was finally given the privilege of not having to wear the handcuffs, which they thought would give their friend at least a tiny sliver of positivity, but when the boy sat down, his hands still required to be on the table for visibility, they saw nothing in Drake but the hopelessness that was swallowing him whole. No matter how much they prodded, he kept repeating that he was fine, but his monotone voice that acted as a coping mechanism to smother the sadness and fear and his wandering, frantic eyes that dashed about the room with every sudden movement or loud noise told them otherwise. The boy was quiet for the most part, only responding to their questions in short mumbles. When asked if something had happened, Drake blamed his bland mood on the new medications and that was partly true. The brothers did most of the talking and tried to focus on cheering him up, but it didn't seem like much could be done about that when they were forced to deliver the news that his attorney was unable to get the transfer approved.

With frustration and concern, they were forced to once again leave their best friend there while they returned to their lives. Both felt guilty about this. They felt as though it wasn't fair to go about their day enjoying conversation and affection when Drake was alone. Dee was able to get through to Ricardo and Ricardo would pass similar words along to his brother. They did make Julio feel better for a little while, and then they didn't.

"Julio!" the man exclaimed when he finally found the boy out back, lazing in the damp grass despite the rain from this morning. "What the fuck?!"

The young man gave an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. He must've lost track of time.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Wha's it looklike? Mmhavina picnic." However, there was no food in site. Instead, he was surrounded by booze and cigarette butts.

"Jesus Christ!" Ricky said as he kicked his way through the trail of empty cans. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Fuck you. Yadon'ever talk to Drake likethat."

"Well, I can't really say I've ever found Drake sitting in the backyard before lunch covered in his own piss and shit," he snapped back.

"Yeahwhatever."

"Get up."

"Juschill. S'jus beer. Idint ge' twhiskey."

"Great. Instead, you just drank an entire thirty-pack by yourself. Get up," he said more angrily as he grabbed his little brother's arm and dragged him onto his feet.

"Fuck's your pro'lem?!" Julio screamed as he was pulled inside.

"Nothing, Julio! Everything's fine! This is all fine!"

He got him upstairs and into the bathroom. Getting him in the shower was a whole other feat in itself, but once he was in, Ricardo grabbed the shower head and sprayed him down to rinse off the feces. Julio bitched at him the entire time and his brother bitched right back.

"Drake would never talktome like this whenI drank!"

"Well, Drake's not fucking here, is he?!"

"Iwishhe was! Iwishhe was'ere insteadayou!"

"I DO, TOO!" the man yelled back, hurt by Julio's words. "I wish he was here to deal with this, too! I wish someone else could step up and give me a fucking break! I wish I could go to work or to the store or to sleep or to shower without worrying that everyone's gonna fall apart because I'm not there to watch their every fucking move! I wish I didn't feel so responsible for everyone else when they don't even fucking give a shit! I wish my little brother wasn't a fucking alcoholic!" Because of the sudden surge of rage, he slung his arm across the boys' messy sink counter and their things went flying. They crashed against the wall and the floor and Julio flinched. Ricardo gave the nearby items a kick because they were in his way. "FUCK!" He stood there huffing and puffing, his fists clenched as he replayed the last ten minutes in his head. When he'd first spotted his brother surrounded by numerous beer cans, the first thing he'd felt was fear, but he wasn't great at expressing that fear. Somewhere in between processing and expressing, things switched up and his anger showed. Perhaps it's because he hated feeling vulnerable. Perhaps rage was his own unhealthy habit that he couldn't seem to control.

At that moment, he heard the sound of childlike sobbing. He turned and looked at his younger brother, who stood shaking in the shower, naked and vulnerable. When he saw him like this, he reminded him so much of Drake and that terrified the hell out of him.

"I'm sorry," Julio choked out pitifully, then he completely broke. His voice came out louder and in a higher pitch because he could no longer control it. "I'm sorry! I keep..." The lump in his throat was strangling and deep, body-shaking sobs erupted from him before he could continue. "I keep fucking up!"

The man's anger was immediately replaced by guilt. He moved over to his brother. "Hey, don't cry," he tried. Ricardo wasn't one to cry a lot and Julio cried even less than he did, so seeing him this way broke his heart. "It's gonna be okay. We're gonna get through this. Look at me."

Julio did.

"We're gonna get through this."

That night, Julio stayed in Ricardo's room throwing up hour after hour. It was currently two in the morning and they'd lost track of how many times this made. Ricky softly pet the young man's hair as he leaned over the bed and hurled his guts out into the trash can. When he finished, he panted for breath, then sniffled and weakly dropped his head against the pillow.

"Everything hurts," he whined. He'd been crying for close to half an hour now.

"Come here," Ricky said softly. He pulled him closer and held his trembling, sweaty form in his arms. "It'll be over soon. Just hang in there. I'm proud of you."

Julio choked out more sobs with those words. He felt guilty and unworthy. "I'm sorry I'm such a fuck-up. I'm sorry I did this again."

"I know, but you're not a fuck-up, alright?"

"I can't even stay s-sober." His voice shook because of his trembling and crying. "You're already stressed about so mu-much and now I'm making you stress about me. I just add to it."

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Everyone's gotta find people worth stressing over and you're worth that to me. I love you so much and I'm really sorry about what I said to you earlier. You're my favorite person in the whole world. I'd do this everyday if I had to."

His kind words made the boy sob some more. When he was able to get ahold of himself, he said, "I'm Drake 2.0."

They both laughed, then that faded away into a somber mood again.

"I miss him," Julio said.

"I know. I miss him, too."

"I'm scared. What if they find him guilty?"

"They won't."

"Ricardo, you saw the evidence. If it was you up there and he was a complete stranger to you, could you honestly look at those pictures and believe he's innocent?"

The man didn't answer because his brother was right. He couldn't.

"He looked so scared yesterday. I can't get that image out of my mind. I was looking up statistics after we left. Places like that are full of abuse."

"We just have to keep looking for something that can help us get him out."

"We keep saying that, but it's been weeks and we still haven't figured out shit."

"We have to stay positive. I need to call his attorney again tomorrow and see what he's doing for Drake's case. It's all gonna work out. We're gonna—"

Suddenly, Julio pulled away from him and leaned over the trash can again.

When they went back for the next visitation day, both brothers were surprised that Drake was back in handcuffs. When he was secured to the table, the orderly walked away and Julio spoke.

"What happened? Why are you back in handcuffs?"

Drake kept his head down. "I had an episode," he whispered so quietly that his friends had to lean forwards just to hear him. He sounded just as dead inside as last time — more so even.

"Shit, Drake, I'm sorry."

Ricardo asked, "What caused it?"

He was non-responsive for a moment, then he just shrugged.

"You freaked out, so they put you in handcuffs?" Julio asked as if this very sentiment was dumb.

"They gave me a sedative. When I woke up...I was restrained to my bed. I panicked all over again. They gave me another shot."

"Jesus..."

"They wouldn't let me up. They wouldn't let me go to the bathroom." They heard him sniffle and knew that he was crying. "They just left me there for three days, just...laying there..." Sniffle. "...in my own...shit and piss." Sniffle. "They made me wear a diaper," his voice cracked.

The Santos brothers' hearts shattered as they listened to his story.

"They fed me through a tube. I kept screaming and crying, so they just kept giving me more sedatives. They let me get up and walk around today and I got to shower and clean up before you came."

Ricardo couldn't even remind him to stay strong because he could hardly keep it together himself. He felt himself becoming enraged as his falsely-accused friend sat before him and cried. Drake was so ashamed that he wouldn't even look at them.

"I wanna go home," he said. "Can you take me home? Please?"

Neither could answer, but their silence was an answer in itself. He broke down and sobbed.

Ricardo sniffled when his phone started ringing through the car radio. He took a shaky breath, then pressed a button on his steering wheel. "Hey, babe."

"Hey, where are you at? I thought you said you'd be home by now."

It took a moment for the man to remember their conversation about getting together earlier this morning. He sighed. "Shit. I forgot. Shit, I'm sorry."

"Did something happen with Drake?"

Droplets of water started falling from his eyes all over again even though he'd spent the last thirty minutes or so trying to stop crying. He sniffled.

"Baby?" Dee said, his heart hurting because his boyfriend was hurting.

His eyes were getting blurry and he was forced to pull over onto the side of the road. He put his vehicle in park and sat there wiping his eyes. "He's not doing good," he admitted and Dee could hear him weeping now.

"Is your brother with you?"

"No, uh, I just dropped him off at a meeting."

"Where are you?"

"I'm sitting on the side of the road."

"Where were you going?"

He was hesitant to answer because he knew how Dee would react. "I was gonna go talk to her."

"Baby..."

"I don't know what else to do!" the man said, frustrated and upset. "They're gonna find him guilty! He's gonna be sentenced to ten years...because I told him not to take a plea deal! He's worked so fucking hard! He's made so much fucking progress! If he doesn't get out, he'll kill himself!" he said, sobbing now. "And I won't be able to do anything about it because I can't watch him! I can't stop him! I can't talk to him about it in detail! I can't comfort him! He's alone in there and they're...they're hurting him! They're making him worse! He's losing his fucking mind and I can't do anything for him!"

"Tell me where you are."

"I'm on the side of the road."

"Where?"

"Just past that big church with the stained glass windows."

"Listen, I'm on my way, alright? It'll take me ten minutes and we can talk about this, okay?"

The man sniffled. He did feel a little better that his boyfriend was coming. "Yeah."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Just wait for me, alright?"

"Okay."

When they finished their call, Ricky sat there and he felt comforted by the fact that Dee would come and carry some of the burden with him so that he didn't have to deal with it alone. He managed to stop crying, but as he waited, he started thinking about how things would go once his boyfriend arrived. He would sit and talk to him for a while, then he'd have to pick up Julio and they'd all go home and do nothing about what they had seen at the psych ward today. He'd make a few calls to the attorney, who never answered half the time, but what good would that do? That man hadn't done shit for Drake since this whole thing started. He couldn't just sit idly by and let his friend's life get ruined. He had to do something.

He waited there by the road for about five minutes, but then he put the car in drive and continued towards his intended destination. It wasn't long before he got another call from Dee, who probably couldn't find him or his car. He didn't answer because he didn't want him to try and stop him. Dee knew that he was no longer waiting around when his call went unanswered and he knew where he was heading, but he wasn't like his boyfriend. He didn't hover over people and try to control their every move. He knew Ricardo could make his own choices and he fully supported that. He didn't call again because he knew the man was doing what he felt he had to, so he let him go and instead made his way over to the church, which is where AA meetings were usually held on Wednesday mornings. That way, he could pick up Julio if Ricky didn't make it back in time.

"Are you expecting someone?" Dr. Martin asked. "I'll go. I just wanted to stop by and see how you were doing."

"No, it's okay, Daddy. I'll get rid of them and we'll go out and get some nosh." Clementine got to her feet and went over to the door. She opened it, then froze when she saw Ricardo's large, intimidating frame. The surprise only lasted a second, then her fear was gone. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you."

"About?"

"You know what it's about, Dahlia."

"I haven't the time. I've got company."

"Then I'll be quick." He wasn't taking no for an answer and she saw this.

"Very well." She opened the door wider so that he could come inside, then she closed it behind him.

"Who's this?" her dad asked in a friendly voice. He stood in order to shake the guest's hand, but he didn't get the chance.

"This is my rapist's best mate. Rapist's Best Mate, meet my father."

Dr. Martin's smile faded and Ricardo was so taken aback by the introduction that he was speechless. "What's he doing here?"

"He just wants to have a quick chat. We'll just be a few minutes and then we can go. How about calling that French restaurant we used to go to and see if you can make a late reservation?" She looked at Ricardo. "Come on. I'm sure you want to speak to me in private." She led him to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Once alone, the man said, "Dahlia, what the fuck?"

"You'll have to be more specific, dear," she said as she went over to the dresser and began applying some make-up, "and do be quick. We were just heading out."

"Why would you tell him that? Why are you telling anyone that?"

"Whatever do you mean?" She was playing dumb and Ricardo's anger started to rise again.

"Why are you telling people that Drake raped you?"

"Because that's what happened."

"Dahlia, you know who you're talking to, right? You can cut the fucking bullshit. You and I both know he would never do that to you — to anyone."

She rubbed her lips together to smoothen out the pink lipstick. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you thought you did."

"Dahlia..." His fists were tightening and he had to take a moment so that he could control his rage. He exhaled. "Dahlia, why can't you just have an honest conversation with me? I know you were harassing his girlfriend. I know you left a drug-laced cupcake on her counter so you could go to her job and get her fired. She broke up with him. Was that not enough for you?"

"How is that enough?" she asked, eyeing him through the reflection. "She wasn't the right one for him."

"Because you are, right?" Ricardo said. "If you're so fucking hellbent on being with him, why did you treat him like shit? All you did was put him down and call him names and hit him. You took everything from him: his money, his affection, his trust, his freedom. You manipulated him like some kind of toy just because you got bored. He was in love with you and you broke his heart."

"He cheated on me, too. He blanked for two months without so much as a word."

"And you know he was sorry. When he came back, he cried for hours in the hospital. You know why? It wasn't because he had to get clean all over again or because he was publicly humiliated at the truck stop that night or because he was almost beaten to death or because he was sexually assaulted. He cried because he had wronged you and he felt awful about it."

"Yeah? Then why was he back in some man's bed less than a month after we got back together?"

"Dahlia, he's an addict. I'm not saying it was right. You know how I feel about when he uses. I'm just saying that he does a lot of fucked up shit when he's using and he always regrets it later."

"No, I'll tell you why he did it. He did it to spite me." She turned away from the mirror now to look at him. "He got mad at me, so he left and sucked his high school teacher's dick to get back at me. He wanted me to hurt. That's the kind of person he is."

"I don't think that's true."

"No? Ask his teacher. Better yet, ask Drake."

"I mean I don't think that's why he did it. He was probably just struggling with his sobriety."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"Anyway, that's not the point—"

"Then what is your point, Ricardo?"

"My point is that you falsely accused your ex fiancé of rape because it pissed you off that he broke up with you for being a toxic, abusive cheater! That's my fucking point!"

"I am not abusive!"

"Really? So what would you call it when someone calls their partner names and hits them?"

"I call that arguing," she defended. "Just like every other couple in the world."

"Healthy people don't argue like that."

"Well, your mate's an addict. I wouldn't say he's all that healthy."

"And what does that make you?"

She finished up her make-up, then moved past him and began searching through her closet. "It makes me a fucking godsend for even being willing to give a jarring bellend like that a chance. He's gonna realize that one day. No one else is gonna wanna be with him."

"Actually, someone else did wanna be with him, but you had to go and destroy it because you hate it when he's happy."

"That sket wasn't good for him."

"And you were?"

She was tired of answering. She snatched her jacket out of the closet and threw it over her blouse.

"You, the girl who wouldn't let him leave the house? Who wouldn't let him go to the doctor to get the help he needed? Who beat him up whenever he didn't do what you said? Who told him to kill himself? Huh? Is that the kind of girl he deserved?" Ricardo said, his jaw taut. "You, who didn't stop when he used the safe word? Who gagged him so he couldn't use it again?"

"It's time for you to leave." She opened her bedroom door and shoved him out.

He didn't fight it, but he didn't shut up either. "You bought a bottle of Tylenol and you opened the capsules and replaced the powder with crushed up sleeping pills."

She shoved him again so that he would move down the hallway. Now he was in the living room, where Dr. Martin was standing. Either he'd heard the commotion and was on the way or he'd already been listening outside the door and had to make a quick retreat when she'd kicked him out.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, but Ricardo kept going.

"You broke into my home and left the Tylenol in his room and, while you were there, you left alcohol in my brother's room so he'd relapse. You knew we'd give him medicine, too, to help with his withdrawals and you knew sleeping pills and alcohol don't mix. You put him in the hospital so you could get Drake alone because you knew I'd stay with Julio."

"You know how bloody mad you sound right now?" Dahlia said.

"And while we were gone, you broke into my house again, you went to his room and you raped him. You raped him. While he was passed out on fucking sleeping pills!"

"Get out," she said harshly.

"Even after you got what you wanted, you kept toying with him. He kept taking the Tylenol and you seized the opportunity to fuck with his head. You made him paranoid and scared. You planted needles in his room and jabbed him a few times so that, when my brother and I returned home, we didn't believe him when he claimed you were drugging him somehow. You turned us against him so that he'd feel alone, but we found the sleeping pills, Dahlia. We know what you did. You know what you did."

"Get. Out. I'm ringing the police."

"He's not the one who belongs behind bars, so just know that you're going down for what you did. I'm willing to bet your fingerprints are gonna be on every last one of those Tylenol capsules. You thought you were getting revenge, but you just ruined your own fucking life." With that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

Dr. Martin's confused eyes moved to his daughter. "Sweetie?"

The next time they returned to the psych ward, they were told that Drake was on restriction and was unable to participate in visitation. When they showed up to the one after that, the mental patient kept quiet and hung his head like the last time. When he was wiping his wet eyes on his bicep, his sleeve came up slightly and Ricardo noticed a dark bruise that was shaped like a handprint. When questioned, Drake didn't respond.

A little further into the visit, Ricky noticed a patient eyeing Drake. The boy must've felt his gaze because he lifted his head and looked at him. His fellow patient offered a wink and a smirk. Something similar happened once more, but with a different guy in white. Ricardo knew then that the bruises weren't caused by a physical assault at all, but rather a sexual assault. Again, he tried desperately to get information from his friend. For a while, there was just silence, but then he suddenly heard the boy's voice. It was so silent that he couldn't make out the words, so he asked him to repeat himself and, over and over, Drake did. He said he wanted to go home, but he didn't stop there. He got louder and louder until he was full-on screaming and Ricardo couldn't do anything to contain the episode.

Orderlies rushed into action. They unlocked the table lock and started to lead him out of the room. Drake fought and cursed and screeched. They had his arms, but he was still able to kick his feet until those were grabbed, too. Ricardo and Julio jumped up, but they were ordered to stay put or else they'd be banned. They watched as Drake was pinned to the ground, screaming like a madman. A nurse finally arrived with a syringe and the patient was soon silent after he was given the sedative.

When the brothers got back to the car, they both sat in the parking lot and cried.

After dropping his brother off at a meeting, Ricardo, like the week before, made his way to Dahlia's house. Upon showing up the last time, he'd lost his temper a bit. That wasn't at all how he'd planned to talk to her, so it was no surprise that she didn't hear him out. He has to play her game and that was a game he knew all too well. He'd never been in a position where he found himself having to play it before, and watching Drake submit himself to it was both unnerving and sickening enough without having to participate himself. He basically had to suck up to her. He had to show her that she held all the power, which was a major struggle for him. He wasn't an incredibly prideful person, but he had some fucking dignity. Drake had neither and maybe that's why he let her control him.

Ricky kept trying to gather his composure, but the image of what he had left at the hospital kept replaying in his mind. Drake had been screaming hysterically and crying and, when they'd tackled him to the ground and held him there, the boy had called out to the Santos brothers for help. That desperate, helpless gaze would haunt him for a long time. He'd just stared back as Drake had begged him to take action. He felt like he'd let his best friend down, but he was done doing that. He'd waited for the attorney to fix this long enough. Now he was going to do it himself.

When he arrived at Dahlia's, he took a breath, then he opened the door and got out of the car. He headed up her driveway and up the couple of steps that led to her door, then he knocked. He didn't have to wait long. She opened the door like she had been expecting someone and her face fell when she saw that it was Ricardo.

"Nuh-uh. You've gotta leave."

"Can we talk, please?" he asked in a kind, respectful voice.

"I can't. I've got a mate coming." Based on her outfit and make-up, it looked more like she had a booty call on the way.

"I can be really fast," he pushed, but in a kind, respectful manner.

"You're like your mate? You don't know what no means either?"

Despite the outrage he felt when he heard that, he asked in a kind, respectful manner, "Are you free later?"

She met his eyes skeptically. Honestly, she was provoking him on purpose, but he was keeping his cool, so maybe he really was going to talk to her calmly this time. After a moment, she said, "Come back in an hour," then she shut the door in his face.

He lost his cool in the car when he called Dee, but his boyfriend helped him calm down. He waited the hour like she said and then drove back, but when she got there, there was an extra vehicle in her driveway. Her Tinder fuck was still there. He parked on the curb and stayed there for a while. Twenty minutes passed, then forty, then an hour. His phone battery was running low and he was bored. Eventually, the battery died and he didn't have his charger with him, so he had nothing to do. He wanted to bust in there and go off like last time, but he couldn't do that.

He sat there for two and a half hours before the front door opened. A young man walked out with a skip in his step — the kind of skip a guy would have after having just gotten laid. He got in his car and left without noticing Ricardo. Once he was gone, Ricky got out and headed up the driveway, then he knocked on her door. She opened it within seconds, then immediately turned and began walking away. She didn't greet him or look at him. She went into the kitchen and searched the fridge.

"So what'd you wanna chat about? Lemme guess. Drake?"

"Have you heard anything about him at all from your lawyer?"

"I have not," she said as if she didn't care.

"He's not doing well."

"Shame, innit?" She grabbed a bottle of water. "Want one?"

"No. Thanks."

Dahlia closed the refrigerator door, then turned and looked at him finally. She leaned back against the counter coolly as she took a drink, then she motioned towards the kitchen table. "Please. Sit."

He didn't want to, but he did because he wanted her to feel like she was in control and, honestly, she was. Now he was forced to look up at her, a classic intimidation tactic that police use during interrogations and one that she had used on Drake quite often.

"He freaked out when he went in to take his first shower. All those men — you know?"

"No, I don't. I was under the impression that he loved getting naked with strange men. He sure didn't have a problem with it when we were together."

It wasn't like Ricardo to take shit from people, but that's all he could do right now. "Well...he had a panic attack and, when the guards started grabbing him, it got violent. They put him in solitary."

"Blimey," she said without compassion.

"He was there for...about two weeks. He couldn't call. We couldn't visit. He wrote letters, but it took about a week for them to get to us. Solitary confinement is so small and he had another episode because he started having flashbacks of being back at his dad's—"

"And...? I don't know why you're telling me this. He got what he deserved."

"He's really sorry," Ricardo said. He hated feeling so weak and he had no idea how Drake had stayed with this girl for so long. "He knows he fucked up by leaving."

She laughed. "Rubbish. You think he made the right choice. You never liked me."

"No, I didn't. I still don't," he said honestly. "I think he made a huge mistake by getting with you, but he doesn't. When he left, how long did it take for him to call and beg you to take him back? Less than twenty-four hours, right?"

Hearing him vocalize this fact made her feel superior. She only shrugged and swallowed down some more water.

"He tried to kill himself because he knew he lost you and he didn't think life would be worth living without you," Ricardo said. "He regrets everything that happened. No matter what Julio and I try to tell him, he regrets how things turned out between you two."

"And rightly so."

He changed the subject back to his friend's current situation. "When he had that panic attack in solitary, he hurt himself pretty badly. They said he tried to kill himself. He said he didn't, but he doesn't really remember what happened. They moved him to a psych ward."

"Isn't that a good thing? That's where he belongs, innit?"

"Dahlia, all you would have to do is say you want to drop the charges and they'll release him."

"And why would I do that?"

"They're hurting him in there."

She didn't have a retort for this.

"They keep giving him shots to keep him under control. They restrain him to his bed and they leave him there for days without letting him get up to use the restroom." Normally, he wouldn't want her to have the satisfaction of knowing any of this, but he had to embarrass Drake in order to stroke Dahlia's ego. "Even when he shits himself, they make him lay in it until he calms down."

She lowered her eyes. Maybe she had a conscience after all.

"I think someone attacked him," he said, dropping another bomb. "I couldn't get him to talk to me, but there were bruises and I saw these other patients looking at him like... I think they... I mean, I don't know for sure."

"You think they beat him up?" she asked.

"I think they sexually abused him." Saying those words out loud for the first time brought tears to his eyes, so he hung his head. He sniffled and tried to keep his voice from cracking. "I just..." He failed. He cleared his throat and sniffled, then tried again. "You won...okay? We know you're stronger. We know you're smarter. We know you control him and that you can ruin his life in an instant if you wanted to. We know that now. All I want is for my best friend to be okay. He's gonna kill himself in there, and that's if he doesn't completely lose his mind first," the man said. "He's sorry, I'm sorry, we're all so fucking sorry. Dahlia..." He swallowed his pride as he lifted his head again and met her eyes. "Please get him out of there. Please. I'm begging you." When she didn't respond, he said, "Go see him. Just go visit and see for yourself."

Dahlia watched as Drake was guided towards her table. He was dressed in all white rather than orange like the last time she'd seen him and she wasn't sure which was worse. He sat down in the chair across from her, then submissively laid his arms out on the table so that his cuffs could be locked in place. Once they were left alone, their table was silent. She was waiting for him to begin the conversation because that sort of thing gave her a sense of superiority. However, he said nothing. He didn't even seem bothered by the awkwardness of their silence. In fact, it was as if he was hardly aware of her presence at all.

"How are you?" she asked in a snobbish voice, annoyed that she had to prod him and not the other way around. However, she got no response. "I'm alright. Thanks."

Still nothing. She squinted her eyes with anger. In the early stages of their usual arguments, he would argue back. Sometimes he would even get just as heated as she did, although he never once hit her and he rarely insulted her by calling her a name. As their fights progressed, he would transition into an obedient submissive. This is around the time she would get what she wanted, like always. This time wasn't like that. Not only was he not participating in stage one: the argument. He wasn't even acknowledging her at all. She's done this before. Sometimes she used to ignore him when she got mad because she knew how much that hurt his feelings. He'd never once done the same thing back, though, and it pissed her off.

"You're just gonna sit there and ignore me?! So that's you sorted then, yeah?!"

She was ready to stand up and stomp right out of there, but she didn't get the chance because, suddenly, she heard a noise — one that was all too familiar. It was the sound of weeping, and it was coming from her ex fiancé. She realized her blow-up had set him off. It wasn't loud enough that it distracted other visitors, but it was loud enough that his fragile mind considered it yelling. As it turned out, he wasn't, in fact, "sorted".

He hadn't once lifted his head since his arrival and, when she saw the long string of saliva hanging from his lips and gradually stretching down to his lap, she started to conclude that maybe hanging his head wasn't by choice, but rather by a lack of body strength.

"Bloody hell, Drake, what drugs have they got you on?!" she asked quietly.

He choked out a sob and his crying continued silently, which gave her the chance to hear another sound — one that sounded like running water. It took a moment, but when she got a whiff of the odor, she realized what it was.

"Drake!" she hissed quietly, then she checked under the table. Sure enough, she saw a yellow streak all the way down the inside of his white pant leg that led to a growing puddle around his white slipper. "Drake, what the hell's the matter with you?!" When she looked at his upper half again, she saw more saliva leaving him, as well as snot dripping off his face, and when the sound of weeping returned, it was like that of a child. She could hear the shame he felt.

The table was small. When both Julio and Ricardo were present, the nurses would place him at a round table in the center of the room, but since it was just Dahlia today, he was at a small one next to the wall. Because she had her hands resting on the tabletop, this put her at arms' reach. She suddenly felt him grip her hand and was both surprised and repulsed.

An orderly spotted him immediately. "No touching," he called.

"Hel'me," he begged his ex quietly, his words slurred due to the excessive amount of medication he was force-fed.

"Hey, no touching." He started their way, so Clementine yanked her hand out of Drake's. When the man got closer, he saw the urine puddle at the patient's feet. "This one's had an accident."

Another worker made his way towards them as the first one removed the handcuffs from the table lock. They gripped his biceps and lifted him onto his feet, revealing to everyone the bright yellow stain on his pants and house-shoe. As they headed for the door, Dahlia noticed that he wasn't walking. The toes of his shoes dragged along the linoleum as if he were incapable of walking because he didn't have the strength or maybe he forgot how. She wondered if they'd carried him in this way and she'd been so clouded by hatred that she'd missed it.

She didn't know if they planned on bringing him back after getting him cleaned up or not, but she sure as hell wasn't going to wait around to find out. She felt humiliated in front of all these strangers and she was uncomfortable being here, so Dahlia stood and left.

They got Drake cleaned up and changed and, when they brought him back out into the visitation room, they took him back to his table, which was now clean and missing it's other occupant. The young man had to sit there alone until visitation was up and all he could do was weep.

Dee grabbed the gallon of milk out of the bag, then he put it inside the open refrigerator. After glancing over the leftover grocery sacks, he closed the door and began putting away the non-refrigerated items. Ricardo stood at the kitchen island with his hand slowly pulling out a bag of apples, but he couldn't quite concentrate on what he was doing because he was on the phone. When Dee was finished, he got the apples from his boyfriend, who offered him an apologetic glance.

After everything was put away, Dee began making himself and Ricky peanut butter and agave nectar sandwiches for lunch. A minute or so passed before his partner finished his phone call.

"Well?" Dee said, anxious to hear the outcome.

A smile broke out across Ricardo's face, which contrasted with his watery eyes. "She's dropping the charges."

Dee put down his butter knife and walked over to his boyfriend so that he could wrap his arms around him. He heard the man let go of a sigh of relief and he felt his tense muscles ease up. "That's great news."

"She said she was going to call tomorrow and get everything straightened out."

"Then he'll be back home in no time," he said, grinning at him when they pulled apart. "Did she tell Drake before she left or does he not know yet?"

"No, she said she didn't get the chance." He frowned slightly. "They had him doped up on his meds, so he had an accident and had to leave early. She said he just cried and drooled on himself the whole time."

"That's fucked up. I don't understand how they can just force-feed someone a bunch of pills they don't want."

"I don't know what to do when he gets home," Ricardo said. "We've gotta get him off the meds, right? But I'm not a doctor. You can't just quit taking medicine like that or else you can have really bad side effects."

"Maybe we can get him to an actual doctor who could give us a schedule on how to taper him off the pills." He saw that his partner was considering it. "Anyway, we just have to take this one win at a time. You can figure out what to do after he gets settled in at home again."

"Yeah, you're right. Baby steps."

"Why don't you go upstairs and tell your brother the good news? I'll finish up lunch."

Ricardo took the steps two at a time. When he came to Julio's door, he burst through so suddenly that it gave the boy a start.

"Bro, what the fuck?!"

The man grinned from ear to ear. "Guess who's coming home."

Julio's anger dissipated immediately and turned to shock. "No way." He dropped his phone and got out of bed. "Really?"

"Dahlia's dropping the charges. She's gonna straighten everything out tomorrow."

His younger brother wasn't normally a crier, but he was already in tears before he reached Ricky and wrapped his arms around him. He couldn't say anything because he didn't trust himself to keep his voice steady. He felt comfort in his older brother's arms, and knowing that his best friend was coming back home seemed to take a weight off of him. He felt like he could breathe again.

(3 days later)

It felt strange coming alone and it reminded Ricardo of just how lonely and afraid his best friend must be feeling since he didn't have the ability to up and leave whenever he pleased. He would've liked the company of his brother, but Julio had suffered through a major panic attack the night before and he still hadn't fully recovered, so he was back home with their mother, who was over for a visit.

When Drake was brought in, he was guided to his seat, but they didn't have cuffs on him today. He had his head hung and he gave no sort of greeting.

"Hey, Drake," Ricardo said in a soft, sympathetic voice. "How are you?"

He didn't receive an answer and he wasn't quite sure he expected one anyway. Drake just sat there silently without a word or movement, which, perhaps, was progress in some manner because he was refraining from crying at least.

"So," the man started, "I don't know how much your attorney has told you. Or what Dahlia told you." He was fishing for what knowledge, if any, Drake had of his case, but got nothing. "After she came to see you, she called me and said she was gonna drop the charges. Did she tell you that?"

Still nothing. At least it didn't look like he was getting his hopes up because Ricardo was about to crush them.

"The DA wouldn't accept that, though. He wants to take the case to trial. They set a date: October twenty-third. Today's the eleventh, if you didn't know." Despite the feeling of impending doom Ricardo felt, he didn't notice any changes in Drake's monotone demeanor. "Don't give up hope, though, okay? Dahlia's not gonna testify. They have no witness." Despite his words, he felt himself getting upset. "Your attorney's bullshit. I've been trying to reach him. I had to show up at his office and wait half the day just to talk to him."

Ricardo had major doubts about the competency of his friend's legal representation. Earlier today, he and Dee had made a list of everything he had done wrong thus far. The court-appointed attorney was swamped with other cases and he didn't have time to properly look at Drake's. He's made so many mistakes, and his client could've been home sooner if not for him. He did nothing while they locked Drake in solitary for two weeks. He thought it was a good idea to have the accused's bail hearing right after the preliminary hearing — after all those pictures and the evidence he couldn't get thrown out were still fresh in the judge's mind. He wouldn't even try to do anything when Drake was transferred here. He didn't make them drug test his client while whatever the hell Dahlia gave him was still in his system, making it impossible to prove that she drugged him. He kept pushing Drake to take that plea deal because he already thought the guy he was defending was guilty, and he couldn't be bothered to try and prove otherwise. The list goes on.

"I found you a lawyer. I still have the money from the loan, so I'm gonna meet with him this afternoon and he's gonna represent you." He sniffled as he looked on at his zombified friend. "Just don't give up yet, okay? I need you to hang in there for me just a little bit longer."

He couldn't tell if Drake was processing his words or not because the boy's expression hadn't changed since he sat down. He wondered how much of this was due to being over-medicated and how much was due to the trauma he had experienced since being taken out of the Santos home via handcuffs a month and a half ago.

"Your, uh—" He cleared his throat, then sniffled. "Your mom really wants to see you. She really misses you. She wanted me to ask you to add her name to the visitation list." He knew his friend wouldn't speak, but that didn't stop him from pausing as if he was waiting for some sort of response. "I know you don't want her to see you like this, Drake, but...she loves you so much. She just wants to be here for you. I really...I really think you should let her come."

He doubted the patient would give in. He doubted he could even hear him. He wished he could see some sort of proof — some sign of life — that his best friend wasn't gone completely.

"Charlie's doing great," Ricardo said because he knew that Drake would ask about her if he would speak. He sniffled again. "Yesterday, when I was at your mom's, she asked if she could stay the night at our house." He looked down at the table top as a small smile crept across his features. "She remembers my name now. Well, she calls me Icky." He laughed, then his laugh gradually turned into more tears. He sniffled. "I guess that's better than what she calls Julio: Hoho." The thought of the father and daughter being separated for so long broke his heart. He knew that not being able to see her was hard on Drake. "You'll see her again soon. You just have to stay strong for her. You'll be out of here soon. I promise."

Audrey opened the door with a friendly smile. "Hey, Josh."

"Hey."

It seemed like his sentence was cut short — like it was missing a word, and it was: Mom. Now that her and Walter were divorced, he didn't know what to call her. Mom didn't seem right anymore, but Audrey and Ms. Nichols were somehow even worse. It was honestly pretty weird that he'd started calling her Mom in the first place. He was fifteen years old when she'd married his father. Drake didn't call Walter Dad. Megan didn't either — not genuinely. Maybe she said it every now and then when she was trying to gain sympathy and get one of the boys in trouble, but even at eight years old, she knew better than to accept the addition to her family as her new daddy.

Things were different for Josh than they had been for the Parker siblings, though. For starters, they still had their biological father in their lives, whereas Josh's birth mother was deceased. He'd always needed a mother figure and he'd loved Audrey, so he let her be that for him.

Maybe it was a bit naïve of him. Now Walter and Audrey were separated and Drake didn't give a shit and Megan felt no obligation to continue having a relationship with her former step-father. The ties weren't as easily broken for Josh, though. He wanted to continue being Audrey's son, but at the same time...he didn't. The Parker family was forced on him because of his dad's marriage and he'd never really had too much of a say in the matter. Well, Walter would've listened and probably would've broken up with Audrey had Josh said no, but Josh wasn't going to get in the way of his happiness. Maybe he should've. Maybe it would've saved them both from heartache. Sure, they'd had a lot of good times, but overall, considering how things had ended, Josh didn't think it was worth all that.

Despite their kindness, the Parker family was toxic as hell. Megan pretty much tortured him every single day of his life, yet that was the least awful thing that had happened to him because of them. Drake had been an asshole since day one. He was narcissistic, selfish, egotistical, ignorant, compassionless... At least, that's what Josh had though. It turned out he was right. Again, they'd shared many great moments together, but that only made all the bad things that much more heartbreaking.

The first time he'd felt truly betrayed by his step-brother was when Mindy had admitted to sleeping with him. He was heartbroken. What made it worse was when Mindy found out that she was pregnant and Drake ditched her. Josh had despised him after that and it showed. He'd treated his brother like shit and Drake just took it because he knew he deserved it. Before Mindy had outed herself, Drake tried to kill himself. Josh was the one who had found him and that had fucked him up enough to need therapy. A few months later came the overdose.

All this left Josh feeling confused. He hated Drake, but he felt guilty about hating him and he knew he couldn't hate him — especially after everything came out about his abusive father — because then his step-brother might try to kill himself again, and that made him hate him even more. Drake destroyed a lot, and he left Josh to deal with the aftermath. Audrey was a nervous wreck. Megan was a recluse. Mindy was recovering from meth addiction and had a baby on the way. Drake had made his life absolute hell. He destroyed the plans he'd had for himself and the love of his life. He'd ruined Josh's mental health. He'd fucked up his goal of going to a good college because he'd left Josh with daily panic attacks and nightly nightmares. This stopped the straight-A student from getting the amazing career he'd always wanted. Even now — almost four years after all that bullshit — Josh was still in therapy and he depended on medication just to keep his mood stable.

The icing on the cake was when Audrey had followed in her son's footsteps. She, too, committed adultery against a Nichols man. She slept with her ex husband, and that hurt Josh more than what Drake had done because this affected his father. It was a massive betrayal and, although Walter still spoke highly of her, Josh felt like having a relationship with Audrey when his dad couldn't was a betrayal to him.

That's what the Parkers do: lie, deceit, destroy. And then at the end of it all, they leave everyone else feeling guilty about what they did.

"How have you been?" Audrey asked.

"Pretty busy," Josh said, hoping that would explain his lack of communication over the past month. "Rochelle and I just recently got back from Arizona. We vacationed there for a week, then I had a lot of work to catch up on when I got back."

"Oh, how fun. You want something to eat or drink? I've got sweet and sour meatballs in the crockpot for dinner. I can whip up some mashed potatoes really quick as a side—"

"No, that's okay. Thanks."

She led him to the living room and took a seat. "So tell me about Arizona. Did you see the Grand Canyon?"

"We did. It was absolutely breath-taking."

"Which part did you go to?"

"We stayed up north in Page. We went to Lower Antelope Canyon. That was Rochelle's favorite. It was really cool. The rocks were wavy. Here." Josh pulled out his phone and, after a few taps and swipes, he passed it to Audrey. "See how they're shaped?"

"Oh, wow."

"You can scroll that way," he said. "We had to take a ladder down. I was scared to death, but the view was like nothing I'd ever seen before."

"What's this right here?"

"That's Horseshoe Bend. That was my favorite."

"It's beautiful." She continued scrolling. "Oh, this is such a good picture of you on the rock." A couple minutes passed with her looking at his photos and him commenting on a few.

When they got to three pictures taken from inside the plane, he said, "I think that's just about all of them."

Another swipe revealed an image of a tree.

"Yeah, that's it. I took that when we got home. We saw an owl across the street. It's kinda hard to see." He reached over and zoomed in for her.

"And Rochelle is obsessed with owls. I bet she loved that."

"She did," Josh confirmed. "She took so many pictures. She's got better ones on her phone. You know how into photography she is."

"Well, it looks like you two had a ton of fun," Audrey said as she passed his phone back to him, "and you got a lot of good pictures."

"Yep. Another state down. Forty-six more for us to travel to together." He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Where's Megan?"

"She and Kenzly went to the grocery store for me."

"Charlie's with them?"

"No, she's asleep."

"It's been a minute since I've seen her. I bet she's gotten big."

The woman smiled. "And she's a handful. I'm glad Kenzly's here to help with her. I don't have the energy to be running after babies again."

"Where's Drake?" He knew it! He knew Drake wouldn't last long! "I thought he was helping out."

"He is," she said, sticking up for her son without hesitation. "Well, he was. Actually, that's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"He disappeared again?"

"Not exactly."

"He relapsed." It was more of an assumption than a question. "Look, I can't—"

"No, it's nothing like that." Part of her was offended that he thought so poorly of his step-brother — her son — but the other part of her held these same fears everyday. Before Ricardo had told her the truth about Drake's whereabouts, she'd had these same assumptions. "Your brother," she started lightly, "—he's in a bit of trouble."

Josh sighed with exasperation. So this is why she'd invited him. "He's always in trouble," he said.

"It's not his fault, though."

"It never is," the young man mumbled.

Ms. Nichols was growing frustrated with her judgmental step-son. "Josh, honey, your brother's in jail."

Initially, he was shocked by her words, but after they set in, he realized that it wasn't all that surprising. In fact, he'd expected something like this sooner or later.

"He was arrested about a month and a half ago. They denied bail, so he's been there since. Well, actually, they moved him to a psychiatric hospital. I know I should've told you sooner. He didn't want anyone to know."

It had to be drug-related — it was Drake after all — but what was so bad that they refused to let him out before his trial? If they denied him bail, then that had to mean he posed a threat to someone, right? Maybe he got involved with selling again and a deal had gone wrong and led to someone getting hurt or killed. Or maybe Drake had relapsed or owed someone and was so desperate for cash that he committed armed robbery like he'd almost done years ago when his family's lives were on the line.

"Mom," he started, the word sounding foreign on his tongue now. He stood, honestly a little mad that this was the only reason he was invited over. "I don't want anything to do with this," he said as he walked past her. "I told you in the beginning that he wouldn't stay clean. He chose drugs. He has to live with the consequences himself."

Audrey's brows furrowed and she stood. "He's not using drugs," she said. "An ex of his made a false accusation — a rape accusation."

Josh froze. That was the last thing he expected to hear. His brother was a lot of things, but a rapist? After all the trauma he had suffered through? It didn't sound likely.

"She was abusive and manipulative. He finally found the courage to leave her, so this was her revenge."

He turned back to her. "I don't know what you expect me to do."

"You work for the DEA."

"Which has nothing to do with rape cases."

"But there must be something you can do to get him out — someone you can talk to."

"That's not how it works at all. I'm just a research analyst."

"But you know people. You know police officers and judges."

"They won't just let a guy out of a rape charge because some lowly office worker asks them to."

"But you can try," she pushed. "You can explain to them that it was a mistake. You can tell them what really happened.

"And what really did happen?" he asked.

"She wanted to ruin his life to teach him a lesson about standing up to her. That's what happened. She made a false accusation to get back at him."

Despite his skepticism, he said, "How are you so sure the accusation was false?"

This set Audrey off. "Because that's my boy! Because I raised him better than that!"

"You raised him to be better than rape, but not better than drugs?" What he was trying to say was that she really had no control over who or what her son became as an adult, but instead, it sounded rather accusatory and he could tell by her expression that it hurt her feelings. "Sorry," he backed down guiltily. "That's not what I meant. I just..." He tried to be kinder with his words, but was there really a nice way to say how much he despised Drake and that he didn't want anything to do with him moving forwards? "How can you really know?" he said in a softer voice. "Why would she make it up? What could he have done that made her hate him so much to want to destroy him for no reason? How can you really be sure she was lying?"

"He's my son! I know he would never do that! You know he's not like that!"

"I haven't seen him in three years," Josh replied. "I don't know anything about him."

"You saw him on your friend's birthday. You talked to him. He's not the same person he was. He's changed."

The young man squinted his eyes as if in thought. "Has he, though?" he asked. "You know what I didn't tell you about that night? When I first saw him, he was making out with some guy in order to get free pills, yet...he told us he was clean? Your son's still out there using sex as a means to get high. I've gotta say, he doesn't sound a whole lot different to me."

"You know him. You know him better than that."

"I don't know him at all. Even when we were brothers, I didn't know anything about him. Since the first day I moved into his room, he did nothing but lie to me."

She knew he was referring to the secrets Drake kept about his father. "He didn't lie," she said. "He was scared into silence."

"What about when he slept with my girlfriend? Was that his father's doing, too?" Josh rebutted, his eyes becoming watery now. "Three times! Once, maybe — maybe — I could see how it was a mistake, but three times?! He took her virginity in the same amount of time it took me just to muster up the courage to kiss her! She used to hate him, but he turned on that classic Drake charm and got her hooked on drugs, and then she couldn't wait to start ripping her clothes off for him!"

Audrey remembered the day at her sister's lake house many summers ago when Josh had started crying after a phone call from Mindy. Audrey and Walter spent days trying to help him through the break-up. Even Megan had felt bad for him because she knew how head-over-heels Josh was for Mindy.

"Everything comes so easily for him! Everyone loves him! The only two people that ever hated him and loved me were Mindy and Mrs. Hayfer and you see how that turned out! One had his baby and the other wears his friendship bracelet everywhere she goes! He disappeared for years and showed up and now everyone acts like the pain this family went through never happened! I was there since Charlie's birth, but she doesn't like to be around me, yet Drake shows up out of the blue and suddenly he's Father Of The Year! I comforted you when you cried everyday because he chose drugs over us, but now he's back and everything is exactly as it used to be! Just like before, all he does is cause everyone around him to worry! He convinced you to forgive him and he pulled you right back into his chaos within a few weeks' time! Don't you see how toxic he is?! Drake ruined everything for me! It's taken years to rebuild! And then he shows up on your doorstep 'clean' and doing well and you just accept him with open arms! But I still wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night after having nightmare after nightmare about him! I still see his nearly dead body every time I close my eyes! After that day, I spent years mourning for a brother who was still alive because I knew the drugs he chose wouldn't let him stay that way for much longer!" He was crying now, but so was Audrey. "It took a lot of therapy and a combination of medication, and Rochelle has been a guardian angel for me, and finally, after years of living in hell, I've learned how to stop mourning for him. I don't need to mourn for him anymore because he's already dead. He means nothing to me. I've learned how to let go and I think you should do the same."

"Thanks for coming with me today," Ricardo said to his boyfriend, who had one hand on the steering wheel and the other in his grip. Ricky lifted their hands to his lips and softly kissed the man's skin. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He was so incredibly grateful that Drake had let Dee into his life because, had he not opened up to him about his struggles, then he probably wouldn't be here with him today. He didn't blame Dee for breaking up with him back then. In fact, he probably would've done the same had the roles been reversed. Honesty was important to Ricardo and, although he hadn't lied to his boyfriend, he was never open with him either. Thankfully, Drake fixed things by making the brave decision to out his past to Dee.

A lot of potential partners might see Drake and Julio as Ricardo's baggage. They both seemed to have a lot of issues that interrupted Ricky's life. However, Dee knew how much his boyfriend cared about them, so he cared about them, too. They joked all the time about how it was like they were their children. It was a lot to deal with, but Dee's been there for both of the boys when Ricardo needed help, just like he was today.

"Of course," Dee replied. "I think this new lawyer will be a good change. He seemed to know what he was talking about and what approach to take." He pulled his hand away to switch on the blinker and turn into the driveway of the Santos home.

"I just feel like a huge weight has been lifted."

"He showed up on time to the appointment, so he's already better than the other guy." He put the car in park.

"You got your gym bag?"

"It's in the trunk."

"Alright." Ricardo gave him a kiss— "Have a good night at work." —and then he kissed him again.

"I love you."

The man caressed his cheek. "I love you, too." He gave him one more kiss before he gathered his things and got out of the car.

Dee backed out of the driveway while Ricardo headed up the porch. He tried the door, but it was locked. They kept it that way now because of the Dahlia paranoia. He picked the correct key on his chain and put it in the lock, then pushed open the door.

"Eehhntt!" He scooted Drake's cats back with his shoe and slipped through the door. He shut it behind him quickly, then carefully stepped around the animals so that he could set his things down in the kitchen. "Hola, mamá."

"Hola, hijo. ¿Estás de vuelta?" The short woman turned and glanced at him, then put her attention back on the stove.

"Sí, y estoy agotado."

"Descansa tus pies. Estoy cocinando pollo con arroz para Julio."

"She's been trying to feed me all day," Julio said.

Ricardo moved over to his brother, who was sitting on one of the barstools. "How are you feeling?" He gave him a half hug, then pet his hair and looked at him so that he could gauge the genuineness of his answer.

"Better. Mom's been taking care of me."

"Still anxious?"

"A little. Not too much, though."

"Good."

"Siéntate, siéntate." Ms. Santos grabbed three bowls and forks out of their respective places and set them on the island, then she picked up the pan and poured the chicken and rice into each of their places. "Quieren el té?"

"Sí, por favor," said Julio.

"Gracias, mamá," Ricardo said.

His brother repeated him. "Gracias."

"De nada." She set the pan down on the stovetop, then placed three glasses on the table and got the pitcher of tea she had made earlier out of the refrigerator.

"Gracias," her oldest said quietly as she filled his glass.

"¿Cómo está Drake?"

"No le va bien, pero está aguantando allí."

Ms. Santos frowned. "¿Le enviaste mi amor?"

"Lo hice. Sin embargo, todavía no está hablando."

"Dahlia's a cunt," Julio said bitterly.

His mother gasped with surprise. She didn't know a lot of English, but she knew a lot of the swear words. "Julio, nooo," she scolded.

"Lo siento, mamá."

Ricardo said, "Creo que puede salir pronto. Este nuevo abogado está bastante seguro de que ganaremos."

"Really?!" Julio looked at him with shock and vulnerability, his eyebrows lifted, hopeful.

"Yeah, he made a lot of good points. He's definitely worth the money."

When Ms. Santos saw Julio smile, she smiled, too. "Son excelentes noticias."

"Sí, y un gran alivio."

"Mm-hmm!" She nodded her agreement.

After they finished dinner, Ricardo had to practically beg his mother to let him clear the dishes. It was getting dark outside, so the two brothers drove her home. On their way back, they continued the discussion about Drake's case.

"So what exactly did he say?" asked Julio.

"He thinks we have a good chance."

"Even after seeing the evidence Drake has stacked against him?"

"Yeah. He brought up some defense strategies and we talked about which one would be best."

"Is he gonna tell the truth and flip everything back on Dahlia?"

"We discussed it," Ricky said, "but I told him about their relationship and how I wasn't sure if Drake would be on board because of how he feels about her, and the last time he went against her, he ended up in jail. I really don't think Drake would oppose her, and the lawyer said, if we chose that route, then Drake would have to be on the same page and be willing to fight."

"Who cares how he feels about her? His life is at stake. This guy could probably subpoena Dahlia's phone records and maybe she's been telling one of her friends what she's doing. Or give them Drake's phone records as evidence. There's gotta be tons of proof dating back to the beginning that shows just how abusive and manipulative she is. Plus, right before all this happened, she kept texting him and harassing him for ignoring her. She probably threatened him. And there was that fake account in your name."

"He said things will get dirty if we take an aggressive approach and that we'd have to be prepared for that."

"Then let it get dirty. Dahlia deserves to go down for what she did," Julio said with anger.

"I know. I agree with you, but I don't think it would be a good idea to try to go after her. I want her to face the consequences, too, bro, but things will turn ugly really quickly if we do this. The prosecution will go after Drake to tarnish his image in front of the jury and Dahlia's probably already told them every bad thing about him. They'll use everything they have against him: addiction, mental hospitalization, prostitution. They'll humiliate him."

Julio sighed with frustration. He hated to admit it, but his brother was right. "Well, we don't have to press charges, I guess, but we're gonna have to show that she's the rapist and not Drake. What about the medicine she was drugging him with? Maybe, unlike the other dude, this guy will listen to us and get it tested for fingerprints. Dahlia's has to be all over it."

"I mentioned that, but he said that, even if it was proven that she'd handled the medicine, it couldn't prove that she had been the one to replace the Tylenol with benzos or sleeping pills or whatever because our prints are all over it, too. Plus, since they never drug-tested Drake when he was arrested, it can't even be proven that he wasn't sober at the time of the alleged assault."

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"He said the best way to go about this without attacking Dahlia would be to provide a reasonable doubt."

"And how do we do that?"

"Well, you and I testify for his character. We can talk to Brett and Samantha and see if they'd be willing to take the stand as well. They lived with him. They know how well he treated Dahlia. Plus, remember when she and Drake were broken up and she was with that guy Carter? Then she showed up at the house one day claiming he beat her up and that she wanted to get back with Drake? I was thinking about talking to him. It didn't occur to me before, but I think she lied. I think she gave herself those bruises and blamed Carter. Because remember, she took pictures of herself all beaten up and then she later showed those to Hero and said that Drake was the one who hit her. She changes the story so it'll fit her narrative," said Ricardo. "She told us that Carter hit her and that Brett came home and chased him off, so I was gonna ask Brett if that actually happened and, if not, then I was hoping Carter and Hero would be willing to testify."

"I don't think Drake would wanna ask Hero to do this for him after how things ended."

"He won't be asking. I will."

Julio nodded and went over all these ideas in his mind.

"Another thing I was thinking," Ricardo spoke up, "—and the lawyer seems to think it's a good idea — is to bring up the sexual abuse from his past and how it's traumatized him. He said Drake will get a lot of sympathy from the jury and that he could use it and our testimony of how it's affected him to make the jury doubt that Drake was capable of repeating that action with Dahlia. I was telling the lawyer about the time Drake was having one of his really low days and I walked in on him crying over Tom & Jerry because it triggered flashbacks and he said I should share that story on the stand."

"Do you think Drake will be okay with us outing the abuse he went through in front of all those strangers, though?" Julio said. "You know how hard it was for him when they had the story leading the news and on the front page of papers. This will be like that all over again. I mean, not anywhere near as big, but still. A lot of people are gonna be in that courtroom."

"I think it's the strongest thing we have to provide doubt that he's capable of rape."

"We should talk to him first before we decide on anything."

"The lawyer's scheduled a meeting with him for tomorrow morning, so we'll meet him there, and we can all discuss what the best direction would be."

(2 days later)

Hannah pulled the key out of the ignition and sighed. Already, she was questioning her choice to come here. She and Julio were never technically together, but it had certainly looked like things were heading that way before he'd started drinking heavily. Things had ended badly between them after a heated argument that resulted in Julio unintentionally smashing the urn that contained the ashes of her deceased sister. Well, in his drunken state, he'd definitely meant to shatter it, but he'd thought that it was just an ordinary vase. This had been the last straw for Hannah. She did meet with him afterwards so that he could apologize, but she wasn't willing to continue their friendship at the time. Maybe she still wasn't, but then why was she here?

She got out of the car and stepped up onto the curb. She was at an abandoned park, which was across the street from a gas station and right outside of a trailer park. Hannah wasn't sure why her former study group pal would be here, but when he'd texted her an apology, she'd felt concerned for her friend. He'd apologized a lot after the incident, and she'd ignored almost all of them until, gradually, he got the hint and stopped messaging her altogether, so his text today had come from out of the blue, and she just wanted to check on him to see how he was doing.

The incident had happened back in late April. Julio had spent the following two weeks apologizing via messages, but faded out after numerous ignored calls and texts. It wasn't until mid-July that they finally spoke, and it wasn't by choice. The boy had shown up at her house without notice and explained that he was sober, as if that would make up for the things he had put her through. She was usually very kind — almost naively so — so when she blew up on him, he'd been extremely hurt. She'd felt guilty, but then she'd remembered the emotions he'd left her with when she'd had to sweep up her dead sister's ashes and then tell her parents what had happened. Her father had been angry and distraught; her mother had cried. Julio had no idea what he'd put her through until the day he showed up to apologize. She finally had an outlet for her pent-up rage then. She'd crushed him and then she never heard from him again. Until now.

At first, she thought maybe he'd left, but she finally found him in a small clearing behind some bushes. He was sitting on his bottom and was pulling up blades of grass and wrapping them around his fingers absentmindedly. He didn't hear her approach, so he took no notice of her until she sat down next to him.

"Hannah...hey..." He was both excited and confused, but mostly excited. "What are you doing here?"

"You sounded kind of down in your texts. I thought I should come check on you in person."

"Oh, I didn't...I wasn't trying to guilt you into coming or anything. I just...I was thinking about you. I just wanted to see if you'd...reply back, I guess..." Julio shrugged, then looked at the blade of grass in his hand again. "...if you were still mad."

She believed him. The only reason he'd given up his location was because she'd asked and, when he'd told her, he wasn't incredibly descriptive because he hadn't expected her to show up.

Julio looked over at her again. "Hey, I'm sorry about...everything I did. I know I've said it a hundred times, and it'll never be enough. I just...I want you to know that I'm trying to be better and that I'm working on changing."

This was evident by his actions. This apology was much better than the last. The last one was a bunch of excuses stringed together. This one showed real growth.

"Are you sober?" Hannah asked.

The young man looked down at his hands again. "Yeah."

It felt weird and kind of degrading to be asked this question. The alcoholism had happened so fast that he hardly remembered how he'd gotten to this point. He'd spent years low-key judging his best friend, and he'd ended up in a similar boat. He wondered if this was how Drake had always felt anytime he was asked this same question.

"Well, I mean, I am now. I slipped up and drank a while ago, so I had to start over," he admitted. "I'm eighteen days sober."

"Have you been going to meetings?"

"Yeah, four times a week. It's helping a lot more than I thought it would."

"That's really good," she said.

"I did a lot of horrible things when I was drinking — and not just to you. I've just been trying to do everything I can to fix those mistakes." Julio wasn't sure which was worse: the knowledge that Hannah hadn't yet forgiven him or the way that Drake had forgiven him way too easily. As he pondered over this, a silence filled the space between them. He didn't mind it; he was just happy to be in her presence again.

Hannah was the first to speak up. "So what brings you here?"

He sighed and took a few moments before answering. "I don't know. I guess..." Again, he was quiet and it lasted so long that his company thought he wouldn't answer, but he eventually did. "When Drake left us, this is where he was living."

"Right before he ended up in the hospital?"

Hannah had never met Drake, but Julio talked about him all the time. It wasn't until Drake had moved in with Dahlia that Hannah and the younger Santos brother had gotten close. There was something about her that made Julio feel like he could open up to her and she had felt the same. They became close friends quickly, but Hannah remained oblivious about his feelings for her until he'd given her the bracelet Drake had taught him to make in the hospital. Things seemed promising for a moment, but the drinking quickly became a problem.

"No, this was another time — like, back in December. He disappeared without a word and was gone for two months. He was in really bad shape when he came home. He told us he'd been staying here."

Hannah looked at the tree in front of them. Normally, you'd see people leaning against a tree and looking out at their surroundings, but Julio was doing the opposite. He was facing the tree and ignoring the rest of the scenery. Hannah examined it closer, and that's when she saw it. There was a heart scratched into it with M + D inside. Meelah had done it, and it was the only thing Drake had left from her, which is why he was always so drawn to this spot.

"Who's M?" Hannah asked.

"Meelah. His first love," Julio answered. Sullenly, he said, "She passed away...in this very spot actually."

Hannah assumed that drugs were involved just because her former classmate had told her about Drake's addiction.

"I don't know. I guess I just thought... This was a spot he visited often. I guess I thought that, if I came here, maybe I'd feel connected to him somehow. I don't know. I just miss him."

"He's gone missing again?" she asked.

"No, not exactly. He's..." Somehow, he always felt at ease opening up to her and she didn't even have to put in any effort. "He's in jail right now. He's been in there for...almost two months."

"Oh," she said with sympathy. "Do you know how much longer he'll be there?"

"Well, he could get out next week...or if they come back with a guilty verdict, then he might be gone for ten years."

"Wow," she said, feeling the weight of his words as if she knew Drake personally. She was an extremely sensitive person, and she was very empathetic about the feelings of those around her. "And what's the likelihood of him being found guilty?" Again, she assumed it was drug-related, but she didn't ask, and he was grateful for that.

"It's pretty likely," he said lightly — almost jokingly — because he didn't want to cry right now, then he brushed his fingers through his hair.

"Is he guilty?"

"No," he said, and Hannah believed him. He was quiet for another moment, then he said, "I just feel like it was my fault."

"How could it be your fault?"

"I just feel like, if I wouldn't have relapsed the night before, then none of this would've happened."

"Does Drake blame you?"

He was a bit taken aback by the question. He hadn't really asked himself this before. He tried to put himself in Drake's shoes. He knew his friend well enough to know the answer to this question. "I don't think so."

She said nothing in response and instead let him play with the thought that maybe he wasn't at fault. Maybe she was right. Maybe he wasn't — not directly. Still, he wished he could've done something. Drake was raped in the Santos house...in his own bedroom...and no one was there to save him. His safe space was now compromised. Everything was so hectic with trying to figure out how to get his friend out that he hadn't really had too much time to stop and focus on this aspect. He wondered if Drake had. Of course he had. What else would he have done when he was stuck in solitary confinement for two weeks? There was nothing to do but think. He couldn't imagine how his best friend had reacted when he'd learned that his semen was found inside of Dahlia...when that realization hit... He'd had no one to help him through it.

"I just wish I would've been there," he said sadly.

"I'm sure Drake knows that," she comforted.

"They have a lot of vegan choices," Dee said. "I think...I think I'm gonna get the curried chickpea salad." He looked up at his boyfriend, whose eyes were pointed down at his own menu. "Do you know what you want?"

"Not yet," he said. By the sound of his voice, it was as if he was mentally far away.

Dee rested back against the seat and looked around. Women were dressed in nice gowns, and men wore suits. The waiters sported red bow ties, and they delivered food to each table via one of those fancy silver platters with the lid. The dim lighting, live piano music and the candles on the tables gave off a romantic ambiance.

"Wow, this place is really nice. I've never been somewhere so fancy," said Dee. "I wouldn't have even known this place existed had Josh not recommended it."

"Mm-hmm," Ricardo said absently.

His partner studied him for a moment. "Baby?"

"Hmm?"

"Hey."

Ricky lifted his head and, when he met his boyfriend's eyes, he could tell he was feeling a bit excluded, which filled him with guilt. "Shit. I'm doing it again. I'm sorry—"

"No, it's okay. I get it."

"I'm not trying to think about him. My mind just starts to wander—"

"It's okay," Dee assured. "I worry about him, too."

He was being sincere. Despite the rocky beginning, he and Drake had become good friends, and he genuinely cared about him. Ricardo looked at him with complete adoration. He was so grateful to have found someone so caring and understanding.

"I'm done stressing about it tonight," the man said. "You've got my full attention."

His partner reached across the table and gripped his hand. He smiled an appreciative, loving smile and Ricky was smitten. He was so in love with the man sitting across from him, and he couldn't stop the wide grin from spreading across his own face.

"I love you," Dee said.

"I—" Ricardo's phone began vibrating. He had the sound turned off because they were in the restaurant, but it was on the table, and it lit up when he got a call. "It's the lawyer..." Scenarios began running through his head again. He wasn't sure why he'd be receiving a call this late, and he wondered if something had happened. He felt bad because he'd just promised that he was finished obsessing over Drake for the rest of their date. He looked up at his boyfriend, his eyes expressing guilt and panic, but mostly, he was silently asking for permission.

"Go ahead," Dee said.

"I'm sorry," Ricky said as he reached for the phone.

"It's okay." He meant it. He was curious for an update and, because the call was coming so late, it must be important.

"Hello?" He spoke quietly because he knew it was rude to be on the phone. However, he was having trouble hearing over the music and the chatter and the clanking glasses, so he excused himself and stood, giving his boyfriend yet another apology as he quickly made his way to the restroom.

Dee was left alone for about five minutes, other than when a waiter stopped by and asked if he'd need more time to order. When Ricardo returned, he sat down with a toothy grin.

"What did he say?" the man asked eagerly.

"He's coming home."

"What?"

Ricky's eyes watered over, but he managed to keep his tears back. He wasn't sure who had made the move, but he found his hand in Dee's. "He knows the DA, and he spoke to him about the case. He's dropping the charges. There won't be a trial. They're gonna let him go."

"Oh my — that's great!"

"He should get out tomorrow or Monday at the latest."

However, when Monday came around, Drake was still locked away in the psych ward and their battle with the criminal justice system was far from over. Despite his charges being dropped, things were a little different since he was in a mental institution rather than jail. If they didn't find him fit to leave, which they didn't, then they could take it to a mental health court, which they did. Judges here, Julio learned, almost always side with medical professionals, and that's exactly what happened in Drake's case. They'd claimed that he wasn't ready for release because of his lack of participation and violent outbursts, as well as the fact that he had started refusing medication (since his embarrassing accident during Dahlia's visit).

Drake was brought back to court a week later and, although he participated more often, they said he still refused medication and got easily agitated with some of his fellow peers. They discussed an incident involving the young man becoming violent and slinging food down the hallway and at another patient when his meal was delivered. To the Santos brothers, the stories the psych doctor shared sounded so unlike Drake, but they couldn't deny that it'd happened when a tape of the incident was played. The boys were sure that, back when he was still in ad seg at the jail, he'd suffered from a psychotic break and, since then, his mental state had continued to deteriorate. Now they hardly recognized him, and he probably didn't even recognize himself.

Again, the judge ruled in favor of the medical professional, forcing Drake to endure yet another week locked away. Visitation was the following day. Desperate for their friend's release, Ricardo and Julio spent their time together trying to convince Drake to take the medications the doctor was pushing. They begged him to endure it for one more week so that they could take him home, and then they'd help him safely wean himself off the drugs. Like many visitations before, Drake didn't talk much, but because he wasn't taking the meds, he was at least somewhat responsive. He cried at their request, but he eventually agreed.

When they came back days later for the next visitation, it was clear that their friend had followed their advice. He was involuntarily blowing bubbles with his saliva and drooling, and he'd been so dazed that they'd had to roll him in with a wheelchair.

Thankfully, though, this did the trick and Drake was released. Audrey rode with Ricardo to pick him up from the psych ward and she sat in the back seat with her son, who looked disoriented, like maybe he didn't understand what was going on around him. She held him in her arms the whole time, even when he slobbered on her like a large, hungry Saint Bernard.

Dee and Julio stayed home to clean up his bedroom and bathroom, and Dee cooked dinner: chicken scallopini — vegan, of course — with a side of steamed broccoli. He was shocked when Ricardo walked through the front door with his arm wrapped around Drake's torso to support his weight. He knew the young man was in bad condition, but seeing it for the first time made it more of a reality. Either he didn't have the strength to move his legs or he just couldn't remember to do so because Dee watched his feet stumble along under Ricardo's direction. Julio hurried over to aid his brother, and they took Drake upstairs. Audrey went ahead of them so that she could fold back the comforter and fluff his pillow. Once they got him laid down and comfortable under his blanket, they asked if he needed anything, but he didn't seem to take any notice to them. His cats jumped up onto the bed to check him out and received no attention as well.

The two brothers gave the boy some space and left him with his mother. Not long after, they brought up two plates of what Dee had cooked. Unsurprisingly, Drake wouldn't eat, even when Audrey tried to help. He had lost a lot of weight, and it was noticeable. It gave his mom flashbacks to the few times he would show up in her life after having been kicked out. His appearance had often deteriorated drastically. He was never ugly by any means, but he looked a bit sickly and like he'd gone days without sleeping.

When he'd showed up one Christmas Eve, he'd nodded out at the dinner table multiple times, provoking an argument between Walter and Martin. Martin stuck up for him then and, now that she was replaying the memory, Audrey realized that it was just so he'd look good in front of her. It made her sick to think that they'd all sat around the dinner table with her son's abuser and rapist. No wonder he had to get high to get through that night. She forced those thoughts from her mind. She was here to comfort, not get upset and make everything worse.

Drake fell asleep pretty quickly, or at least, he looked that way. Still, she stayed with him until nightfall, then Ricardo took her place so that she could head home. He gave him his nightly pills, but changed it slightly to begin safely tapering him off. He turned on the television although he wasn't sure if it mattered or not. He didn't think Drake was all that aware of what was going on around him, and this idea was further supported by the fact that he had to help him undress and change into pajamas. When Ricardo pulled off his friend's shirt, he saw some bruising along his biceps and shoulders, almost like he'd been pinned down. This enraged him. He wanted to do something about it, but he didn't know what, and he wasn't sure Drake would want him to. He'd have to think it over before making any rash decisions, but while the evidence was still fresh, he used his cell phone to take some pictures of the boy's injuries.

Ricardo bunked with him that night and a few other nights after, but mostly, Julio took the responsibility of babysitter. By the end of the week, Drake was at least lucid enough to refuse his medication. Ricky explained to him that he didn't need to quit cold turkey due to possible side effects, but the recent psych ward patient didn't care.

Several more days went by with Drake staying in his bed. He didn't speak and he only ate when he was force-fed. Because he was able to think more clearly without the meds, Ricky thought it was best to put bars over the recovering addict's window again. He felt bad about it and apologized, but he explained that he didn't want to chance it since Drake was in such a fragile state and wouldn't talk to anyone about it.

Pretty soon after he'd stopped taking the platter of medicines, he'd started having frequent, violent nightmares, which his friends would wake him up from. Julio had a palette on the floor because, as Drake's mind became less foggy, his fear of men and unwanted touches returned. At one point when they shared the bed, Julio had accidentally bumped him with his elbow, and his traumatized friend had exploded.

Drake had been home for two weeks, and the Santos brothers saw little change. It was almost as if he were stuck in some permanent state of shock or another paralyzing depression. He had plenty of visitors other than his roommates. Dee would keep him company every now and then. His mom visited everyday, and she sometimes brought Megan or Kenzly along. Mrs. Hayfer came a few times during the week to read to him and, even though he gave her no sort of confirmation that he was listening, she would talk about her days at work and her students. Even Theo stopped by for a short while to offer kind words and support. Still, he remained silent, and his empty eyes were glued to the wall.

No one was there to witness the first time Drake got out of bed without being forced. It was right before bed, and Julio was taking a bathroom break. When he returned, he found his friend laying down like always, but this time, his clothes were different. Drake had been wearing the same pajamas for at least a week, so the newness of it immediately attracted Julio's attention. He quickly recognized his outfit to be the one that had belonged to his father. It had been a while since the boy had put these on or even pulled them out of the drawer they were tucked in the back of. Julio wondered what had brought about this change. Maybe Drake was in need of a father figure right now or maybe he just missed his own. Maybe whatever had happened to him in the hospital had left him confused and emotional and he needed some sort of familiarity. Maybe what had happened to him in there had reminded him of the man who had once tried to kill him. Maybe he spent his passing days reliving these cruel, gruesome memories.

What if they were never able to snap him back to reality?

Audrey lifted her eyebrows with over-exaggerated excitement. "You done?"

Charlie nodded, then she turned her body on the too-large seat so she could peek inside. "Poop!" she exclaimed, then she gasped.

"Look at you! Gimme a high five!"

The girl did.

"Okay, let's wipe your booty." Once that was finished, the woman helped Charlie off the toilet, then lifted her up so that she could wash her hands. "Ope, don't forget the soap. Remember?"

The child squirted some on her hand, then she put her hands underneath the running faucet and rubbed them together. After that, Ms. Nichols set her down and dried off her hands.

"Wait right here, okay? Nana's gotta pee, too."

For a moment, Charlie listened, but she quickly got tired of waiting and managed to open the door. Because Drake and his daughter hadn't been here for a couple months, the Santos brothers temporarily removed the annoying childproof knobs, so the girl was able to escape, and she even left the door wide open, ignoring the woman when she called after her. Luckily for Audrey, everyone else was downstairs, and she knew that there was a gate in front of the two staircases to keep her granddaughter from falling. Still, she hurriedly finished her business and gave her hands a quick rinse.

She was panicked when she exited the bathroom and found that Charlie wasn't in the hall, but then she heard the girl's voice and saw that Drake's bedroom door was open.

"Daddy! You back — oof! Oh, gosh. You back fwom yew twip?"

Audrey followed her into the room and found her struggling to climb up the comforter and get on the bed. "Charlie, you can't stay in here, okay?"

"Daddy's hewe!" she said excitedly. "Look!"

"Daddy's not feeling good, sweetie."

"You sick? You bwing me apwize?" She was still trying her hardest to get to her father, who still couldn't seem to get out of his own head.

Audrey helped her up. "You can see him for a little bit, but then we have to go back downstairs and let Daddy rest, okay?"

"Daddy, you bwing me a puwrpwize?" Charlie put her hand underneath his cheek and then lifted it so that he had to look up at her. "I pooped! And I pwayed ou'side and beat Hoho in a wace! I wun so fast! And Icky gimme cake! And I eated so fast I bout thwowed up! You want some cake, Daddy?"

"Come on, sweetie. Let's let him sleep, okay?" Audrey said. "Then when he feels better, he'll come play with you."

"And yull bwing apwize?"

"Give him kisses."

Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, then she scooted backwards off the bed. As they left, she said, "We can make Daddy soup, and he will be all bettew."

"That's a good idea." She closed the door quietly behind her. "Let's go see if they have some in the kitchen."

Dee added some blueberries to the blender, then said, "We were just sitting there, you know, minding our own business — just having dinner." He looked at Julio, who was sitting on the end bar-stool, with his brother next to him. "And this toddler has been staring Ricardo down since we got there, mind you."

"I felt like he was looking into my soul," the man agreed.

"So finally, Ricardo just looks back at him and smiles and says hi," he continued, "and this kid loses it. His face scrunches up, and his lip starts quivering and then, in this quiet restaurant, he just starts screaming his head off."

Julio chuckled. "He does have that effect on people."

"Fuck you," said Ricky.

"And the parents — they were such snobs — they gave him a death glare, and Ricardo kept apologizing over and over." He was laughing as he told the story and so was Julio. "He was so embarrassed."

"I don't understand what happened," the man said. "I was just trying to be nice."

"You're just a scary person," his little brother said.

"How am I scary?"

"You're a big, tall dude. That intimidates people."

"Dee's the same height, and he has way more muscles than I do."

"Yeah, but he's what you'd call fatally attractive." When his brother scoffed, he quickly explained. "You're a good-looking guy, too — all the Santos men are — but you've gotta admit, Dee's on this whole other level of hotness. Even I'd smash."

The kitchen filled with laughter, and Dee turned back to the counter to add some greens to his soon-to-be smoothie.

"You can't be that hot and be scary," Julio said. "That's just how it is." He shrugged.

Dee spoke up. "I think you're fatally attractive, babe."

This made him smile. "Thank you."

"But you do have that natural bouncer look about you. I think that's why kids are intimidated by you."

"Not just kids," Julio said. "Bruh, Drake's friend Theo was here to pick him up for a sleepover once, and Ricardo gave him the third degree and had him calling him sir."

There was more laughter.

"Drake told you about that?" said Ricky. "He said it one time. I was just trying to make sure he knew I'd kick his ass if he supplied Drake with drugs."

"He's still terrified of you. Did you not see how he acted around you when he visited Drake the other day?"

"I thought he was just a naturally nervous person."

"Nooo." Julio wore a large grin and laughed as he shook his head. "You are just that scary."

"Well, damn," Dee said, stepping in to ease up the teasing on his boyfriend. "You can bring that scary side to the bedroom later. I'll call you sir."

Julio gagged with exaggeration. "Don't make me vomit."

The kitchen filled with laughter again and, in the midst of that, when Julio looked next to him at his older brother, he saw movement behind him. It was Drake. The young man's smile fell and he was immediately filled with concern.

"Hey," Julio said.

Ricardo and Dee both turned their heads, and they, too, saw their friend standing at the bottom of the staircase.

"You're up," the oldest said, both shocked and excited about the progress.

"Are you okay?" his bro asked.

Drake nodded slightly.

"Here, come sit down." Ricardo stood and guided him over to his seat. "You hungry? You want me to make you something?"

"I'm fine." His voice was so quiet that Dee could hardly hear it from the other side of the kitchen.

"Lemme make you some chicken tenders. You in the mood for that?"

"Okay," he whispered submissively.

Ricky sprang into action. Because this was the first time since being released from the psych ward that Drake had made it this far from his bed, he wasn't sure how long he would stay, but he knew his friend needed to eat, so he went the faster route and chose to use the deep fryer. While the oil heated, he poured a glass of soda for Drake. When it was time to cook, he added some fries in with the chicken tenders and dropped the basket of food into the grease. He was going to try to get Drake to eat as much as possible. The boy was extremely thin. Just like in his druggie days, his clothes swallowed him whole, and his cheeks and eyes were sunken into his skull.

"Where's Charlie?" Drake asked so quietly that only the young man seated next to him could hear.

"She's at your mom's."

With that question, it became clear to Julio that the three-and-a-half-year-old was the only reason he had gotten out of bed, and it made him proud of his best friend. Years ago, the only thing that could get him out of bed was...well...Charlie...but not the person. It was the cough medicine that had once fueled him, and all of his loved ones feared a potential repeat of that behavior after everything he'd been through over the last two months. No matter what anyone had tried, Drake had stayed in bed, and he hadn't spoken a word. Not a single person had been able to snap him out of it...until Charlie. She talked to him for all of sixty seconds, and that was all it took. Well, it had taken some hours of self-motivating (in a rather negative way, in fact), but his daughter had kickstarted it all.

When the food was finished, Ricardo served it. Drake lazily rested his forearms against the countertop and picked up one of the pieces of chicken. For a while, he tore the tender apart and played with his food, but when he felt pressure due to the eyes that were on him, he took a bite. Everyone was weird and silent, and Drake didn't like it. He wasn't in the mood to talk, but he didn't want everyone else to keep quiet either.

"What day is it?" he asked softly.

"Wednesday," the oldest answered.

"Like, the date?"

"Fifteenth of November."

November fifteenth. So much time had passed since he was arrested in late August. He'd missed so much. He'd missed out on taking Charlie trick-or-treating. He'd missed his mom's birthday. He'd missed the gradual decrease in temperature. Now it was just cold and harsh.

Ricardo could tell that his friend was lost in thought and, by the boy's question, it was obvious what was running through his mind. As he sat down on the stool next to him, he placed his hand on Drake's shoulder for support and started to gently rub it. However, before he even had the time to comprehend what was happening, Drake had jumped out of his seat and violently smacked his hand away. In the process, he'd dropped the cup that he'd been drinking out of, and glass shattered against the floor and around the legs of the bar-stools, creating a loud, shrill sound.

All eyes were on Drake and, when he realized what he'd done and where he was, he felt embarrassed. He knew that they were suspicious of something happening to him in the psych ward and now this only validated their concerns. His eyes glistened with tears that he was trying his damnedest to hold back, and his hands were shaking. He didn't notice that until he saw the way Julio looked at them, then he looked down at them, too. Here he was again. Always a crybaby. Always a basket-case. Always a victim. Always a fucking mess. Always someone to worry about. He never had any fucking privacy anymore. Everyone knew everything about him. They knew every detail about every bad thing he had done. They knew every detail about every bad thing that had been done to him. He didn't want to be that person anymore. He didn't want to be a victim or even a survivor anymore. He just wanted to be Drake.

Humiliated about why he had flinched or, more so, about the fact that they knew why he'd flinched, he made a quick depart up the staircase.

"I'm sorry," Ricardo started. "I should've known better—"

But Drake was gone.

"Shit."

"I should go check on him." Julio stood up, but Ricardo held up his hand to stop him.

"Let me."

His brother nodded and, while he headed up to Drake's room, Julio grabbed a broom so that he could sweep up the glass.

Once upstairs, Ricky opened the door to Drake's room and found the boy in bed, sobbing so hard that he was nearly hyperventilating. He stepped in before it became a full-blown panic attack. It took a long time to talk him down, and he made sure to give his friend space and keep his hands off of him. He didn't even sit on his bed.

Drake was calm by the time Julio came in carrying the mostly untouched meal and a new drink. He set them on the nightstand and offered to take over for his brother so that he could spend some time with Dee before the man left for work. Julio was probably in there for only three or so minutes before Drake fell asleep.

Drake put the car in park after coming to a stop. It was Saturday morning. He'd spent the last two days recovering from his meltdown he'd had after first getting out of bed. By "recovering," he meant "laying in bed". However, he knew he had to get up and face the world eventually, and he missed Charlie so much. Still, he'd needed a plan.

Before driving to his mom's, he'd stopped by Walmart. Ricardo had expressed skepticism, and Drake offered to drag Julio along for his comfort, but ultimately, the man decided to trust him. First and foremost, Drake desperately needed to buy cigarettes. After getting out of the store, he'd inhaled one after another while sitting on the trunk of Julio's car. The next thing he bought was the surprise Charlie so desperately wanted. This took quite a bit of time. He searched each aisle and nothing felt right. What says "I'm sorry I abandoned you for two and a half months"? That was impossible to answer. The closest thing he could find was an easel, and he got some colorful markers and letter-shaped magnets for it.

After that, he headed over to the pharmacy and picked up one of the many prescriptions that his doctor at the psych ward had sent over. This one was for Xanax. He didn't tell the Santos brothers that he was doing this, but why should he? Ricardo only made him promise he wouldn't buy Triple C's. Plus, this was prescribed by a doctor, so it's fine. He shouldn't feel bad. He didn't feel bad. At least, that's what he told himself.

Xanax had never been a drug he cared all that much about. It's just that, after being drugged by Clementine and over-medicated by the hospital, he...kind of needed it. Plus, it would stabilize his mood and, after everything he'd put his loved ones through over the last few months, he practically owed it to them. He needed to act sane. He needed to acclimate to being home again. He'd probably figure it all out by the time he finished the prescription, and then that would be the end of that.

So here he was, sitting in the driveway in front of his dad's old house. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it not belonging to his abusive father. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to not coming home high and being disoriented as he listened to his dad bitch at him about something or another. Even after all those years of sobriety, it didn't feel normal, and he wondered how much longer he could lie to himself.

Drake looked down at the small orange bottle in the cup-holder. After a moment, he sighed, then picked it up and popped off the childproof cap. The pills were only one milligram, which was equal to half a Xanax bar. Lame as fuck, but it should do its job and nothing more. He poured one — only one — onto his palm, then tossed it into his mouth and chased it down with his bottle of water.

Because he knew the neighborhood, he knew better than to keep the pills hidden in the car somewhere. That's how his father had lost the two hundred bucks he won from a scratch-off ticket. Of course, at the time, he forgot about leaving it in his truck, so Drake was accused of stealing it and had faced a rather severe punishment. He shook the memory from his head as he unzipped his backpack and tossed the little bottle inside. He got out of the car, grabbed the large box the easel was in, then headed towards the porch.

Drake entered without knocking because he felt like maybe that was the least awkward option, but no one was around when he got inside. He peeked into the empty living room and set the box down there. When he turned around, he noticed Charlie leaving the bathroom. When she saw him, she gasped hard, then ran towards him.

"Daddy!"

Drake dropped to his knees to match her height, and he accepted her embrace. He squeezed her tightly and, when he felt her wrap her tiny little arms around his neck, he started to tear up. "Hey, baby," he said, then he sniffled. "God, I've missed you so much."

"I miss you, too."

Audrey exited the bathroom almost immediately after, and Megan and Kenzly both came out of Megan's room when they heard Charlie's exclamation. When Ms. Nichols approached him, he held his daughter with one arm and stood, then wrapped his other arm around the woman. He could hear his mom weeping, and he couldn't help that his own tears were falling as well. Kenzly stepped in and took Charlie so that he could give his mother the full hug he wanted to.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," was the first thing he said to her. It hadn't taken long for his chaos to disrupt her life again, and he felt horrible for that. "I'm sorry I wouldn't talk to you."

"It's okay, baby. I'm just glad you're here now."

He refused to let her see or talk to him in jail and the psych ward, and he even continued his silence for weeks after he got out, but she wasn't even mad at him, and he knew he didn't deserve her.

They hugged each other tightly and for a rather long time. What separated them was when Megan said, "Wow, Kenzly, are all your exes this much of a mama's boy or is it just Drake?"

"Oh, hush, you," Audrey said with a smile.

"Hey, Megs. It's good to see you, too." He gave her the hug she so clearly wanted even though, at first, she acted as though it was a chore.

It was weird for her to see her older brother crying, but he seemed to do a lot of that nowadays. He cried when he first saw her again, he cried when his mom forced him to go down into the basement during the tornado, and here he was crying again. He was quite an emotional person now that he was clean, which was fine; it was just new to her.

Finally, Drake gave Kenzly a hug, and he accepted Charlie into one of his arms when she reached for him.

The young woman kissed his cheek and said, "Missed you, babe."

"I missed you, too." He felt tapping on his ear, then Charlie put one of her hands on each one of their faces and pushed them apart, which made everyone laugh. "Don't worry, Charlie," he said. "You're still my favorite."

"I'm fwavowite?"

"Of course. I brought you a surprise, didn't I?"

"You gomme apwize?!"

"I did, but first, I need you to go clean up a space in your playroom for it."

She wiggled her way out of her father's arms, then dashed down the hallway and into her "playroom", which was the open space full of toys next to the double doors that led out back. Kenzly followed so that she could help and, while Charlie was distracted, Drake opened the box and set the easel up so that it was all ready.

"Oh, wow, Drake. She'll love that," Audrey said.

He was squatted down and peeling open the pack of markers so that he could pour them into the basket. His mother reached down and gave his shoulder a prideful squeeze and, just like when Ricardo had touched him, Drake flipped out. He wasn't nearly as aggressive. However, he flinched and he looked up at her with anger in order to hide his embarrassment.

"Don't touch me! How many times do I have to tell you?!" He didn't have to tell her often, but this wasn't her first reminder either.

Both Audrey and Megan were shocked by his outburst and sudden mood swing. His mother's eyes watered over, and she looked like she was going to start crying all over again. She thought about the way he would flinch at even the slightest unexpected touch, and she knew she was part of the reason he reacted that way. Sure, she'd never abused him or anything like that, but she had married the man who'd changed their son forever. No matter what anyone told her, she would never not feel like what had happened to him was her fault.

"I-I'm sorry," she said, slightly frightened by the sudden fury he'd unleashed.

Guilt kicked in, and it didn't mix well with the humiliation. As if that wasn't enough, he felt like he was suffocating suddenly as little traces of flashbacks popped into his head. He had to get out of this house. He cursed, then he pushed himself out of the floor and stormed outside, leaving a hurt Audrey and a confused Megan.

Once outside, Drake lit a cigarette, then combed his fingers through his hair. He paced wildly for a moment before finally taking a seat on the driveway. He rested against the grill of Julio's car and, without warning, tears began flooding his cheeks. He learned forwards and covered his face with his knees. His hand that held the cigarette rested against the concrete.

A minute or so passed before his mother came outside to join him. She didn't even have time to say anything. The second she sat down next to him, he wrapped his arms around her and apologized.

"It's okay," she said. "I should've asked first." As she held him, she wondered if the memory of his father wasn't the only thing that had him on edge. "Drake...did something happen?" she asked. "If someone did something to you in the jail, you can tell me. You don't have to be ashamed or embarrassed or scared, sweetie."

He didn't answer her question vocally, but his sobbing got harder, and she felt like that was sufficient enough. She held him tighter and rocked him back and forth like he was a child, and she kissed the top of his head.

"I love you. I love you so much." She rubbed his bicep some, then squeezed him closer to her.

With the help of his mom and the Xanax that was beginning to kick in, Drake had calmed down for the most part. He was smoking the cigarette he'd started earlier to further soothe him.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said. "I don't know what got into me."

"It's okay," she said. "I've gotta start remembering to ask for permission." Even now, she had the urge to run her fingers through his hair and hold him tight.

He took in a deep breath, let it out, then turned his head towards her. "Thanks for sitting with me. It really helped."

"I'm glad." She offered a warm motherly smile. After a moment of silence between them, she said, "Well, I think I might go start on some lunch. Any requests?"

He saw that she was about to get up, so he stood first and then helped her onto her feet.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"I'm fine with whatever everyone else wants."

Audrey brushed off her pants. "Well, in that case, it sounds like it's gonna be ice cream and chicken nuggets...in that order. The girls eat that practically everyday."

"Count me in then." As she laughed, he could tell that she wanted to hug him, so he went ahead and wrapped his arms around her, then kissed her cheek. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too." She gave him a tight squeeze before they pulled apart. "You coming in?"

"In a second." He held up his cigarette as his way of saying he had to finish smoking first.

She headed inside and closed the door behind her. Once Drake was alone, he picked up his backpack and unzipped it, then searched for the bottle of pills. He popped the cap, then poured one — just one — onto his palm.

"You almost ready?" Drake asked from his spot on the floor.

"No."

Audrey watched the young man fall against the carpet with exaggeration. Her son had always been the impatient and restless type.

"Hey! No peeking!"

"Okay, okay. Geez."

Charlie was on one side of the easel, and Drake was on the other. She was finishing up her picture and, each time she changed markers, her father had to go behind her and snap the cap on fully. As he did this, he got distracted with sticking all the dry-erase markers together to make a sword like he used to do in school. He had five balanced and was going for a sixth, but then Charlie walked over and grabbed the red one that was just one space up from the bottom, which caused all the markers to come apart and fall on top of the boy. He scoffed, but his daughter took no notice as she went back to her side of the easel.

"Bruh...I was going for a record."

Ms. Nichols watched him gather the leftover markers, then he occupied himself by tossing them one-by-one into the baskets connected to the bottom of the art board. He was still like a kid himself in some ways — maybe because he'd had to grow up a bit too fast. Maybe his playfulness and immaturity is part of why Charlie had taken to him so well.

When the oven beeped, she put on a mitt and removed the pan of chicken nuggets, then she set it on top of the stove. Afterwards, she pressed a button to turn off the oven, then made her way into the open area by the front door. "Wow, very good, Charlie," she said as she looked at the picture.

"It's supwize fow Daddy."

"Lemme seeee," he begged.

"Don't peek!"

The young man groaned obnoxiously.

"You almost done, sweetie? Lunch is ready."

"Almost!" the child said excitedly.

Drake spoke up, "Um, excuse me. I'm 'sweetie'."

"Done!"

"Ooh, I can look?" When she nodded, he did a little somersault to the other side, then turned and looked at the mess of squiggly lines and color splotches. "Oh, wow..." What the hell is that? "I like it. It's very pretty." After a bit more looking, he pointed to one area and said, "Tell me about that. I like that you colored it blue and orange."

"It's silly, Daddy! The mew-mews awe jumpin' on the bed!"

"That's so silly!" he agreed.

"Yew fwavwite colow is owange, and I make yew mew-mew owange."

"I love that!" he said, and watching him talk to his daughter made Audrey smile.

"Can I see yew pictuwe?"

Drake turned the easel around to show her what he had drawn. "Ta-da!"

Charlie examined it for a moment, then cocked her head to the side. Confused, she asked, "What is it, Daddy?"

He scoffed, and his shock made his mother laugh. "It's you!" He pointed to the person in the middle of the white board. "On a skateboard, flying a kite!"

"That don't look like me, Daddy."

"What?! It looks just like you! See? It's got eyeballs and hair and a mouth. Look, she's got on the same shirt as you!"

"Hmm..." The child shrugged, then looked over at Audrey. "Nana, I'm hungwy."

"Go sit down at the table. I'll make you a plate."

Drake's jaw hung open when his daughter just up and walked away without a care in the world about his drawing. Offended, he reached for the eraser.

"Leave it," Ms. Nichols said before he could get rid of it.

"It's ugly."

Despite it seeming like a small thing, she saw this as part of a much larger turmoil going on inside her son. He was an approval-seeker, and not just with his daughter. He needed some sort of validation in everything he did. However, he didn't often get it — not from those he craved it from most, like his father or Dahlia. It was because they didn't give it to him that he was so desperate for it. For years — nearly a decade —he was trained to believe that nothing he did mattered — that nothing he did was good or worthy enough, so then he stopped trying. He stopped putting effort into his music, his goals, his future. He truly believed he would never amount to anything of value.

"I like it," his mother said.

He really did have the best mom in the world. He would never be able to portray to her just how grateful he was that she supported him. She felt like she'd failed him by being blind to all that had happened to him in the past, but she'd learned from that. She was paying much more attention to his body language and his wording, and he was thankful for that. He knew it wasn't easy, what with his emotions changing at a rapid rate. One second, he could be fine, then in the blink of an eye, he could feel like he was a failure, like he sucked at everything he did, and like his daughter hated him — all because she was too hungry to care about his drawing. Because his mom had been paying attention, she was able to intervene before another mood swing. He shouldn't even be able to have mood swings right now. Maybe he should take another Xanax.

"Come on. Let the girls know lunch is ready for me, would you?"

Drake pushed himself out of the floor.

"Oh, and you owe a dollar to the swear jar."

"What for?"

"You said u-g-l-y," Audrey said, then she continued the cheer, "and you ain't got no alibi."

The young man groaned.

"I can't wait until Charlie hits her preteen years and everything you do is uncool and embarrassing."

"I will never not be cool," he said and his mom rolled her eyes.

"We'll see."

"Drive safe, sweetie."

"I will. Love you."

Drake gave his mother one last hug and kissed her on the cheek, then he made his way to Julio's car. Audrey didn't see him off like she usually would because he'd had to sneak out to avoid a Charlie cry-fest. He knew she'd want to spend the night, and he'd like that, too, but he knew he had to gain back some traction with his mom. It's not that she'd lost trust in him and didn't believe his innocence; it's just that what had happened clearly had a big effect on Drake, and she had to be sure he was mentally and emotionally capable of being responsible for another human life again.

The young man got in the car and pulled the door closed. He tossed his backpack in the passenger's seat and, when he did so, he immediately spotting something in the cupholder that didn't belong. It was a little rectangular box — white and purple with the words COLD, COUGH & CONGESTION on it. His heart free-fell into his stomach, and he suddenly remembered that he should've had to use the key to unlock the car door...right?

Without warning, everything suddenly went dark. "Surprise!"

He screamed, then shoved the pair of hands away from his eyes and turned in his seat. That's when he saw her. "Fucking shit!" he exclaimed, panting for breath as if he'd just ran a marathon. "What the fuck?!"

Dahlia squeezed between the seats to climb up front. "You fancy your gift?"

He shouldn't be so terrified of a girl he was physically stronger than, but he was. She looked cool, calm and collected while he was already close to tears. God, and she was just as beautiful as ever.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to see that you're back on drugs, which is why I thought I'd bring you a little something." She picked up the box of cough medicine and shook it. The rattling of the pills let him know that she had gone through the nauseating part of removing them from their packages for him.

"I-I'm not..." he stammered dumbly.

She squinted her eyes in a way that said she was too smart for him, then she picked up his backpack and unzipped it. She found the bottle with ease because it was one of the few things inside. She held up her proof proudly.

"They're prescribed," Drake said. He shouldn't have to defend himself to her, but he did.

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Sure."

The fact that she knew he had pills and knew exactly where they were located let him know that she'd at least been watching him since his meltdown hours ago. "Dahlia, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Dahlia? Since when do you call me Dahlia?" She shook her head as if brushing the thought to the side. "Anyway, why the fuck haven't you been responding to my calls and texts?"

"My phone's broken." After the fight he'd had with Ricardo when he'd had to call and tell the man about his brother's relapse before he'd been arrested, he slung his phone out a second story window. "Look, you've gotta leave, Clem. I've gotta go."

"Well, wait a minute. Lemme talk to you." She eyed him up and down, then said, "You look good..." She shrugged. "...better." It was just like her to make it sound like she was giving a compliment when she was really throwing shade. Dahlia was running her fingers through his hair, then she caressed his cheek.

Drake turned his head away with clear discomfort, and he felt hot tears gather in his eyes. Despite how in love with her he was, he hated her guts and, now when he looked at her, it was hard to see anything other than what she had done to him. She'd assaulted him many times before by ignoring their safe-word during sex, and he'd managed to find a way to blame himself for that for a while. Even now, he still felt like he could've done more to stop it, but not this last time. This time, she'd drugged him, she'd broken in to his home and, while he was blacked out on the concoction of Xanax and whatever else she had mixed with it, she'd raped him. He was seconds away from falling apart, and Dahlia knew this when she saw the way his hands trembled.

"Hey, what's the matter, babe?"

He felt her rub one of his arms gently, then she took his vibrating hands in hers. Earlier, he'd demanded space from his own mother. Where had his bravery gone? He didn't want to be touched, but he couldn't figure out how to voice those feelings.

"Babe, talk to me."

When he spoke, the first tear fell, and the lump in his throat caused his voice to crack. "Can you go?" He sniffled and a couple strained sobs slipped out. He kept his eyes elsewhere because he was too scared to look at her. He felt weak, and that only made things worse.

"Why are you crying?"

"Please," he begged.

"You know you're only out because of me, right? I didn't do you a favor just so I could be ignored and treated like this."

"I don't wanna be with you," he said under his breath.

"Huh?"

It was hard enough saying those words to her once, but now he had to repeat himself with more volume and confidence. "I don't wanna be with you."

For a moment, Clementine was quiet as she studied him. He still wouldn't look at her, and he seemed scared of her. This was the type of thing she got off on. This is what made her feel so powerful. However, his words betrayed his fragile physical appearance, and she wondered when he'd gotten so brave. The last time they'd seen each other, he'd begged for her help and pissed himself.

"I see the Santos brothers are in your head again. You're back to letting them control you."

"They don't control me," Drake meekly disagreed.

"Since I've been here, you've come outside twice to smoke and call Julio for a check-in. They've got you on a tight leash, and you're telling me you don't see that?"

"It's not a big thing. It's just so they don't worry."

"Just so they don't worry," she repeated and it was obvious she didn't believe him. "And what would happen if you didn't call?"

Drake stayed quiet.

"Hmm?" she prodded with a hint of satisfaction in her voice. "They'd send out a whole search party. They'd look for you in all your usual spots and call all your friends. It's still noon. Are you leaving now because they gave you a curfew? Is that why you're in such a hurry?"

"They just suggested it. They gave me a choice whether I wanted to do it or not."

"They gave you the illusion of choice. They played off your guilt, and they knew they could get you to agree to whatever they wanted. They're manipulating you." She could see that she was getting to him and that gears were beginning to turn in his head. "Anyway, you probably just rung him and said you'd be home in a few minutes, so I guess you need to get going before they scold you because apparently, they view you as a teenager. I've got to get going myself. I've been here far too long already. Think about what I said, yeah?"

Dahlia leaned closer and gave his cheek a soft peck. He closed his eyes, but more silent tears dripped down his skin. He didn't want to be kissed or touched or anything by her, but he was too scared of her to speak up. She'd already proven to him that she was capable of anything. She could do whatever she wanted to him or his family or his friends or his daughter. He couldn't win against her. He'd always be entrapped by her.

When she pulled her lips away, she didn't distance herself just yet. Instead, she whispered in his ear, "I'll see you soon."

That was the last thing she said to him before she left and he knew what she meant by it. She was watching him. She was following him and spying on him. He felt a sense of dread and hopelessness wash over him as she got out of the car and flashed him one last grin before closing the door. He would never be able to get away from her. She would always be there. She would always have the ability to fuck his life up however she pleased. If he continued refusing her companionship, how much longer until a group of strangers beat him up again or police showed up at his door to put him in handcuffs or...or he woke up with a knife in his chest? Or maybe she'd go after someone else he loved like she had with Hero. She could destroy anyone and it would be his fault.

Knock! Knock!

"Yo, Drake, I'm about to cook—" Julio saw his friend snatch his comforter over his private region as a swear left his lips. "Shit! My bad!"

"Can't you knock?! Jesus!" The boy's eyes were wide and he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I did knock."

"Well, you couldn't have waited two fucking seconds for me to tell you it was okay to come in?!"

This wasn't the first time that something like this had happened, but Drake wasn't usually this angry, and Julio wondered if things hadn't gone so well at his mom's.

Drake continued ranting. "You guys never give me any privacy! You treat me like I'm a fucking kid! I'm a grown ass man! I don't need you barging into my room or checking up on me every five fucking minutes or giving me curfews like you're my dad! I can't do anything without you two hovering over me and nitpicking every little thing I do! I can't even jack off in peace! Is this okay for you?! Do I have your permission to masturbate a little in private or do you wanna watch and tell me how I'm doing that wrong, too?!"

"Fuck you, asshole!" Julio exited and slammed the door behind him.

"Fuck you!" Drake yelled back.

He was left with silence and it gave him time to reflect on the things he had said out of fear. He hadn't meant to blow up. It was just a knee-jerk reaction and, looking back on it, he knew that it had seemingly all come out of left field. Julio clearly was just coming to ask if he wanted something to eat while he was cooking, but then Drake lost it.

The young man unfolded the comforter. He was fully clothed and his penis was tucked away in his underwear where it should be. Instead, the thing between his legs that he had been hiding was the box of cough medicine — Dahlia's "gift". He sighed guiltily as he looked at the scattered red pills. When Julio had opened the door, he'd literally been in the process of lifting his hand up to his mouth to toss them in, but once the door had opened, he'd dropped them and tried to cover his tracks. For a long second, he'd thought he was busted, but when Julio reacted the way that he did, he'd realized that his friend thought he'd walked in on him playing with himself, so he went with it. His adrenaline was pumping and he'd been scared, but when it came to expressing what he was feeling, he displayed anger, and he found himself regurgitating the ideas that Clementine had fed to him earlier. When he'd said all those things, part of him really felt like maybe he'd meant it. The other half of him felt confused, and he didn't know who to trust. Julio had looked mighty confused as well.

As he stared down at his favorite red pills, he felt sick to his stomach. He thought back on the promise he'd made to Ricardo during his last relapse four and a half months ago. They'd had a heart-to-heart in the car, and Ricardo had broken down and he'd expressed his frustrations and fears about his best friend's drug use. Drake swore he'd never use again and he'd meant it. He couldn't go back on it now.

He gathered the pills and put them back in the box, then he got up and opened the door. He headed down the kitchen staircase and saw Julio sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone as he waited for his food to cook. He didn't give Drake so much as a glance. He was pissed and it was to be expected.

Drake tossed the box on the island and it landed right in front of his roommate. Julio's eyes lifted from his phone screen to see what it was.

"I'm sorry," Drake said sincerely.

Slowly, it all clicked. Drake often got defensive when he was using drugs, and he'd had a few explosions when he'd gotten caught or close to it. It was typical addict behavior to throw the blame around, just like Drake had just done moments ago. He'd tried to make Julio out to be the villain to protect himself, and now he hated himself for resorting to that familiar manipulative behavior. Dahlia had been wrong. The Santos brothers didn't control Drake. It was the other way around.

When he heard a sniffle, Julio looked over at his friend and saw that his eyes were sparkling with tears just before he shamefully hung his head. He slid out of his chair and went over to Drake, then wrapped his arms around him.

When Ricardo stepped through the front door, the first thing he noticed was his brother sitting on the foyer staircase waiting for him. This obviously wasn't good news. "What's wrong?" he asked as he closed the door.

Julio's hand disappeared next to his side for a moment, then when he brought it back up, he held up a box. Ricky sighed with a mixture of disappointment and fear when he saw it.

"He relapsed?"

"Not yet."

"What happened?" He took a seat next to his brother and accepted the box when it was passed to him. He opened it and looked inside to see pre-opened pills piled up at the bottom.

"He blew up on me for coming in his room and, by the way he acted when I opened the door, it looked like I had interrupted his 'private time'. He came downstairs a few minutes later with these and apologized." Julio said, "If I would've went in there to ask him if he was hungry a second later, he would've already taken them."

"Did something happen at his mom's?"

"No, he said everything went fine and that he's just been stressed and depressed lately now that he's back home."

"Where is he now?"

"Sleeping. He passed out half an hour ago."

"Well, I guess I'll talk to him tomorrow." Ricardo turned his head and looked at his younger brother. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah."

"You promise?"

"Swear," he said. "It made me feel better that I was here and able to talk him down. It reminded me that I'm doing the right thing by staying sober."

"That's good," the man said. "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks."

Ricky gave his younger sibling a hug. "I love you, bro."

"I love you, too."

Drake gasped so hard that it hurt his throat. His eyes shot open and he clutched his neck as if expecting to find a hand there, but there wasn't one. He sat up with a sigh and wiped sweat from his forehead.

"You okay?" Julio was looking at him from his spot on the floor.

The young man nodded, then he peeled the comforter off of his sweat-coated body and stood.

"Where you going?"

"To smoke."

"You want me to go with you?"

Normally, Julio and Ricardo would invite themselves anyway, especially since their roommate had been so close to relapsing. They wanted to keep an extra close eye on him. However, Julio could hardly keep his eyes open, and he clearly wanted to go back to sleep. Drake didn't really care if he came anyway, but that's not what Julio was asking. He wasn't questioning whether the smoker wanted his company. He was asking if he could trust him?

"It's fine," Drake said. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Julio believed him, so he laid back down on the floor, and Drake headed downstairs by himself. His cigarettes were hidden in a kitchen drawer. He no longer kept them outside or out in the open after Dahlia had drugged their Tylenol. After he grabbed them, he headed outside and tiredly plopped down in one of the seats, then lit up. He took a long first drawl, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly. This started to calm his nerves.

Lately, a good many of his nightmares had been about the psych ward, but this last one had placed him back at his father's. He was so fucking tired of being too afraid to close his eyes. Life was already horrifying enough, especially his life, and he couldn't even escape from all his traumas in his dreams. He suddenly recalled the time Josh had given him one of his sleeping pills several years ago. His step-brother had started having nightmares after Drake's first suicide attempt. He wondered if he still suffered from them, and he felt bad for being the cause. Having nightmares sucked. Drake was too scared to sleep — too scared to be awake. He was consumed with fear at all times and—

Crash!

The young man flinched at the sound, and his heart began pounding against his chest. He looked out into the yard before him, but he couldn't see much due to the porch light. After a quick debate on which was worse — having no light but being able to see or being in a well-lit area with limited view — he decided to reached through the front door and flip the switch. Once the porch light went off, he was left in the dark, but he could now see much further — even to the neighbor's yard across the street. He saw no sign of what had made the noise, but that's what made it feel so dangerous.

Part of him wanted to run back inside, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't find the source. He could go upstairs and wake Julio up again, but what if they found nothing? He never told the brothers about his run-in with Clementine, and he wasn't sure if he should. They'd tell him to stand his ground and fight back or do something that would only piss her off further, but he didn't want to do that. He'd learned his lesson after spending the last two and a half months either in handcuffs or behind bars or within locked, confined spaces of some kind. She held all the power in her hands. They still had evidence of a "sexual assault". If she wanted to, she could take it to trial and get him incarcerated for the rest of his youth and for a large chunk of Charlie's.

Drake slowly and quietly made his way down the porch steps and into the yard. From here, he could hear a faint noise coming from the side of the house. It could match the sound of someone climbing up the tree and trying to get to Drake's window. What if it was Dahlia? What if she was still getting in somehow after the lock changes and everything? What if she was still fucking with his shit?

He had to take a moment to gather his courage. He'd rather see a knife-wielding burglar than his ex-fiancée. As he made his way to the side of the house, he felt himself getting even more nervous. He wondered what he should do if he saw Dahlia. Should he speak up? Should he pretend he hadn't seen her? Should he scold her or act like he was flattered?

Finally, when he turned the corner, he quickly saw the source of the loud crash and the rest of the sounds he'd heard. It was a raccoon that had knocked over the garbage can. He'd freaked out over a simple raccoon.

He hadn't realized just how fucking terrified he'd been until the relief flooded in. He felt like crying, and he did. Drake leaned against the side of the house as tears started to fall down his face. His back slid down the siding until he was sitting on his bottom. He felt trapped, and it made him sick to his stomach. He felt like he had no control. He usually never did, but somehow, this felt worse than his dad hitting him and his gym coach molesting him and Meelah dying. Maybe because he had help numbing himself to all that thanks to the Triple C's or maybe this genuinely was worse. All he could do was sit and wait for Dahlia's next move. If she really wanted to get back together, he'd have to do it. What other choice did he have? It was that or prison or something worse. She could take her anger out on any one of his loved ones.

Even after the shit she had done to him while they were engaged, Drake had wanted to get back with Dahlia. It wasn't until he was locked in the maddening silence of solitary confinement that he'd realized how much she'd mistreated him. She'd ruined him, and he no longer wanted her back. After having all that time alone to reflect, he'd realized that he'd only ever been a play-thing to her. She was crazy, and she made him crazy, too. He didn't want to go back to that. He didn't want to go back to being manipulated and controlled and laughed at, but if that's what she wanted, what else could he do?

Drake imagined his future with Dahlia. She was acting innocent now, but it wouldn't take long before she went right back to slapping him around. He'd never have a say in anything. He wouldn't even get to pick out his own clothes. And what about Charlie? What if Dahlia didn't want kids...or worse: what if she did? How could he raise Charlie in that kind of environment? What would she think as she watched Clementine insult, scream at and punch her father? She'd think he was weak. He is weak.

It was four a.m. when Julio woke up because he had to pee. When he pushed himself out of the floor, he saw that Drake's bed was empty, then he recalled the nightmare the boy had two hours ago. He suddenly regretted letting his friend smoke alone. He had to go look for him, but first, he really had to pee, so he went to the bathroom first. When he got there, he flipped on the light and saw Drake sitting on the floor in front of the sink. This startled him.

"Jesus, what the hell, Drake?!" he hissed quietly as not to wake Ricardo.

The young man had the cabinet open and was going through all of the things that were under there. He took no noticed of his friend.

"Hey?" His brows furrowed. "Drake...?" He stepped forwards and squatted down next to him, but he knew better than to put his hands on him, and he didn't want to anyway. This was like a scene straight out of a horror movie. "Bro, what the fuck are you doing?" He didn't touch him, but he did take the little tub of hair gel out of his hands, and this seemed to get his attention. "The fuck's the matter with you?"

"...shit..." Drake tiredly started to stand, and he would've fallen had Julio not been there.

Because he was so close, when he inhaled through his nostrils, he could smell his roommate's breath. "Dude, are you...?" He sniffed again. "Are you drunk?!"

He wasn't. He was high on Xanax, though, and in his inebriated state, he'd realized that he needed a cover in case he was caught. His brilliant idea was that he needed the Santos brothers to think he was drunk instead, but because this was now a dry house, he'd had to resort to gargling rubbing alcohol. After that, he got preoccupied with going through the sink cabinet where he'd found it.

"Drinkwhat?" Drake slurred. "Youcan't drink," and then out of nowhere, he chuckled. "You'remybest friend."

Julio started to guide him back to his bedroom, but his friend miraculously seemed to be walking well enough for someone so wasted. "Jesus, Drake, you kinda suck for this," he said with jealousy.

"No, Ididn't suckanyone's dick," he said. "It'sfine. It'sfine."

After waking up, it took Drake a long time to get out of bed. That's what Xanax did to him. It made him want to be productive, but also took away his energy so that even moving his hand to brush the hair from his eyes was a huge feat. It also left him with irritation and anger as his default mood.

As he descended the stairs, he heard the muffled talking in the kitchen cease. When he got there, he saw Dee and Ricardo, and the way that they looked at him made him confused. He tried to recall what he had done last night. In the meantime, he played innocent.

"Morning."

Dee looked at his boyfriend, and Drake attempted to decipher what this meant. Was Dee waiting to hear his boyfriend speak up like planned? Was Ricky about to blow up on him? Did they know what he had done?

As he grabbed the orange juice out of the refrigerator, it reminded him of the Xanax because that's what he'd swallowed them down with last night. He then recalled his "brilliant" plan to keep his drug abuse secret by pretending he was drunk. He didn't remember anything else from last night after he'd gargled the alcohol. He thought he'd went to sleep, but...

After pouring himself a glass, he leaned against the counter and took a sip, using this opportunity to sneak a glance at Ricardo so that he could gauge his mood. When he saw that he was mad, he hung his head and stared at the orange liquid inside the cup. The silence was awkward.

Fuck! Do they know I got high on Xanax? Or did they catch me last night and I just don't remember it? Do they believe I was drunk? He wasn't sure which was worse. Drake, as a friend, thought that them believing he was drunk was worse because then it looked like he was willing to risk Julio's sobriety. Drake, as an addict, felt the opposite. If they believed the drunk story, then that was great because as least he was protected, and he wouldn't have to worry about his secret coming out.

Either way, it was obvious that they knew he hadn't been sober that night. He had to say something — had to explain himself. The only question now was: who was he going to protect? Julio? Or himself?

Drake sighed, then set his drink on the counter, but he didn't look up. He hesitated for a moment, then quietly asked, "How did you find out?"

Ricardo answered him. "Julio found you in the bathroom taking everything out of the sink cabinet and trying to switch all the lids."

Fuck...

"He smelled it on your breath — said you were slurring your words." The man lifted his arms questioningly and sighed with disappointment. "What the hell, Drake?"

"It was a mistake," he said. "I was having a rough time, and I guess I just thought...I could be doing worse things." He was strategically reminding Ricky about the fact that he hadn't relapsed on Triple C's because they both knew things could've been much worse. However, he couldn't pretend like he'd had no other choice than between the two. "I know that doesn't make it better," but it did, and pretending that it didn't also earned more sympathy from his two "parents". "I could've said something. I should've said something. I..." He was quiet for a moment, like he was searching for the words, then he shrugged. "I don't have an excuse. I know what I did was wrong, and it wasn't fair to Julio."

And just like that, he had earned their forgiveness and sympathy.

"I know things are really rough right now," Ricardo said, "but it's so important that you talk to someone about it before it leads to something like this."

"I know. You're right." It wasn't that hard to express shame because he did actually feel that way, although not as much as he should.

"If you wanna drink, that's fine. You just can't do it here. You can come to the bar or spend the night with a friend, but you can't come around Julio like that."

"I know. It won't happen again." He thought his scolding was over, but not quite.

"Should we talk about the way you came down here acting innocent? I thought we were done with the secret-keeping, Drake."

"Sorry," he said. "Old habits, I guess. I'll be better." Next, he asked, "Is Julio here?"

"No, he's at a meeting." The man glanced at his watch. "I've gotta leave in about ten minutes to pick him up."

"Can I?"

"I think that's a good idea."

"Yeah, I'll be over in a bit." Drake took a drag on his cigarette...exhaled.

"Now, Daddy!"

"You hear her?" Kenzly asked.

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Give me, like...half an hour, and I'll be there."

"I think we'll go ahead and walk to the park, and you can meet us there."

"Okay. See you soon. Love you."

"Love you, too, babe."

When their call was finished, he looked at his phone. He had thirty-five missed calls, forty-one texts and fifty-six notifications on Facebook Messenger. It was a daunting number, although a lot of those belonged to Rhinestone while he was in the psych ward and from his mom when he had gotten out and spent weeks in bed. He knew he'd have to talk to everyone eventually, but it was hard enough convincing himself to get out of bed and talk to his family and best friends. His stress level was rising and he considered taking a Xanax or two, but then he heard footsteps approaching and looked up.

The AA meeting was over and people were exiting the building and lighting up cigarettes and chatting. Julio had crossed the parking lot to where Drake was parked. The young man had been sitting on the hood of his friend's car with one knee against his chest, but when he saw Julio coming, he slid off and tossed his cigarette.

"Before you say anything," Drake began, "lemme just start by saying I'm so fucking sorry. I'm the worst."

"It's fine. Don't sweat it."

"Shut up. I'm know you're pissed, and you should be. I'm an asshole."

"Yeah, kinda," he agreed.

"But I did bring you a bacon, egg and cheese biscuit and your favorite hash browns from Bojangles." He grabbed a grease-stained bag from behind him and held it out.

Julio just stared at him for a moment, then broke into a smile. "You really know the way to a guy's heart." He accepted the breakfast.

"I've had a lot of practice," Drake joked. "And for dessert, I'll even give you head — free of charge."

"Fuck outta here." Julio grinned as he shoved the boy away, then he headed over to the passenger's side of the car and got in.

(3 days later)

He wasn't sleeping. It had been three days since he'd last slept. Even when he tried, he just couldn't seem to allow himself to let his guard down. Everyone was starting to notice, too. His eyes were heavy and dark like he'd been punched and left with two black eyes. Physical appearance aside, he was acting differently, too. He was more sluggish with his movements, and he didn't feel like doing much. He was quiet and boring, and even his daughter had a hard time getting him on his feet to play with her.

He couldn't continue to go on like this, but he didn't have many options. It's not like he was forcing himself to stay awake. He laid in bed every night with his eyes closed just like everyone else, but he never slept. He frequently thought he heard things around the house and feared Dahlia's intrusion. He didn't have many memories of the night his ex had drugged and assaulted him, but what he did recall would replay in his head. The haunting flashes left him a complete mess. He'd kicked Julio out of his room days ago, so no one was there to talk him through these anxiety attacks. He felt like he was slowly losing his mind, just like before he was arrested. The only solution he could think of didn't make much sense, but because of his lack of sleep, he was able to convince himself otherwise.

Drake got out of bed, and he quietly slipped out of his room and down the stairs. He turned to go towards the back of the house and entered the small bathroom there. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, then gazed at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit and he'd only continued to lose weight even after being released from the psych ward. He wasn't often hungry since he never slept, and not sleeping made him sick and nauseous when he did force himself to eat, so he'd throw up after. His face was breaking out, and he could easily spot several shiny silver hairs on his head from all the stress he'd endured over the past few months.

Ricardo thought he was on drugs again, which was fair considering his appearance, but Drake hadn't relapsed on Triple C's, and he'd stopped using the Xanax after the Julio incident. Ricky has done two room searches and a car search, and even his own mother was suspicious of him. He could tell because she wouldn't leave him alone with Charlie for longer than five minutes, and Kenzly was obviously on supervising duty when Audrey was at work, although no one told the mess of a father. He was a ticking time bomb, and everyone was waiting to see what would happen when he exploded.

Drake squatted down in front of the sink and reached towards one of the pipes in the back. It wasn't connected to the others, nor was it attached to the sink in any way. It was part of the system that used to hook up the sink, but they'd had to get new pipes a while ago, and the old ones weren't fully removed. The perfect hiding spot. Drake reached his hand inside and soon pulled it back out, now holding an orange pill bottle. His Xanax were inside.

This was his solution to not sleeping. He just had to be careful this time and not use it so much. He couldn't put Julio through that again.

When Megan peeked out the open back door, she saw her little niece sitting on the grass, surrounded by baby dolls and stuffed animals, and she spoke to them. Drake was sitting on the edge of the porch with his feet on the ground. His back was to her, so she only knew that he was smoking because she saw a cloud of smoke rise into the air. He was slightly hunched over, and his head was hung like maybe he felt down. Maybe it was just nerves (this is the first holiday he'll be spending with his family in nearly four years) or maybe it was the memories of past Thanksgivings here that haunted him today.

*FLASHBACK*

"HEY!" Martin boomed from in front of the oven.

His young kids' heads turned in his direction as they gazed at him from the living room. One looked more afraid than the other.

"Keep your voices down, I said!" He was visibly stressed. The kitchen was a mess, with dirty dishes and spilled flour and cracked egg shells. He was sweating, and he'd been cooking since he'd opened his eyes this morning. He'd also been drinking for that long as well.

The children put their attention back on the television, where a giant SpongeBob balloon was maneuvering above a large crowd lining the sidewalks.

"Look, Drake!" Megan exclaimed as if their father hadn't gotten on to them two seconds ago.

"That's huge."

She gasped as they showed a float with characters waving. "There's Patrick! And Squidward! Where's the water?!" she asked her older brother with distress. "They can't breathe without water!"

"They're not actually Patrick and Squidward. You know that, right?"

"What?"

"They're fake. They're people. They just wear costumes, like Halloween."

She looked at the television and examined the characters, then she turned back to her brother. "You're lying."

"I am not!" Drake said. "They aren't real. They're just characters on tv, like Clifford and Santa."

"Santa is real!" she cried. "Who do you think brings all the presents for us?"

"Our parents."

"Then who eats the cookies?" she challenged.

"They do. Megan, Santa is just some guy the adults made up so we'll do chores and stuff to get on the nice list. It's all pretend."

"Stop lying!"

"I'm not lying," he swore. "That's why we have to come here for Thanksgiving. Tomorrow morning is when all the parents wake up early and go shopping for Christmas presents."

"Santa is real!"

"He's not."

"He is!"

"No, he's not."

Megan was so angry that she was turning red. She clenched her fists and shook with rage. "YES! HE! IS!"

Her brother backed down. "Okay, geez." He turned his attention back to the television. "You're such a baby."

"I AM NOT! Daddy—"

"WHAT?!" Martin exclaimed with irritation.

The young boy's body tensed up when their father was summoned. When he saw his dad's head whip towards them — when he saw the anger on his face — his mouth went dry. He looked at his sister. "I'm sorry," he said, but she wasn't having it.

"Drake called me a baby!"

Stomp! Ba-bum!

Drake's rapid heartbeat matched his father's march towards him. "I'm sorry," he tried, childlike and pitiful. He took a step back, then another, cowering away. He turned to his sister for help. "Megan, I'm sorry."

His father was in front of him now. He shoved the boy against the wall. "Why are you calling your little sister names?! HUH?!"

Drake flinched. He was still staring at the girl, hoping she could pick up on the silent messages he was sending her. He'd seen it on tv once where these two siblings could read each others' minds and know when the other was scared or in pain. They had been twins, but he wished it worked between himself and Megan, too.

"LOOK AT ME!" Martin grabbed his jaw roughly and snatched his chin up. "Answer the question!"

"I-I don't know," he stammered.

"You don't know?!"

"No, sir."

He let out a pained gasp when his dad jerked his head closer to make sure he was paying attention. It felt like his jaw bone was going to be crushed by Mr. Parker's bare hands. Drake reached up and tried to pry the man's fingers away, but he wasn't strong enough. His head was shoved back against the wall now and his father's grip only got tighter. A whimper left Drake's lips, then a tear dripped down his cheek.

"Please," he whispered with trembling knees.

"Are you crying? Looks to me like you're the real baby, Drake. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir."

Now Martin bent down so that he was face-to-face with his son. He glared at him dead in the eyes. Their noses nearly touched. He spoke at a volume that only Drake could hear. "If I hear you call your sister one more mean name, I'm gonna snap your fucking jaw until you can't speak at all. Do you understand me?" Again, he shoved the boy's head against the wall and he squeezed tighter.

The child nodded as best as he could. "Y-yes, sir," he stuttered. When he spoke, he felt his jaw give a painful pop.

"Good."

Finally, he let him go, and Drake immediately began rubbing the sore spot.

"Apologize to your sister."

He looked at her. "I'm sorry for calling you a baby, Megan."

"Now you're gonna go stand in that corner, and I'm not gonna hear another word out of you, am I?"

"No, sir."

Martin waved him away. "Well, go on." After his son turned and faced the corner next to the television set, he said, "If your nose comes off that wall, you're gonna be in big trouble. Do I make myself clear?"

Drake pressed his nose into the corner. "Yes, sir."

After that, the man went back to his cooking. It took him a moment to recall where he had left off, then he realized the stove timer had been beeping the entire time. He quickly grabbed a mitt and snatched the door open, then pulled out the pan of burnt bread rolls inside. "Son of a bitch!" he exclaimed as he slammed the pan down on the stovetop. Drake flinched.

Ten minutes passed, then twenty...half an hour...an hour... Martin never gave his son the okay to leave the corner and continue watching the parade, and Drake was too afraid to ask. Instead, Megan heard him sniffling. It only took Megan about five minutes to stop being mad at her brother. She felt bad for him, and watching the parade wasn't nearly as fun without him. It was their thing. They watched it together every year. It had taken a lot of begging and whining on her part just to convince their father to turn the channel to this rather than football, and now she couldn't even enjoy it.

"Drake," she whispered. "Drake. Hey, Drake."

"Leave me alone. You're gonna get me in trouble again."

She turned towards the kitchen and saw her dad stirring a pot. He hadn't checked on them in a while, she'd noticed, and she didn't think he would anytime soon. Megan gripped the television and pushed. It didn't go far, so she gave it another go. She held her breath and pushed with all her might and, finally, the tv started turning.

"What are you doing?!" the boy hissed quietly. "Don't!"

However, she was insistent. Megan continued pushing until Drake could just barely make out the picture. He had his nose pressed against one wall instead of both, and he peeked out of the corners of his eyes. On the screen, a group of Power Rangers was doing a routine full of flips and karate kicks and cool tricks. The Power Rangers were who he had been anticipating most, and now he was getting to see it. Granted, he did miss the first bit of their performance, but still, at least he was catching the end. Endings were always the best parts anyway.

Unfortunately, Drake never got to see the ending. Megan saw how happy what she had done made him, but she could tell that he was having trouble seeing, so she wanted to turn the television in his directions some more. However, when she did this, the tv fell off the stand and crashed onto the floor. The young girl screamed and Drake stared in horror. Glass was all over the carpet. There was no way it was repairable.

He flinched when he heard a loud noise, and he lifted his head to see the kitchen, where his father had slammed the refrigerator door.

"JARED! DRAKE! PARKER!"

"She did it!" he tattled, and now Megan looked scared.

"I did not!"

"Yes, you did!"

"Liar!"

"Boy, get in that bedroom," his dad ordered through clenched teeth.

He didn't have to yell in order to frighten his son. Drake didn't hesitate. In fact, he ran, but he wasn't fast enough to slip by the man. Once he turned the corner and was out of Megan's line of sight, Martin grabbed a fistful of his hair. He held it at his side instead of up, forcing Drake to walk bent over and, because of their fast pace, he kept tripping over his feet until, finally, he fell on the ground. This didn't stop his father, who continued dragging him to his bedroom.

"Ow! You're hurting me!"

"Shut your mouth!" he hissed quietly as he pulled him along.

"I didn't do it! I didn't do it! Please!" He was crying. He clutched his dad's arm and kicked his legs, trying his best to get back on his feet, but he couldn't.

Once they were in the room, the man shoved him to the floor roughly, then he slammed the door shut. When he turned back to his son, Drake was pushing himself up and beginning to scurry away. Mr. Parker gave him a swift kick to stop him, then another. Next, he began removing his belt.

"Please!" The boy held up his hands, symbolizing both a shield and his surrender. "It wasn't me! I swear! Please, don't punish me!"

The child screamed when he was grabbed and yanked onto his feet. Martin led him into the bathroom and he closed that door, too, further distancing themselves from any chance Drake had of a savior. He shoved him down again, and the boy hit the linoleum hard.

"Take them off."

"Please, I'll pay you back."

"You're damn right you will! You think you'll be getting any Christmas presents from me?! Fuck no! That money's going towards my brand new tv! And when your mom sends some of your toys over here after Christmas, you better believe I'm sending that shit back to the store!"

Since Drake didn't do it, he snatched his pants and underwear down his legs for him, then he dragged him onto his feet again. The boy's head was shoved against the counter so that he was forced to bend over. Martin already had his belt ready with one hand.

When Megan put her ear to the bedroom door, she heard a crack, followed by a scream. More followed and she could hear her older brother bawling and begging and apologizing.

The brutal beating went on over the span of the next few minutes. Drake had been in so much pain that he'd even started calling out to her for help. However, when she tried the knob, it was locked. She heard more noises when her brother was shoved onto the floor, then kicked. The last sound came from a slamming door. She panicked and ran back to the living room, too scared to admit the truth for fear that what had happened to Drake would also happen to her. Instead, she allowed him to take the fall, resulting in a beating. Martin finished it off by locking him in his cramped closet, and that's where he stayed for the remainder of their Thanksgiving celebration.

*END FLASHBACK*

Megan pushed open the screen door and, when it slammed itself shut, she saw her brother wince. She sat down next to him, so he moved his cigarette to his other hand to avoid getting smoke in her face.

"What's up, loser?"

He responded to the rhetorical question with, "Mom was looking for you."

"She found me. I was downstairs getting a towel out of the dryer for Kenz."

"Kenz..."

"I know. She's my best friend now," the girl joked. "She decided to stick with the superior Parker sibling. What can I say?"

Drake chuckled. "You gonna steal Julio away from me now, too?"

"Nah, you can have him. He's annoying."

"Since when? You used to have a mad crush on him."

"I did not!"

He turned his head towards her and gave her a knowing look. Megan held his gaze for a moment, then she gave in.

"You knew all this time and never said anything?"

He shrugged and took another drag from his cigarette. "I didn't want you to feel embarrassed about it."

That was actually kind of...nice. Had it been Josh, he would've teased her, just like he did when she went on her first date and got her first boyfriend and celebrated her one-month anniversary. Drake had the ammunition and never used it, which was dumb, but...it was also really cool.

"You never bought me that milkshake you promised me."

"Hmm?" It took him a moment to recall a time after the opening night for Rent when he'd asked her if she'd ever want to hang out and have a sibling day. "Oh, yeah." The fact that his sister was pushing for a bonding day made him feel like she actually did want to spend time with him, and he felt guilty for having put it off so long. "Sorry, I've just had so much shit come up."

"Swear."

He rolled his eyes at having lost yet another dollar. How many did that make this week? He was going to have to talk to his mom about maybe lowering it to fifty cents or a quarter even — at least until he got used to filtering himself.

"Don't worry," said Megan. "I don't actually give a shit."

When they were younger, they'd dared each other to swear a couple times and then giggle at how "badass" they were for whispering the curses, so it wasn't the first time he heard such a word leave her lips. However, it was the first time she spoke one in casual conversation with him. She was fifteen after all, though, so it was pretty normal.

"Hey, I'm sorry I missed your birthday," Drake said suddenly. He'd meant to say it before, but they haven't really spoken too much since he got back from the psych ward.

"Don't worry about it."

"I should've been there." He could've gone. It had taken place while he was lying in bed. He didn't really remember that time too well. There were some things that he could recall, but most of it was just a blur. Even after he got off the meds, his mind was blank.

"It's okay. It wasn't a big thing anyway," she said.

"Still," said Drake, "it was pretty shitty of me not to show." The young man pressed his cigarette into the bottom of the ash tray to put it out. "Are you doing anything tonight?" When she shook her head, he said, "Mom's got me doing the Black Friday shopping this year, which is kinda cool because it's my first one as, like...as a parent." He wasn't sure how long it would take to get used to calling himself that word. "Do you maybe wanna go with me and be my backseat shopper? Make sure I don't pick out a bunch of stuff Charlie already has or that has small pieces she could choke on or something?"

"Yeah," his sister said. "I can do that."

"Cool."

"Where are we going?"

"Um, I don't know yet."

"Great. I'll make the schedule," she said excitedly as she got on her feet and brushed off her pants.

Drake chuckled at her enthusiasm. "Okay."

"Mom, is this...did I do this right or...?"

Audrey stepped away from the table she was setting and hovered over the young man's shoulder to check his progress. "Looks good."

"It's supposed to look like this?"

"Yep. You did great, sweetie." She grabbed a handful of silverware out of the drawer and went back to the table to place it. "You've gotten much better at cooking. Did Ricardo teach you?"

"No, it's just something I've learned over time."

He'd had to. His adventures in culinary arts began back when he lived with Tad. He was thankful that the man let him stay and that he fed him and clothed him and kept a roof over his head. Drake was a helpless junkie at the time, and the only things he could give back to the man when he got home from a long day at work were his body, a clean house and a nice, home-cooked meal. When you think about it in that way, it was no wonder Tad had fallen for him. Tad dealt with work and handling their money, and Drake took care of the house and his partner's sexual needs. It was a perfect match really.

"Daddy?"

Drake looked down and saw his daughter tiredly rubbing her eyes. "Hey, baby, you wake up?"

"I snuggle you."

When she held out her arms, he lifted her up. His heart was warm when he felt her wrap her tiny arms around his neck and rest her head on his shoulder. The young man picked up the dish he'd finished, then carried it over to the table and set it down.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"I'm gonna change her diaper, and then I'll be back to help with the rest." Drake grabbed the things he would need on the way and then took her to his mom's room. He laid the girl down, then removed her pull-up. "We're gonna pee on the potty next time, right?"

The grumpy toddler shook her head.

"No?" He grabbed a wiped and started cleaning her off. "Why not?"

"I wanna weaw a pull-up," she replied.

"But then you can't wear your big girl panties."

"I don't want big giwl panties," she whined.

"Charlie, but they're so cool," her father said as he squeezed some diaper rash cream out of the tube and onto his fingertips. "Nana bought you some with butterflies on them. Don't you like butterflies?"

The child shook her head.

When he finished up, he grabbed a wipe to clean off his hands, then he picked up the clean pull-up. "How about this?" Drake slipped her feet through the holes, then stood her up so that he could finish getting the pull-up the rest of the way. "If you use the big girl potty today and tomorrow without any accidents, I'll take you out for ice cream."

"I want ice cream," she pouted.

"Then you have to use the big girl potty."

Charlie stuck out her bottom lip, and it began to tremble, then she started crying with actual tears.

"Baby..." Drake pulled her against him, then turned and sat down. He sat her on his lap and held her closer, feeling her short arms wrap halfway around his torso like a hug. "You're still sleepy, huh?" He petted the girl's hair, then kissed the top of her head. "You didn't get your nap out? Hmm?" He squeezed her tighter. "I love you. You're my sweet baby — my favorite person in the world." He gave her many more kisses on top of her head, then started rocking back and forth.

He still heard sniffles and crying, but he now suspected that they were fake. That just meant that she wanted his attention, and she deserved it. He abandoned her for two and a half months. Who knew what was going on inside her head? Who knew how that had made her feel? It made him feel like shit.

You were so clever
You kept it together today
By the way

Her weeping decreased substantially when he softly sang to her. He knew then that Charlie was familiar with the song due to the old CDs his mother used to play for her.

I'll no longer ignore you
I wanted to show you again
I'm your friend
Sometimes we just pretend

It always melted his heart to know that she could recognize his voice so easily. She was much calmer now, and her crying had ceased completely.

And all I can say is you saved me
Changed all the things that've made me
Entertaining, thoughts are raining, down we fall

Charlie lifted her head off his chest, and he looked down at her when she placed her tiny hand on his jaw to get his attention. She watched the words flow from his mouth as if trying to see if they were real or if they were coming from the radio again. Whatever conclusion she came to had given her comfort, for she went back to leaning against his chest like before.

It's all okay
When I say
You and I
Take your time
I can't wait
To see you fly

Mrs. Nichols smiled to herself as she looked around the table. It was full of delicious dishes of all colors, and everyone seemed cheerful today. Kenzly sat across from her, with Megan in the next seat. The two girls were chatting away about some show or movie. They always got along so well. Beside Audrey and across from Megan was Drake. He was leaned over with a toothy grin as he tore the turkey into small pieces, all the while making silly faces at his daughter, who giggled.

Things had been rough for her and her family over the last few years, but finally, things were getting back to the way they should be. Everyone was together and having a good time, and it was nice, even if it just lasted for today.

"Okay," she said with a raised volume to get everyone's attention. "Since it's Thanksgiving—"

Megan groaned. "You're not gonna make us go around the table and name something we're thankful for, are you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am, and since you're one step ahead of me, why don't you start, sweetheart?"

Drake tried to hide his smirk, but his sister saw it and kicked him under the table. "Ow!"

"I am thankful," Megan started, "that Mom made most of the food this year and not Kenzly because Easter brunch was a disaster."

The older girl scoffed! "Look here! If you think I'm ever cooking for you again, think again!"

"Somehow, I think I'll live."

Everyone laughed, including Kenzly, who playfully shoved the girl and exclaimed, "You brat!"

"Ooooh," said Drake. "Swear."

Charlie gasped. "Ooooh! I get a dollaw!"

"Okay, Drake," his ex said with accusing eyes. "I'll remember that."

"Hey, it's about time someone else starts paying up other than me."

His mother spoke up. "Or you could just not swear at all, and no one would have to pay up."

"But then how would I ever pay for Charlie's college? Really, I'm doing her a favor when I say bad words. Right, Charlie?"

"Wight!" She had no idea what he was talking about, but she would agree to anything he said.

"I'm changing the name from 'swear jar' to the 'Cussing for College Collection'. Swearing is now welcome — encouraged even. I'll start." He opened his mouth—

"You better not!" Audrey interrupted. She quickly placed her hand over her son's mouth, and everyone broke out into laughter, even Charlie, although she wasn't sure why.

"Nana silly!"

When everything died down, Kenzly took her turn. "I'm just thankful to have you guys. Since I was little, you've always opened your doors for me." She looked at Audrey. "You've always treated me like one of your own, and you've done more for me than my own mom ever did."

The woman smiled, then reached across the table to squeeze Kenzly's hand. "And we love you being here," she said. "I'm thankful that all of you are here and that we're sharing this lovely meal—" She turned to her son. "—and that you're back and sober."

The corners of Drake's lips twitched upwards into a small smile, but it didn't stay that way for long. He had noticed her reach for him, then remember not to touch him, so he allowed her the contact she wanted by giving her a hug. "I'm glad I'm here, too."

He was surprised that he actually meant it, but he really did. He was glad to be here — in the house of his father, mere feet away from the basement he used to be locked in for sometimes weeks at a time, a couple steps away from the counter he had been forcefully bent over, pinned down, and assaulted. Coming here was still hard for him and, sometimes, he couldn't do it. Sometimes, he still had to stay outside. Otherwise, he feared he might see a familiar figure round a corner and bump into him. Sometimes, he could swear he did see him...out of the corner of his eye...watching him still...

"What about you, sweetie?" Mrs. Nichols asked. "What are you thankful for?"

"I guess I'm just thankful for...second chances," he said, "...and third chances and fourth chances." He couldn't really meet anyone's eyes, but he felt more comfortable when he heard them chuckle at his joke. "I know I've messed up a lot. I wanna be better. I'm trying to be better." There were so many things he was thankful for, but he'd be here all night if he named them all. However, he did want to shoutout one more. "And I'm thankful for this little one right here."

He brushed his fingers through Charlie's hair and, oblivious to what was going on, she pulled the piece of turkey from her mouth and offered it to him.

"Nah, baby, you keep that."

"Before we eat," Audrey said, "let's say a prayer."

Suddenly, everyone around the table began holding hands like this was a normalcy. Drake was confused at first, but he took his mom's hand when she held it out to him and then accepted Charlie's, who seemed to already know the drill. He bowed his head when they did and listened to his mother's prayer. He knew she went to church every Sunday morning now, and he supposed that the hell he'd put her through had led her to find comfort in religion. It's not that he wasn't religious. He believed in a God, he supposed, although He never answered his prayers when he'd begged for his father's sobriety and love. Religion was one of those things that was never on the forefront of his mind, and it used to not be a big thing in their family. He wondered if Megan and Kenzly both held strong beliefs like his mother or if, like him, they were going along with this to appease her.

When the prayer was over, they began eating and chatting. Drake considered asking about the whole church thing, but he thought maybe it would lead back to memories of how lost his mother had felt when he'd left, so he decided better of it.

"Megan, honey, later tonight, I need you to help me get the Christmas lights and things from the basement," Audrey said.

"But I was gonna go out with Drake tonight."

The young man looked at his mom cautiously, like he was scared of disappointing her or doing something she didn't approve of. "I guess I should've asked if that was okay with you first."

"Oh, no, that's okay, sweetie. You go on with your brother."

"You sure?" Drake asked, clearly feeling guilty. Although this was his family, he still felt kind of like he was intruding on their traditions.

"We can decorate tomorrow. Do you think you'll be able to come over?" she asked, hoping he would join. "I'll make some hot chocolate and we can all put up the tree and listen to Christmas music."

"Yeah, I'll come," he promised, and he received a smile from his mom.

"When are you two leaving tonight?" Kenzly asked.

When Drake looked at Megan for an answer, she replied, "The first store opens in thirty minutes, but that's it for the next two hours, so any time before then."

"Every year, the stores open earlier and earlier," Audrey said. "They don't give people time to spend with their families anymore."

"Well, we can leave later," Drake offered, caught between pleasing his sister and his mother. He hoped neither one ended up hating him for whatever the outcome turned out to be.

"No, that's fine, dear. I've been up cooking since four this morning. I'm gonna turn in early tonight so I'm all rested up for tomorrow when we lug everything out of the basement."

The conversations ranged from the Thanksgiving parade on tv to Drake's, Megan's and Kenzly's romantic relationships (or lack thereof) to Audrey's tales of holidays past and the cute things Charlie had done during recent ones. Everyone had a wonderful time.

After dinner, Audrey gave everyone hugs and stopped them all from helping clean off the table. She swore she would handle it herself after she got out of the bath. Because the first store that had opened was a clothing store that Kenzly wanted to go to in order to look at shoes, she went ahead and took Megan and left Drake at home. Ms. Nichols was surprised when she entered the kitchen in her nightgown and saw the table cleared off and her son standing in front of the sink, working on a load of dishes. She helped him finish up, then he laid down with Charlie because her full belly and all the excitement of the day seemed to wipe her out. He was exhausted himself, and he'd started to doze off for a moment, but he forced himself to get up. He saw that Megan and Kenzly were back home when he left the room and, pretty soon after, Drake and his sister were out the door. He'd tried to invite Kenzly despite the fact that his mom had given him a list of presents she wanted him to get for her, but she refused because his ex also secretly had a shopping list from Audrey, but with a list of gifts for Drake and Megan and even a few things for the Santos boys. After sneaking a photo of her daughter's schedule, she passed their plan onto Kenzly so they wouldn't bump into each other. That way, her children would be extra surprised by what they received Christmas morning. Audrey was already so excited and couldn't wait for the arrival of her favorite holiday.

The second Drake exited the gas station, he tapped the end of the cigarette box against his palm a few times, then opened it, pulled one out and lit up. He trashed the plastic he had torn off, then he walked over to the car. His sister had the door open and was sitting sideways in her seat as she looked down at her phone.

"Here." Drake held out a Peace Tea, and Megan took it, then he leaned back against the car and squatted while he smoked. After a moment, he sniffled. "It's fucking freezing." He wore a measly jacket while she had on a coat, and it was so cold that he could see his breath.

"Why didn't you wear something thicker, stupid?"

"I didn't know I was doing this until right before dinner when Mom asked me. I guess I should've stopped by my house and grabbed something."

"Look." She held her phone in front of his face to show him one of the pictures they'd taken together as they waited in line outside a toy store.

"We cute," he said, but he really only believed that to be halfway true. She looked great; he, on the other hand...oof. That's the first word that came to the boy's mind. Drake looked extremely thin and, despite eating two full plates tonight, he hadn't gained his weight back after being released from the psych ward.

Megan went back to admiring the image some more. "I think this is the first picture we've taken together since...since that time Mom and Walter made us all do that family portrait."

"Shit, I think you're right."

Instead of focusing on this, though, he pondered about what the other half of his former family was doing. He wondered if Walter had moved on or if he was still hung up on his ex wife. He hoped he'd been just as satisfied and happy having Josh and his girlfriend to celebrate Thanksgiving with as Audrey has been with the two young women, toddler and man she had shared her dinner table with.

"Do you still talk to them?"

"Hmm?"

He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Josh and Walter? Do you keep in touch?"

The topic was more serious, so she let her phone dangle in her hand as she spoke. "I guess not that much. Josh still comes over sometimes, but I don't really see Walter."

Drake hesitated for a moment before he asked the question he really wanted to. "Why'd they split?"

Megan was quiet. He wasn't sure if it was because she didn't know or she didn't like to talk about it or she didn't want to hurt his feelings, but he needed to know.

He asked again, but in a different way. "Mom told me he left because she cheated. Is she lying?" He knew she cheated. He'd accidentally walked in on it back when he still lived with Martin. He just needed to know if that was actually why they'd broken up.

"I guess it's not really lying, but...it's not the whole truth." She explained further. "Walter told everyone when he came back that night those guys broke in that you ran off. Mom believed it for a while, but then you could see the gears begin to turn, and she started to think those guys had actually killed you. She was a mess. Things got so bad that she eventually had to check herself into a mental hospital. While she was there, he finally told everyone the truth about him making you get out of the car that night even though you begged him to let you stay. When Mom was released, things were good for a while, but...I don't know. I just don't think she was able to forgive him for kicking you out."

This was the answer he had been afraid of. He'd caused yet another divorce for his mother. How many more times would he get in between her relationships?

"After she admitted to cheating, I think she thought he would leave, but he didn't. He wanted to work things out. As far as we knew, you could've been dead, and sometimes she couldn't even stand to look at him because she felt like your death would've been Walter's fault — that your blood was on his hands. Finally, she told him she wanted a divorce."

"Damn."

"I don't think you should feel bad," his sister said. "She didn't love him anyway."

He turned to her with surprise. "She told you that?"

"No. I could just tell. I think she panicked a little after her divorce from Dad because she had to start all over, but then she met Walter and settled for him because she felt like it was better than being alone."

This made him feel sad. His mom deserved to be with someone she had true feelings for. She deserved the world. She was the greatest person he knew.

Drake tossed his cigarette butt, then stood. He didn't want to end their night on a sad note, so he cut the conversation short. "You ready?"

"Geez, you look like hell, dude," Julio said when he saw Drake.

The young man just yawned, then put his gaze back on the stove, where he had bacon sizzling in a pan.

"You sleep at all?"

Drake shook his head, yawning again and, this time, it made his bloodshot eyes water over. Megan had spent the night, so she stayed in his room and he took the couch. Even if she wouldn't have been here, allowing him to sleep in his room like normal, he didn't think he would've been able to sleep. He'd left his bag with his Xanax at his mom's on accident and, when he did manage to doze off, he'd suffered from a sleep paralysis nightmare. When he managed to snap himself out of that, he was too scared to go back to sleep, so he sat outside and chain-smoked until the sun came up.

"How'd it go last night?"

"Good," he replied shortly. He wiped his blurry eyes, then flinched when he heard a sudden beep. Drake pressed a button on the stove, then grabbed a mitt and opened the oven door to pull out the biscuits.

Suddenly, there was a click that sounded distinctly like that of a camera. Both boys were momentarily freaked out, but more so Drake due to what he was dealing with from Dahlia. However, when they turned towards the entrance to the kitchen, they saw Megan.

"What the hell was that for?" Julio asked.

"Just testing it out." She approached the island and took a seat on one of the bar stools, then showed off the device in her hand. "Drake got me this camera last night as a late birthday present."

"Wow, that's dope."

"It's a really good camera. I've been wanting it for months." When her older brother turned and set a plate in front of her, she thanked him and put her camera down.

"You're not gonna make your best friend a plate?" Julio pouted.

Drake rolled his eyes, then he grabbed another dish from the cabinet and filled it up with eggs, bacon and a biscuit. "Can I use your phone?" he asked. He'd broken his after slinging it out the second story window during an argument he'd had with Ricardo days before his arrest, and he has yet to get himself a new one.

He and Julio traded the breakfast and cell phone, then the young man went over to the side door and opened it. Instead of food, his breakfast of choice was a cigarette. It was still cold outside, although not quite as bad as last night, and he was still sniffling. He dialed his mom, then put the phone to his ear.

"What'd you guys get last night?" Julio asked the girl sitting next to him.

"Nunya."

"Brat."

She smiled. "He got Charlie a drum set."

"No way! That's so cool!" He was already picturing himself teaching her how to play. He never really liked kids and actually kind of saw them as a nuisance, but when music was involved, that was different. He could go on and on.

Both of their heads turned towards the staircase when they heard rapid footsteps. Ricardo entered the kitchen and went straight for the coffee pot.

"S'up, bro?"

"I'm so late," he said. "My alarm clock stopped working. Hey, Megan. I didn't know you were here."

Drake came back inside now and returned the phone to its rightful owner.

"What did Mom say?" his sister asked.

"She wanted me to keep everything hidden here for a while and to go ahead and wrap it." To Ricky, he said, "I made breakfast."

"I'm not gonna have time to eat."

The man grabbed his favorite travel mug from the cabinet and poured in some coffee. While he did this, this morning's chef fixed him a meal to-go in a Tupperware bowl.

"What time you gonna be home?" Julio asked.

"I get off at ten." He quietly recited his checklist to himself, "Keys, phone, wallet, coffee..." Ricardo put the lid on the cup. "Alright, I'm out."

Drake had just finished snapping the lid on the bowl. He held it out for his friend as he passed.

"Thanks. You're the best. Y'all behave today, alright?"

'Behave' meant a lot of things. It meant don't destroy the house. It meant don't start fighting. It meant don't drink or get high. It meant don't make stupid decisions. It meant keep in contact with either him or each other if things go wrong. He was met with silence from his friend and a half-hearted groan of agreement from his bro. This was concerning, so he stopped in his tracks and eyed each one.

"I'm an angel," Julio said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ricardo rolled his eyes, then moved his gaze to Drake, who was equally sarcastic. "We'll be good, Dad."

Dad is something they called him when he was being a little too overbearing or protective. It was still appreciated — at least on Drake's part — but it was fun to tease their roommate with yet another nickname he wasn't a fan of.

"Megan, you keep these two boys in check today. You're in charge," Ricardo joked right back. "Julio, you're going today, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

With that, the man was off to work.

"Going where?" the girl asked.

Drake spoke up to change the subject because, the last time they talked about it, Julio was trying to keep things under wraps. "Megan—"

"No, it's okay," the younger Santos said, then he answered her question. "I've gotta go to an AA meeting."

Drake watched his sister's reaction. This was the first time his friend had opened up about it to anyone that hadn't lived through those hard times with him, and he hoped Megan didn't say or do something to discourage or insult Julio.

"Is it helping?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think it is," he said. "Being around people who know what I'm going through and working the twelve steps is part of what keeps me sane."

"Which step are you on?"

"Nine: making amends, which reminds me — remember when we were all little and your hamster got hit by a car and died?"

Drake whispered under his breath. "You son of a bitch."

"It was actually me and not Drake who took him outside. I just wanted to see how fast he would roll down the driveway in his little ball."

"See?!" Megan's brother exploded as if he'd been trying to tell her all along. "I got so much shit for that, and you practically tortured me for three months because of it."

"Oops," she responded innocently with a shrug of her shoulders.

Julio laughed.

Drake opened the door to the Santos home with Julio in tow. He'd just picked his friend up from his meeting and, while he was gone, Kenzly had gotten dropped off, so her and Megan were waiting for them in the living room.

"Daddy!" Charlie ran straight for the man, and he lifted her up into the air.

"Hey, baby," he said, equally happy to see her as she was to see him.

As he spun her around and played with her and tickled her, Julio took a seat in his brother's favorite recliner. "I'm bored. What's the plan for today?"

He was met with silence for a while, but then Megan got an idea. "I know. I can take pictures of everyone with my new camera."

"You got a new camera?" Kenzly asked.

"Yeah." She disappeared into the kitchen, then soon returned with the bright red camera.

"Oh, wow! It's the one you've been wanting!" the older girl said, excited for her.

"Drake got it for me."

"That's sweet."

She turned it on. "See? I've already been testing it out on his cats." Megan passed her the camera so she could scroll through.

"Lemme see," said Drake. He put Charlie down, then tiredly plopped down on the couch next to his ex. He was already worn out from greeting his daughter. He learned closer to Kenzly, who tilted the camera so they could both see. His heart melted with the first image. "Look at my cute babies!"

Both curious and jealous, Charlie tried to climb up to his lap. Her father didn't let her struggle for long before he helped her up.

"Tha's mew mew?"

"Yeah."

"They tooka pictuwe?"

"Yep," said Drake. "Charlie, I can't see, bruh. Here, sit with me."

When they finished, Kenzly said, "Megan, these are good."

"They'll be even better when I get home and edit them."

"My cats are so fancy," said Drake. "They're gonna have professional pictures."

"Megan's good, too," the older girl hyped. "She's taken a lot of the pictures I have on my Facebook. Sometimes, she likes to practice on me, and I just like to get cute and model."

"I could use a new profile pic," Julio said. "I've had the same one for, like...I don't know...months."

Kenzly added, "And I'm pretty sure Drake's had the same one since he first made his account."

"That's false. I changed it after me and Clem broke up."

"Why do you look like you're seventeen in your profile pic then?"

"Well, I don't take a lot of pictures, so I had to use an old one."

"Thanks for proving my point. Come on." Kenzly stood, then held out her hand to help him up. "Megan, Charlie and I will scout a cool spot to take pictures, and you and Julio go get cute."

"I'm already cute," Julio said, but he got up and headed upstairs to his closet anyway.

"Oh my God. Delete that one." Kenzly took the camera from the young girl to do it herself, and Megan laughed.

Julio came down the foyer stairs and entered the living room. "He fell asleep, so I guess it'll just be us three playing."

"Charlie's asleep, too?" the oldest asked.

"Yeah. I got his wallet, though." He held it up. "Let's order pizza."

"Ooh." Kenzly pushed herself off the couch and grabbed the wallet, then pulled out her phone. "Cheese and pep or what?"

"I'm good with whatever. Get one with veggies for Drake, though. No olives."

"Olives on half," Megan said.

"So that," the boy said to Kenzly, "and I'll eat whatever you're eating. Megs, you wanna pick out some games?"

She followed him to the hall closet and scanned their collection. "Geez, you have so many."

"We played a lot when we were both getting sober to distract ourselves. My brother came home with a new game just about every week."

"Drake sucks at board games."

"I know. Like, I think it's statistically impossible to lose as much as he does, but somehow, he manages to do it."

After a moment, she pointed to one with a light blue box. "This one any good?"

"Yeah, I liked it."

She chose that one, then they headed to the kitchen so that they could play at the small table. Kenzly just finished placing the order and paying with Drake's credit card, so she took a seat in a chair.

"Okay, what are we playing?"

After their nap, Drake and Charlie ate pizza and watched the end of the game the other three were playing. They all hung out and talked for a while longer before heading to Drake's mom's. He wasn't hungry because of his late lunch, but Ms. Nichols insisted that he eat dinner with them, so he did. It was dark before he left, and he had Kenzly in tow. He stopped by the dollar store for wrapping paper and candy, then they headed back to his place.

Drake sent his friend downstairs to fetch tape and a pen out of the junk drawer in the kitchen and, while she did that, he quickly got Charlie's gifts out of the closet, then pushed Kenzly's further back and tossed a blanket over them. After that, their wrapping party of two began, and they wrapped presents and ate candy for the rest of the night. Well...most of the night.

A moan left the woman's lips as Drake's hand crept underneath her shirt and squeezed her breast. Things were hot and heavy now. Her knees were bent on either side of him like she was already ready for him. Their kiss was deep and involved tongue. He was already coated with sweat and his heart was beating quick. He went for the buttons of her jeans and unhooked them, then pulled them and her panties down her legs. Afterwards, she gripped his collar and tugged him closer, then she began sliding his shirt up and over his head. He followed up by removing hers as well, then his hands were on her boobs again, and his lips were on her lips.

The two made out for a bit longer, with a lot of heavy petting going on, then Kenzly reached down to his pants. Drake pushed himself onto his knees and eagerly unbuckled his belt, then unzipped his jeans. He took them and his boxers off, leaving him completely exposed and his ex in her black laced bra. She pulled him against her again and, finally, he penetrated her. The young woman let out a satisfied sigh of pleasure. Her partner made it one more pump before...

"Uhhnn..."

Once it happened, he froze with embarrassment. Despite the short amount of time he lasted, he was panting, and it took all the strength inside him not to collapse against her. It felt like an eternity that they stayed like that, but finally, Kenzly broke the silence.

"You must've been waiting four years for this, huh?" she joked.

He rolled off of her and rested on his back with a tired huff. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, like Shit or I'm sorry or I don't usually cum this fast. However, nothing sounded like it would make the situation any less humiliating.

The girl saw his embarrassment. "Hey, don't sweat it. Happens to the best of 'em."

"It's just been...a long—"

"I know."

For the first time since his release, he spoke about his experience in the jail and psych ward. Actually, it was more of a ramble. "There were always cameras and guards randomly peeking through the glass to check in, so I couldn't really jerk off, and it's been months, then when I got out, the meds were really fucking with me until recently—"

"Don't worry about it, babe." Kenzly rested her head on his shoulder and laid her arm across his stomach. Her legs were tangled with his. "We'll try again when you're ready for round two."

Had it been Dahlia here instead of Kenzly, he never would've heard the end of this. She would've teased him to no end about the mishap and, because he was used to that toxic relationship, he'd expected that sort of reaction now. However, Kenzly was much more mature and understanding about it, and he could tell she was being genuine and not just trying to be nice to cover over the awkwardness. It made him remember just how much his childhood best friend had always done for him and how badass she was when she stood up to Clementine for him and how cool she was when everything with his dad had come out. Laying here with her now, he couldn't really understand how he'd let her go — how Clem had convinced him to end their friendship.

Drake tilted her head and pressed their lips together. As they kissed, he could've sworn he felt something for her — something that came from his heart rather than his penis. He'd always loved her just like anyone would love their best friend, but this wasn't that. It was something much more and he knew what it was because he had felt it twice before: once with Meelah and once with Clementine.

The next night, Drake went to bed alone. He had a hard time falling asleep and, after an hour and a half of laying there, he got up and popped a couple Xanax. Afterwards, he smoked a cigarette, then went back to bed. Even with the pills, it took more time to get to sleep than it should've, and he wasn't asleep for long. It was about two-thirty in the morning when he awoke from a sleep paralysis nightmare — his second one this week. It was fucking stupid that all this time had passed, yet he still couldn't stop thinking about his father. The fact that he had been paralyzed made it so much worse because he wasn't even able to move out of harm's way. All he could do was lay there waiting for pain.

Drake wanted another cigarette, but he was so exhausted that he'd rather go back to sleep. However, sleep paralysis didn't usually end until he forced himself to stay awake for at least a little while. He decided to chance it anyway and, as a precaution, he turned over onto his other side in hopes that the movement was enough to trick his body into thinking he'd gotten up for a bit, then laid back down. Suddenly, though, when he flipped over, he came face to face with a nightmare. Drake screamed and pushed himself out of bed so fast that he fell backwards.

"What's wrong, baby? You have a bad dream?"

It was Dahlia, and she was sinisterly smiling down at him. That's not what captured his attention, though. Instead, his eyes were on the large knife she held in her hands.

"Ricardo!" he called, but it wasn't as loud as he'd hoped. It was hard to speak as he watched her trace her finger along the sharp blade. When his ex fiancée stood, he scooted himself back with his elbows and heels. "Don't."

"Does this feel familiar to you?" the young woman asked intimidatingly. "Does it...remind you of anyone?"

He was so startled by her presence that he couldn't think about escaping or fighting back. He just sat there trembling as tears welled up in his eyes.

"Maybe I'll finish what your dad failed to do."

"Please..."

"Let me just ask you this one question, Drake." She came closer, so he scooted back some more. "Are you cheating on me?"

"What?" he cracked out.

He immediately regretted saying it, for she stormed towards him. The terrified young man moved away further until he found himself backed against the wall. He didn't have time to process this before she grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his head against the wall in a way that forced him to look up at her, then she put the point of her weapon against his Adam's apple. His tears now found their way to his cheeks, and he began hyperventilating.

"I said," Dahlia started again, "are. you. cheating on me?"

"No." He shook his head. "No."

"I'm only gonna ask you this one more time, Drake, and I want the truth. Are you cheating on me?"

"I'm not, I-I swear."

He felt relief when she pulled away from him, but only for a moment. Clementine moved over to his television, then turned it on. On the screen, angled as if looking down at his bed, was an image of his naked body from behind. He could see legs spread on either side of him, which belonged to Kenzly, but because he was on top of her, nothing more of her could be seen.

"That was a pitiful two seconds if you ask me," Clementine noted tauntingly. She had watched him thrust into his best friend twice and then ejaculate. She turned on Drake now. "You lied to my face." Her anger frightened him.

"Don't," he begged as she came towards him again, knife in hand. "Don't, please. Don't! Julio!"

He pulled his knees against his chest and shielded his face with his arms. Now that he was in darkness, flashes from the night his father died played in his head. Just like before, he was blind to the oncoming danger, but he knew it was inevitable. He'd escaped death then. He wouldn't get lucky enough to do it again.

"Drake?! Hey?! Drake?! Hey, it's me! It's me! Look, it's Julio. It's just me. It's okay. It's just me." He had his hands on his friends cheeks to force him to look at him. "It's just a nightmare. You're okay."

"She's here!" he choked on a strangled sob.

"No one's here. You're safe."

"She's in here! She has a knife! She's trying to kill me!"

"It's not real. Hey, look at me. It's not real."

Drake's gaze moved past him to Ricardo, who stood over the two with his boyfriend, concerned as to why the young man was freaking out on the floor. His friend was a pitiful sight. "Please believe me."

The last time he'd said those words to him, Ricky didn't believe him and Drake had been drugged, raped, arrested and framed for sexual assault. Naturally, he was inclined to believe that this was just another nightmare because his roommate had many, but because of the trouble that had been caused by his doubt last time, he wasn't going to let it go without at least checking things out. He started in Drake's room, which was small and didn't take long. The bed was a platform bed, so no one could go under, leaving the closet as the only hiding place. He opened it and slid the clothes one way, then the other. He checked under the blanket where Kenzly's Christmas presents were hidden and he moved Charlie's around as well.

"There's no one here," he said.

"She's here! I saw her! She was gonna kill me!"

"Okay," he said in a calm voice that let Drake know he wasn't brushing this incident off as a nightmare just yet. "Dee and I are gonna check the rest of the house. We'll be back, okay? Just keep the door shut." He nodded to his significant other. "Come on."

Their search came up short, but Drake still wasn't satisfied. He tried to offer them proof by showing them that there was a disc in the DVD player, but when he opened it, it was empty. There was no sign that Dahlia had been there at all.

Still, in the end, the police were called. They, too, searched the house and the yard and found nothing. On top of that, a fellow patrolman went to Dahlia's home and said she was there. He also noted that she was in pajamas and looked believably half-asleep.

Drake was leaning against the wall, staring at the floor so hard that it was like he was looking through it. His eyes were red-rimmed and his nose pink, and he occasionally sniffled. Julio warily watched him as his brother stood by the door, thanking the officers for coming out. Once the door was closed and it was just the four of them, all eyes were on one person.

"Drake—" Ricardo started, but the boy turned and bolted upstairs.

"I'll go," Julio volunteered.

Dee looked at his boyfriend. "Do you think he really saw her?"

He sighed. "I don't know. I wanna believe him, but...this isn't the first time he's woken up from nightmares like this."

"It's gotta be impossible for someone to escape that fast without being seen. I mean, we were up the second he started yelling. There's no way Dahlia would have time to wait for the DVD player to pop open, close it, then run downstairs and out the door without being caught. You were up so fast that you would've seen her in the hallway at least, and the windows in his room are barred up. There's no getting through that."

"I just don't wanna not believe him and then something happens to him."

Dee agreed. "Yeah, I know. If it was true...then she was threatening to kill him."

"It's just...a lot of the things he described...mirrored what happened with his father. I mean, it wasn't exact. I just... You know, small details," said Ricardo, "which would make sense for it to be a dream. Plus, he did say he slept with Kenzly. He could be feeling a lot of guilt or fear, which would definitely show up in his nightmares."

"What do you think we should do?" his boyfriend asked.

The man hesitated, then he shrugged his shoulders with defeat. "I don't know. I'm at a complete loss."

Upstairs, Julio opened the bathroom door just as a round of puke erupted from his friend, who was hunched over the toilet. He frowned sympathetically, then grabbed a washcloth and wet it so that it was ready for Drake when he was finished. A couple more minutes passed as more vomit came up. When Drake finally spoke, his voice was a whisper.

"I'm crazy."

Julio was quick to reply with, "You're not crazy." He passed him the washcloth.

Exhausted and weak, Drake sat down on the edge of the tub as he cleaned himself off. "Do you believe me?" he asked, quiet and childlike.

Julio hesitated for a moment. Reason was against his friend, and his claims didn't seem to make logical sense, but after what had happened last time, he believed that Dahlia was capable of anything.

"If you tell me that she was here, then I believe you," he answered.

"She was. She was here and she had a knife to my throat. She had a video of me and Kenzly having sex." His voice cracked. "She-she's so pissed." His crying started up again. "She's not gonna let me go."

Julio was heartbroken when the boy broke. Hunched over, Drake kept his head low and rested it on his hands as if it were too heavy to hold up. He was terrified and it showed. His fingers trembled as he wiped at the snot and tears.

"I wish I never would've met her," he said. "I should've listened when you guys warned me. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I brought her into your life. I'm so sorry you have to deal with this shit. I'm so sorry you have to listen to me bitch about it when you told me. You warned me from the beginning that she was a crazy bitch and I ignored you, and now she's doing exactly what everyone said she would, and I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared. I just..." He couldn't even speak anymore because of the lump in his throat, so he sat there and sobbed.

Julio approached him and sat down next to him. "No one could've predicted that she was this insane, but listen. We're gonna figure this out, okay?"

He draped his arm across his friend's back, and Drake immediately turned and grabbed hold of him tightly. He needed the hug. He needed security and protection. Those were two things he'd always lacked until the Santos brothers took him in.

Julio continued to soothe him. "Everything's gonna be okay."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So it's been, like, eight months. Oops. I kinda lacked motivation and have been slacking off a little because I didn't get any reviews last chapter. I'm too in love with these characters to just leave them, though, but while I was away, I've been workinig on, like, four different stories. So maybe I can finish those start putting those on here as well. Anyway, I don't have too much more to say. I just hope you review, even just to let me know you're still reading and wanting update. Thanks for sticking with me this long. The next chapter shouldn't take so long because it's already written. I just have to edit. Anyway, I guess that's it. CCC ya.