PREVIOUSLY ON SORRY, CHARLIE: After a nasty break-up, a jealous and bitter Dahlia falsely accused Drake of rape, which led to him spending two months between jail and the psych ward. Due to Drake's behavior, Ricky began to suspect that some sort of abuse was happening in the psych ward. He managed to convince Dahlia to visit her ex, and after seeing how pitiful conditions were there, she decided to drop the charges. Even still, there was a long battle with the justice system before he was finally released. Drake laid in bed, unaware and unresponsive, for two weeks, until being pulled out of his depressive trance by a visit from Charlie. He finally tried to get back to normal, but convinced himself that he'd need a little help from Xanax in order to do so, so he started abusing his medication. The previous chapter ended with Drake waking up to find Dahlia in bed next to him. She threatened him with a knife and showed him a video she had of him sleeping with Kenzly. He called for help, but when the Santos brothers + Dee showed up, they found no sign of Dahlia, nor did the police when they were called. Because the events that Drake described mirrored what had happened the night his father died, they suspected that it had just been a nightmare. Drake, too, was beginning to doubt what he had seen. Was it actually real? Did Dahlia really threaten to kill him?

(1 week later)

"Hey."

Drake woke with a start. His eyes shot open and he gasped. He was on full alert, but it was only Julio. His friend was already dressed and was leaning over his side of the bed.

"Time to get up."

The young man gave himself a couple seconds to rest against the comfortable mattress, but he didn't stay long because he didn't want Julio to think it was a burden to drive him to his AA meetings. Drake planted his feet on the floor and tiredly massaged his scalp with the full of his hand a few times, messing up his hair even further.

"We got five minutes," Julio said as he stood behind his friend and looked at his slumped over form.

"Okay," he said tiredly. "I'll be downstairs in a second. I'm just gonna brush my teeth."

He heard footsteps leave the room, so he turned his neck to double check that the coast was clear. With this confirmed, Drake slipped his hand inside his pillowcase and retrieved an orange bottle. He popped the cap, then poured two onto his palm. He lowered his eyes and examined them. They were long white rectangles: Xanax bars.

They weren't his because he'd only been prescribed the one milligram pills, and he'd run out days ago. These belonged to a friend of Gemini's, although the deal was done in secret. He was so tired of fucking secrets, but it was hard to escape them these days. Everybody was watching him closely — not just because his recent release from the psych ward, but also because he was acting kind of like he did before he'd gotten arrested. He was jumpy and paranoid. He wasn't eating, and he was seeing things sometimes that weren't there...or maybe they were. Maybe no one else caught it in time. Maybe this was part of another one of Clementine's devious plans, but despite their skepticism, the Santos brothers at least heard him out and operated under the assumption that his claims should be taken seriously.

He'd slept in Julio's room for the past week because he was certain that his was compromised — that his ex was living somewhere within the walls...watching him...waiting to pounce. Drake wasn't sure how much longer he could take this. Mentally exhausted and fragile, he tossed the pills into his mouth, then grabbed a bottle of water to chase them down with.

He could hear multiple locks and chains rattling as he looked around, searching for his stalker. When Kenzly got the door open, he stepped inside, closed it behind him, then fixed all the locks back. Charlie hadn't been to his house since the night he swore he saw Dahlia, but that still didn't make him feel like she was safe enough, so Drake had gone out and bought a bunch of new locks, and he talked to Kenzly about keeping his daughter in the basement with her overnight rather than upstairs because he didn't think Clem would look there, although he didn't mention to Kenzly that this was the reason.

He was aware of how crazy he looked and he couldn't help it. Over the last week, the police had been called out to his house twice, but they'd found no sign of Dahlia either time. Even they didn't believe him, and Drake had overheard them mentioning concerns to Ricardo that he was using drugs. If Ricky found out now what he'd been doing, that was it. All trust would be broken. He'd write Drake's claims off just like the police. He couldn't keep having them come out if they were going to give him away. Yes, he was using Xanax and, yes, it was much more than what he should be taking, but he wasn't crazy! He wasn't hallucinating! He wasn't making this up! Dahlia was coming for him, and he knew it.

"Hey," Kenzly greeted with a smile.

She went in for a hug, but she didn't get one back. Drake had been giving her the cold shoulder since they slept together, and she had no idea why. It's not like she was all over him and trying to be his girlfriend. They simply fuck without emotional involvement, so she couldn't understand why he was acting so weird lately.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, baby." He lifted his daughter up and kissed her cheek. "How's my little girl today?"

"Wight, Daddy?"

Drake's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head lazily. "Hmm?"

Charlie was in his lap and she looked up at him. "Wight?"

"Yeah. Right."

"See?!" the child yelled disrespectfully at Kenzly. "Ice cweam befowe dinnew! Daddy said!"

"Drake..."

When he met Kenzly's gaze, he knew that she knew. How many times had he nodded out now? He couldn't even remember how many pills he'd taken. Now that he thought about it, maybe he should take more...hmm...

"Drake," Kenzly spoke with authority when she had to wake him yet again. Her teeth were clenched and she seemed irritated. How many times has she had to do this already?

"Daddy!" Charlie screamed, and it felt like she had been screaming all day. "Ice cweam! Ice cweam! Ice cweam! Now!"

"Alright," he agreed tiredly.

"Drake, she doesn't need ice cream. Your mom's gonna be here with dinner in twenty minutes."

"S'fine," he slurred, brushing her off as he put his daughter down and stood. He headed to the kitchen, grabbed everything he needed, then sat at the table.

Kenzly angrily shook her head. Her best friend wasn't usually like this. Normally, if Charlie was rude or disrespectful, he would scold her, and he didn't often let her nag him into giving her something when she didn't deserve it or when she didn't need it. Kenzly wasn't her mom and she understood that, but she was her babysitter. When she told the child no ice cream, Drake should've backed her up. Now that Charlie sees she doesn't have to listen to Kenzly, she's not going to keep obeying the adult. She was so frustrated and angry, and she really wanted to yell at him, but she wasn't about to do that in front of a toddler. She could pull him aside, though.

Kenzly got out of the recliner and turned to go into the kitchen. When she did, she saw Drake nodding out over a tub of ice cream, with some of the dessert still in the spoon in his hand. She stormed towards him and snatched the silverware. When she slammed it down against the table, he woke up.

"Get up," she seethed.

"What?" he asked, disoriented and confused. He hissed when she grabbed his arm, but he followed her lead into the basement. "Kenzly, whatthe fuck?!" he said when she closed the door.

The young woman guided him down the steps. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"

"Fuck's yer problem?!"

"You're gonna come over here high as a kite in front of your three-year-old daughter?!"

"M'not high."

She shoved him onto her bed. "Don't give me that bullshit! I can't fucking believe you right now! That's your fucking kid up there! You knew you were coming, so what the fuck?! You still chose to get high?! You're gonna start putting drugs before her now, too?!"

"Fuck you!" he yelled back with matching anger. "Yadon' know shit!" Drake could hardly keep his eyes open as he talked back to her.

"You should be fucking ashamed! You were up there drooling all over yourself, nodding out with your daughter in your arms, and Charlie saw that! What if your mom would've walked in, huh?! You think she'd let you see your kid again if she caught you fucked up like that?!"

Despite his clouded state, he was slightly able to comprehend how severe of a threat that was and he felt fearful that he was going to get his child taken away. "Fuck you, ya fuckin' cunt!"

Kenzly was taken aback by his harsh words. She was silent for a moment, then she said, "You know what, Drake? I'm not even gonna argue with you right now. It's not like you're gonna remember shit about this. I'm gonna go upstairs, and I'm gonna take care of your daughter for you because you're fucking failing her right now. You need to get your shit together, Drake. Don't you dare come upstairs until you sober up. Don't do that to your mom or Megan or Charlie. When this shit wears off, you need to go home and have a long look at yourself in the mirror. This is fucking ridiculous." With that, she left him alone.

When Drake opened his eyes, he looked around with confusion. He had no recollection of entering the basement and he honestly hardly remembered anything at all about being at his mom's. He looked over his shoulder and saw Kenzly passed out asleep next to him. Both were clothed, so nothing sexual had happened.

The young man carefully pushed himself up and winced with each creak of the bed. He checked behind him again to make sure that his friend was asleep, then he grabbed his shoes and slipped them on his feet. Drake found his backpack leaning against the bed. He tried his hardest to keep silent as he unzipped it, then he reached his hand inside the small opening. After a moment of searching, he unzipped the bag even more and looked inside. The pills were gone.

He stood and looked down at where he had been laying. Maybe they'd fallen out of his pocket or something, but he saw no sign of them. He opened the nightstand and peeked into the drawer. Nothing. He opened the cabinet on the bottom front of the nightstand and still didn't see them. Drake then went over to Kenzly's nightstand and did the same. When his search came up short, he moved over to the clothing rack and desperately checked each and every pocket.

The longer he took to find his medicine, the more irrationally angry he got. Again, he went back and rummaged through his nightstand and all the other places he had tried before. In his frustration, he took everything out and left it on the floor and, when he got to her clothes again, he tore them off the rack, checked them again, then slung them across the room. At this point, he was no longer trying to be quiet. In fact, he was about ready to wake Kenzly up and start screaming at her, demanding she return his pills. However, before it got to this point, he had one more idea of where they could be.

He moved closer to her side of the bed again and squatted down. Lucky for him, his ex was a heavy sleeper, but he was still careful not to wake her. He kept both eyes on the back of her head nervously, watching for even the slightest bit of movement as he slipped his hand under the mattress and started feeling around. Finally, he found something cylindrical. He pulled it out and was disappointed to find that it was just her vibrator. He threw it down, then tried again. Nothing. There was only one place left. Drake held his breath as his fingers crept underneath her pillow. While there, he felt something hard, and he knew this had to be it, but he wasn't able to get them because they were inside her pillow case.

He knew it was stupid to even try, and he knew the repercussions would be massive if she caught him in the act, but his need for them smothered his logic. His hand disappeared inside the case.

Drake was overcome with relief when he touched the bottle. He grasped onto it as if vowing to never let it get away from him again and, just as he did that, the girl moved. Drake froze with fear as Kenzly turned over onto her right side, now facing him. If she opened her eyes, he was done for. To make matters worse, she was laying on his arm. He was in panic mode. He wanted to jerk himself away and be done with it, but surely, that would wake her. He had to be slow...careful.

The young man's teeth were clenched as he dragged his arm back ever so slightly — a centimeter...then another... He winced when he heard the Xanax bars rattling around, but Kenzly remained asleep.

The second Drake was free, he stood, grabbed his bag and was out of there. He tiptoed through the dark, quiet house, slipped out the front door and got in the car. Once inside, he could finally take a breath. He rested the back of his head against the seat and closed his eyes. He needed a cigarette to calm his nerves, but he didn't want to hang around here for much longer in case he'd woken someone. That's okay, he thought as he twisted open the lid. A Xanax will have to do for now.

Knock knock!

Drake awoke with a start, then he immediately squeezed his eyes closed at the bright sunlight hitting his face. "Mmm," he groaned tiredly as he rubbed his eyes.

Knock knock!

The young man turned his head towards the noise and, first and foremost, saw a policeman. Shit. The second thing he noticed was that he was in the backseat of Julio's car. He had no recollection of how he'd gotten here or why, and part of him was so scared to go back to jail that he considered hopping in the front seat and driving away as fast as he could. Somehow, in his dazed state, he was able to come to the realization that that probably wasn't his best idea. Drake sat up and tried to blink away the blurriness, but failed. He reached for the door handle and opened it.

"What are you doing sleeping out here, son?" the man wearing the badge questioned.

"Um..." He looked around and immediately realized that he was parked along the curb of the park outside of his mom's neighborhood.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I just..." Geez, the sun was so fucking blinding. "My...my girlfriend kicked me out last night...after I'd just taken my sleeping pills, and I didn't feel comfortable driving too far."

The officer was quiet for a moment as if weighing this excuse in his head. He kept staring closely at Drake, which made the boy nervous. If this was one of the guys who had come to his house and searched for Dahlia, then he'd know that Drake was lying and that he was abusing drugs. Ricardo would be so pissed if he got himself arrested again after all the stress everyone had endured while trying to get him out last time. Maybe he could recall the names of the policemen that had responded to the distress call if he saw them. He lifted his eyes, squinting against the sun, and peeked at the man's name tag. Shuemacher.

*FLASHBACK*

"Hey? Hey, can you hear me? Open you eyes."

Drake felt a sharp pain in his stomach, and that got him awake. He choked out a sob and reached for the throbbing spot, but found that there was already a hand there. He lifted his head and, sure enough, there was a hand pressing against his wound with a dish towel to apply pressure. He weakly dropped his head against the floor, then slowly lifted his eyes. First he saw the blue uniform, then the gold badge, then the name that was too long for him to read. Shu...Shuemacher.

"Hel—" Drake suddenly started coughing, and blood splattered from his lips. He winced at the pain this caused him.

"Just relax, alright? I know it hurts. Just try to stay calm."

The first responder took in his surroundings. Blood was pooling around the young man's body, and he had it smeared all over him. There was a streak going across the kitchen floor and leading around the corner — the trail Drake had left behind as he'd dragged himself here. It was a wonder he had been able to do so. The officer noted that the boy definitely had a broken leg and arm, and the swelling in his wrist indicated yet another break. On top of that, three fingers were missing from his hand and were scattered nearby along the linoleum.

"My mom..."

"What?"

"Tell my mom I'm sorry...and—" He hissed at a sudden wave of pain. "...and I love her." He broke down crying some more.

"You tell her yourself. Look at me. You stay with me, son."

The pain was so excruciating, and he was so scared that he was trembling. He erupted into another coughing fit, this one worse than the first, with larger puddles of blood leaving his lips.

"You're okay. You're okay."

When the boy managed to stop, he whispered, "I think...I'm dying..."

"No, you're not. Listen to me." He continued to apply pressure to the stab wound, but with his free hand, he grabbed hold of Drake's hand. "You're not dying today. You understand me?" He said it with such authority — as if Drake wasn't allowed to die — and his confidence gave the bleeding victim hope that this man would do everything in his power to keep the Grim Reaper from taking him.

"Yes, sir," he nodded, his fear of men coming out in his response.

"Do you hear that?" he said about the sirens. "They're almost here, so just stay with me, okay? Can you tell me what happened?"

"I killed him," Drake choked out.

"Who?"

He was bawling so hard that he couldn't comprehend the question. He just repeated himself, but words didn't come out. Instead, his lips mouthed the words, "I killed him."

It was at this time his partner came back into the room. He approached the two, then quietly said to Officer Shuemacher, "There's a male in one of the bedrooms. Early forties. Deceased."

Still, Drake heard this and he sobbed even harder.

"He's losing a lot of blood," the new cop noticed. "I think it's coming from his back. We need to try to slow it down as much as we can." He disappeared for a moment, then returned with some washcloths from the bathroom. "We're gonna have to turn him over." It became apparent by the way this one took over that he was the superior. He went over to Drake's other side.

"We're gonna put you on your side, alright, son?" Shuemacher said. "We're just gonna get a look at your back and see what's going on there. It's gonna hurt a bit, but you squeeze my hand as tight as you need to. Okay? Ready?" After confirmation from both Drake and his partner, he started a countdown, then they carefully turned him.

The boy screamed, and black spots filled his vision. The pain was blinding and he felt like he was going to pass out as they took care of the injuries on his back. He only caught a few passing words amongst their chatter.

"...multiple stab wounds...cut...blood...bleeding...repeatedly...knife...sexual...raped...penetration..."

"You still with me, son?"

"Don't...don't let my mom...see...see the tape."

"What tape?"

"I'm so cold..." Drake whispered.

"No, keep your eyes open. Hey? Look at me. There you go. Good. You're doing a great job. Talk to me. What kind of hobbies are you into?"

"Uhmmmm..." He winced with pain.

"Look at me," Shuemacher said softly. "There you go. You like sports or movies—"

"Music..."

"Music. Alright. I like music, too. Do you like playing music or listening to music?"

His lips were trembling and he squeezed the man's hand tighter as he felt a burning sensation on his back. "Both."

"What instrument do you play?"

"Mm...guitar..."

"Oh, really? My son — he's nine — he just started playing. We got him his first guitar on Christmas. He's been begging for one for months."

"El...mmm..." He clenched his eyelids, but tears still managed to slip through.

"I'm sorry?"

Drake repeated himself — or, at least, he finished saying what he'd started to say. "Electric or acoustic?"

"Electric. He said he wants to be a rockstar."

"Mm...umm...me, t-too." He actually hadn't picked up his guitar in a long time, but now that he was so close to dying, he remembered how much he loved music, and he regretted giving up his dream for drugs. If he died, he'd be nothing — just a strung out junkie who had done nothing for the world and who would be remembered by no one. It'd almost be like he was never here to begin with.

"Hey, you still with me?" Officer Shuemacher asked.

When Drake opened his eyes, he saw several pairs of shoes scurrying around. Finally, the ambulance had arrived.

*END FLASHBACK*

When Drake looked up at the man and read the name tag, it didn't ring any bells. Most of that night was a blur for him. However, Officer Shuemacher remembered everything about that night. He remembered the call he'd had before and the call after. He remembered where he'd gone for dinner and what he'd ordered. He remembered the conversation he'd had with Drake as he lay bleeding out on the floor, nearly dead by the hands of his own father. At the time, the rookie cop had been on the job for only a week and a half and, after responding to Drake's call, he'd nearly ended his short career right there. What stopped him was knowing that Drake wasn't the only kid out there suffering from violent acts of abuse from the hands of a parent.

"Well, look," the man said after what felt like, to Drake, an eternity, "you can't sleep here. I'm gonna need you to move on."

"Yes, sir," the boy said with relief. He then saw the cop eyeing something on the floor, so he followed his gaze to the pill bottle. On the sticker, the patient's name was marked over with Sharpie, making it obvious that these weren't his pills. Drake's heart sank. He was in trouble now. He was definitely going to get arrested and locked up again. He was going to be thrown in jail or, even worse, the psych ward, where he'd have to again endure—

"Have a good day," Officer Shuemacher said, then he began walking back to his own vehicle.

Drake closed his eyes as relief flooded him. He felt his muscles relax and he was able to calm his breathing a bit. He didn't want to stick around for long, though, in case the man changed his mind. He closed the door, picked up the pill bottle, then climbed into the front seat. The keys were still in the ignition because he was an idiot. He cranked the car, then began driving.

The passenger's side door opened and Kenzly got in. "What?" she said immediately. She wasn't in the mood for beating around the bush or small talk. She wanted to get right down to the reason he'd wanted to meet her out here. Well, she was pretty sure she knew why. She just wondered how honest he would be about it.

Drake didn't remember much that had happened over the last couple days, but what he did remember was waking up at one a.m. and totally trashing Kenzly's room in search of his missing pills. He couldn't just brush that off because he didn't want to risk her telling Ricardo or his mom.

He opened his mouth to speak, but he wasn't exactly sure where to start. He knew he had to play the sympathy card, though, and to do that, he had to display guilt. The young man sighed. He kept his eyes on the steering wheel in front of him. "I fucked up," he admitted.

"Okay," was all she said, but it was said in a way that urged him to continue.

Drake hesitated again. It was hard to know what he was apologizing for when he didn't remember anything. As far as he knew, maybe she could tell he was high and he just needed to own up to that and vow to never do it again. However, the fact that she had gone through his things to find and then hide the Xanax told him that he'd been a bit messier than he'd hoped.

"Things have just been really hard since...well...it doesn't matter."

The trick is to make them feel pity for you without coming straight out and saying why they should. He cut himself off right there, but he knew she knew what he would've said. This way, Kenzly would assume he was struggling after his time in the psych ward, but because he'd stopped himself before saying it, it sounded like he was taking full responsibility rather than vomiting excuses.

The young man continued. "I know it was stupid and..." He sighed again. "Did she see me like that?"

"Yep." It came out a bit harsh, which let him know he needed to step it up a notch in order to win her over.

And that's exactly what he did. He turned on the water works. He didn't have trouble getting himself to cry. In fact, it was trying not to cry that was always such a challenge. It was especially easy today, though, because he was genuinely ashamed of letting his daughter see him fucked up on drugs.

"I don't remember what I did," his voice cracked.

"Well, you nodded out, like, five times while she was in the middle of talking to you, then she disrespected me, and you just backed her up, teaching her that it's okay to not listen to me. After that, you called me a cunt for trying to help you, and you destroyed my room."

He did actually feel bad about all these things, but he didn't plan on quitting the Xanax, so the most important issue right now was convincing her to keep her mouth shut.

"I'm sorry," he said, pitiful and childlike. "I really am. I wish I could take it back. I don't know why..." He was quiet, like he was at a loss for words, then he shrugged. "I don't have an excuse for it. I'm just really sorry." He felt like he'd softened her up enough. Now he needed to slip in and close the deal. However, he couldn't just outright ask her to keep quiet about what had happened because then she'd catch on to his act. "Is my mom pissed?" Or in other words, Does my mom know?

Kenzly replied with, "She wasn't here. I haven't told her."

He was paying close attention to her wording, like when she used "haven't" instead of "didn't". Had she said she "didn't" tell his mother, then that would've been the end of that, but the fact that she used "haven't" let him know that there was a silent "yet" that followed, even if she didn't know it. She was still in the deciding process, which was better than the alternative.

The next few sentences he said were crucial. His words could blow up everything. Still, he couldn't request that she keep his secret. He needed her to come up with that decision all on her own...or at least think she had. Therefore, he needed to operate under the idea that Kenzly would tell Audrey. He had to show her that he completely understood if she did and that he knew he deserved it.

"I feel like I should be the one to tell her," he said, although he had absolutely no intentions of ever admitting what he'd done. Drake fake-wept for a little while longer before dropping the ultimate bomb. He mustered all the guilt, shame, fear — everything he could — then he quietly asked, "Is she gonna take Charlie away?"

Because of her silence, he turned his tears up some more. He rarely cried in front of her. During the short period she lived at the Santos house with him, she probably saw it happen a couple times. Plus, she was there when he saw his mother again for the first time and during the tornado. He was hoping that his crying wasn't so normalized to her that she wouldn't feel anything. Otherwise, this whole thing was a waste, and he should've used a completely different approach.

"Look, Drake," Kenzly finally spoke up, "Charlie just started getting to know you and I don't want for her to not be able to see her dad anymore. You don't have to tell your mom, and I won't say anything either. We can keep this between us for now — just this once."

He couldn't just immediately agree or that would seem suspect. He was going to have to argue against what he wanted in order to make sure she didn't catch on to what he was doing. The manipulative young man sobbed as he said, "But I shouldn't even be allowed near her. I'm such a fuck-up. I'm just gonna ruin her."

Like expected, Kenzly changed to comfort mode. "Drake, you've been great. You can't let one mistake convince you otherwise. Charlie adores you, and you're a good fucking dad. She's already lost a mom. The last thing she needs is to lose her father, too."

Drake nodded and wiped his nose. "You're right. I can't be like my dad." Another dash of guilt, just to be sure he had won the girl over.

"Let's just pretend yesterday didn't happen," she said, and Drake felt so relieved, although he couldn't show it. "But if you ever do something like that again, just know that I'm looking out for Charlie first. I won't keep covering for you. This is a one-time thing. No more fuck-ups."

"Of course. That was my last one. I swear," he said.

She nodded. "Good." Kenzly opened the car door, then turned back to him. "You coming in?"

He sniffled. "Um, no, I have some shit I need to do at home. Ricardo's been on my ass about cleaning up the house, so I'm gonna make Julio do it with me."

"Okay." She got out.

"Hey, Kenzly?" he said suddenly, stopping her. "I really am sorry...about all of it. You're not a cunt."

She nodded her thanks, then she headed towards the door. Drake backed out of the driveway and, as he headed down the street, he reached for his bottle of Xanax and popped the cap open.

This was the first time Drake had stepped foot in his own bedroom since the night he saw Dahlia. He could tell the Santos brothers were beginning to have their doubts about him, and he didn't blame them. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he had hallucinated the whole thing, too. After doing some research online, a lot of the things he was experiencing seemed to line up with symptoms of paranoid schizophrenia, and that terrified him. He felt like he was seeing Clementine everywhere. Even when he closed his eyes, she was there. How could no one else see her?

For example, take the night she was laying next to him in bed with a knife. She couldn't escape through the windows, but there was no way she could've slipped into the hallway and out of sight before everyone came running either, especially not if she had to grab that DVD out of the player. It didn't make logical sense at all. Maybe he was schizophrenic after all. Google said it's common for symptoms to start in males in their late teens or early twenties. Drake fit the category. Maybe all the shit they forced him to take in the psych ward had caused it, or maybe he'd been a schizo all along, and the meds they force-fed him brought the symptoms out. If that was the case, how would he know what were hallucinations and what weren't? What if the way he remembered things wasn't fully factual? What if entire pieces of his life were fake? What if he was like that guy from Fight Club that had really just been beating himself up the entire movie? How was he supposed to draw the line between reality and hallucination?

Drake crossed the room, dropping some things on his bed along the way. He grabbed his computer chair and rolled it to the opposite corner of his room, then he went back over to the bed. There was a camera and some tools and wires. He was tired of not knowing if he was crazy or not. He had to know. Maybe if he could catch her and prove to everyone — prove to himself — that it was real, then maybe they could finally figure out how to put a stop to it, but until then...

He picked up the familiar orange bottle and opened it, then poured out some of the pills. He was already beginning to run low. He needed to score soon.

Before he could get started setting things up with the camera, his phone rang. He picked it up: Mrs. Hayfer. He considered ignoring it, but he's been ignoring her all week and he knew it was beginning to look suspicious, especially because he missed dinner at her place. Because it was December, there was no need for a grass-cutter, but she still served bi-weekly dinners for him and, occasionally, she had some odd jobs for him so that he could still earn money.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's—" She cut herself off when she registered the voice. "Is this Drake?"

"Yeah." He suddenly remembered that his phone was still broken and the phone he had was Julio's because his fellow addict had accidentally left it in the car when Drake dropped him off at a meeting. That meant that Drake could've totally ignored this call without any repercussions.

"How are you?" she asked with concern.

"I'm good."

"You're a hard man to get ahold of."

"Yeah, everything's just been a little hectic lately. I've been trying to adapt." Drake suddenly realized that the camera he had bought didn't come with a wall mount, which frustrated him. He turned and stared at the corner he'd planned to put it.

"I missed you at dinner last Saturday."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I should've called." Maybe he could find something that he could use to hang the camera — something like a shoelace perhaps? He moved over to his closet.

"Is everything okay, Drake?"

"Everything's fine." What he didn't know was that he was slurring his words, and she heard it.

"If you've relapsed again, you can tell me."

"I haven't," he said as he scanned the floor of his closet. He suddenly remembered that he didn't own many pairs of shoes. His memory was so shit lately. Okay, he'd need something else.

"Well, alright." She was skeptical of his answer, but she wasn't confident enough to do anything about it at this point in time. "I was calling because I have some things I need to have hauled off..."

Suddenly her voice trailed off when Drake looked up and saw a square on the ceiling that took up a good portion of the right side. It was a little sliding door that led up to the attic. It had always been there and he knew it was there, but he'd lived here for years and it was never something he paid attention to. Now, however, was different.

"...to see if you and Julio wanted to—"

"Hey, I've gotta go," he said and, without giving her time to respond, he hung up.

Despite his drugged-up state, he was beginning to put together some of the missing pieces of the puzzle. Maybe this was how his ex-fiancée was slipping in and out of his room so easily. There were some items piled up that could've been put there specifically as a make-shift ladder. His closet was kind of a mess, so he never really noticed that any of the junk was out of place.

He thought back on the recording of his rather short sex session with Kenzly. The camera angle was from above, and there was an air vent above his bed. He felt stupid that he hadn't thought of this detail before.

Drake began climbing up the stacked items and, when he was high enough, he slid the door to the side. Now he was looking up into a dark abyss. Desperate for answers, he continued upwards anyway. Once he stuck his head through, he was immediately creeped out. This is the part of the movie where the demon grabs him and flings him around like he weighs the same as a feather, and it'd kill him, and no one would find him because who would ever look in the attic? Or maybe he's just seen one too many scary movies.

He pulled Julio's phone back out of his pocket and turned on the flashlight. He was shaking when he shined it into the attic. It looks just as terrifying as he'd thought. It was a wide-open area that looked unfinished, with insulation all over the place. Drake did a full circular sweep with his light, praying that nothing would jump out at him, then he set the light down and climbed a bit higher. After that, he stuck both arms through the hole and used his upper body strength to lift himself up until he was sitting on the edge. Because he was so small, he could fit through with ease, and Julio probably could, too, but Ricardo and Dee would never be able to squeeze. Dahlia was thin enough to slip through, Drake noted. He immediately grabbed the light again, then he stood.

Everything looked like it was straight out of some horror film, which was fitting because Drake felt like he was living in a nightmare. There were boxes and spiderwebs. He spotted the Christmas decorations piled up by the actual entrance to the attic. If Clem was coming through here, he didn't think she was exiting that way because he didn't think it was possible to quietly let the ladder down, especially since it was above the hallway right outside of the boys' bedrooms. He then looked at the window he saw to his right.

It took a lot of nerve to step away from his quick exit access, but he did and, when he approached the window, he found that it was unlocked. He set the phone down and pushed up, then stuck his head out. He'd never actually been up this high before in the Santos house. The window to his bedroom was a few feet down. There was a tall tree nearby, but it wasn't close enough to the house to reach. He knew this because, back when he'd first gotten clean and before the bars were put up over his window, he had made a desperate escape by jumping down. Ricardo just so happened to notice him limping and falling by a window, and he brought him back home before he could relapse. Drake's dumb ass had spent weeks on his butt due to a shattered ankle.

The tree had been useless to him from that height, but up here on the attic, there was a branch that reached out and, as someone who was skilled at sneaking out since childhood, he could climb up and down from here easy. Dahlia probably could, too.

Drake shut the window, then locked it and picked up the phone. He was so creeped out that he didn't want to be up here for much longer, but he wanted to check out one more thing. He went over to the silver air unit and found that there was a piece that was sitting in its place where it belonged, but the screws were loose. He pulled it off and immediately felt cold air hit him. When he looked down, he could see his bed through the vent. Attached to the vent was a small, black device. He picked it up.

"HUUUGGLLHHH!" He panted for breath when he got the chance, then another round of puke spewed from his lips.

He felt so sick knowing that Dahlia had been spying on him with a little camera. She could've seen or heard anything. She could've overheard private conversations he'd had with Ricardo or Julio or Rhinestone. She could've watched him sleep. She could've watched him masturbate. He had no idea how long the camera had been there. It could've just been placed recently, but what if it was there since the beginning of the relationship? What if, this whole time they were together, she had been watching him...keeping tabs...listening to his private conversations? What had she heard? What had she seen? Did she have it all saved on some file on her laptop? Was she planning to use it for blackmailing purposes? What if she just wanted to ruin his life?

He was crying as he hurled some more, gagging so hard that his abs felt bruised. Who was to say that that was the only camera she'd placed? What if there were more? What if she was watching him shower or shit or do laundry or cook? What if there was a camera in Julio's car so that she could follow him no matter where he went?

He had to put a stop to this. He had to get rid of her once and for all. Drake grabbed the tiny camera and, refusing to allow her a sneak peek at another second of his life, he tossed the tiny gadget into the toilet, then flushed it down with the vomit.

Julio wore irritation on his face when he saw Drake, who was supposed to pick him up from his meeting, asleep on the couch. He entered the living room. "Dude." He paused a beat. "Hey? Bro, what the hell?" It was weird because his roommate was usually a light sleeper. "Drake?" He shook the boy's shoulder. "Hey? Drake?"

His friend was definitely breathing, so that wasn't a concern. However, it was strange for him to not wake up, especially after all Julio's attempts.

"Bruh? Hey?" Julio patted his cheek. Still nothing. Now he was even more irritated. He went upstairs and wet a washcloth with ice cold water, then he brought it back to the living room and wiped the boy's face with it. "Yo. Get up."

This got his attention. Drake's eyes shot open.

"Bro, what the hell? What did you take?"

"Julio?" he slurred, clearly disoriented. "You're 'ere."

"Yeah, no thanks to you."

The boy pushed himself up to get closer. His voice was a whisper, or so he thought. "Clem'swatchingus. Shhh."

"What?"

"I foundit. She'saspy."

"A spy?"

"Shhh!" his paranoid friend said with urgency.

"Dude, what did you take?"

"Took thecamera..."

"The camera?"

"...'eres microwav—microphones severywhere."

"You're not making any sense, bro."

"Gottabe camerasinthe shower," he said, "an' Ithink I'm schizophrenic."

Julio was so confused. "What do you mean about cameras in the shower? You found one?"

His eyelids closed when he nodded. "Foundone, yes."

"In the shower?"

"Intheceiling," he whispered.

"Where?"

"Inthevent. She'slistening."

"Show me."

"Can't," said Drake.

"Why not?"

The young man shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "Flushedit."

"Drake, I need you to tell me what you took."

"Took...thecamera...an' flushedit—"

"No, what drug you took."

"Idon'...takedrugs, Julio."

"Bro, where's my phone?"

"Phone?"

"Yes," he said with frustration. "Where's my phone?"

"Oh. Hmm..." Within seconds, he was asleep sitting up, but Julio gave him a rough nudge and woke him.

"Dude!"

"Julio?" It was clear he didn't remember the conversation they'd just had moments ago when he said, "There'scameras."

"My phone, Drake! Where the fuck is my phone?!"

"Um...theattic."

"I have no idea, but he is so fucking gone," Julio said into the phone.

"Tellem thecamera."

"Did you see anything laying around?" asked Ricardo. "Cough medicine boxes or pills bottles or anything?"

"Hav'ta move."

"No, he emptied out his closet, though, and the shit's all over his floor. He had my fucking phone in the attic."

"I fell." Drake tapped his shoulder and leaned closer, whispering in his ear because he wasn't being given attention. "She's watchingus."

"Jesus, is that him?" Ricardo said.

"Yup. I don't know what the — bro, shut up! For fuck's sake!" He stood so that he wasn't so distracted by him. "I have no idea what's going on. He never picked me up from AA. I had to get a ride, and he was passed out on the couch when I got home. When I woke him up, he started rambling about cameras and microphones. He said he found one, but he flushed it down the toilet. Dude, back up!"

"Do you think I need to call an ambulance over there?" his older brother asked.

"No, I don't think it's anything like that. He's fine. He's just annoying as hell."

"Yeah." He gave it some thought for a moment, then started to speak, but he heard a crash coming from the phone, then his agitated brother yelling.

"Jesus, Drake! Just stay seated! Stop! Just sit! Are you alright? God, you're so annoying."

Ricardo got his attention again. "Hey, look, I'm gonna go ahead and clock out. Lemme just make sure things are okay here, and then we'll figure this out."

Julio was relieved by this. "Okay."

"Try to get him to eat something. Maybe it'll sober him up somewhat so he's more coherent. I'll be there — I don't know — at least within an hour. Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. I'll — Drake! Look, lemme let you go. He's getting into shit."

"Anything?" Julio asked when his brother came downstairs and entered the kitchen.

Ricardo shook his head. "I searched his room. I searched his bag. I searched your car." He seemed at a loss.

"M'not high," Drake swore. "Canwe move?"

"Move where?" the oldest asked. "You wanna go back to the living room?"

"Mmm...Alaska."

"Jesus Christ."

"She'sout togetme." Drake tiredly rested his head in his hand. He was sitting at the table while the two Santos brothers hovered over him.

"Is she drugging you again?"

"No." He paused a beat, then changed his answer because he felt like that would keep him out of trouble. "Yes."

The man sighed with frustration because he wasn't getting anything from Drake. However, he could tell that his friend was lying about being drugged. He took a seat in the chair directly in front of the boy. "Look at me, Drake."

He did.

"We're just trying to help you. We need to understand what happened, though. We need the truth. You understand that, don't you?"

"Mm-hmm."

"So I need you to be honest with me. You're not in trouble. We're not mad. Okay? We're not gonna be mad at you. We just need to know. What did you take?"

Julio watched his brother handle the situation. He was so ready to finally get an answer to this question that he unknowingly leaned forwards a bit to make sure he could hear him well.

Drake's answer was, "Not highthough."

The brothers shared a disappointed and clueless glance and, when they turned back to their friend, they caught him nodding off.

"What do we do?" the youngest asked.

"I guess we just let him sleep it off."

"And what if there are cameras? Or what if she really was here holding a knife to his throat last week?"

Ricardo could see that his little bro was becoming a bit paranoid and scared. Three grown men constantly checking over their shoulders because of one psycho ass bitch — it was ridiculous. It wouldn't be so bad had she not already proven what she was capable of. She clearly had no reserves about breaking into people's homes. She drugged Hero and got her fired. She drugged Drake and raped him, then framed him for rape and almost got him sentenced to ten years in prison. She was the reason Julio had relapsed. She snuck alcohol into his room with zero concern for the boy's wellbeing.

"I think Drake was trying to set up a camera in his room. There's one on the bed, and it looks like he was gonna put it up in the corner," said Ricardo. "Maybe it's a good idea? We can do that and then, the second we catch her, we can show the police, and then that'll be the end of that. Would you feel comfortable having cameras up around the house for a little bit?"

"Comfortable? No." Julio then added, "But I'm even less comfortable with Dahlia coming and going as she pleases, so yeah. Let's do it."

"This whole thing is fucking ridiculous," he said and Julio could tell that he was exhausted.

Ricardo did a lot, and not just for them. He took care of their house. He took care of their bills. He took care of an entire bar, where he had to deal with scheduling and paychecks and deliveries and drunken fights, then he'd come home and have to put up with Julio's alcoholism and depression and Drake's...ever-evolving chaos...and he never once complained. After all this was over, he deserved a long vacation, and Julio wanted to make sure he got one.

"Are you okay?" Ricardo asked when he saw the look on his brother's face.

"Do you think she really said she'd kill him?"

He hesitated. "I don't know," then he added, "but we're here. We're not gonna let that happen."

"Yeah, but she was drugging him right under our noses. She assaulted him in our home. She had us believing that he was delirious because he was strung out, and be honest, bro. Can you actually tell me you a hundred percent believe what Drake's saying? Because I can't, but I feel like I should after what happened last time. I don't think she's drugging him because why would he put so much effort into lying about it? We know he's using again, and we don't know how long it's been, but he hasn't been the same since he got out of the psych ward."

"What are you thinking?" the man asked.

"Well, what if he's been using this whole time? What if, when I caught him drunk, he wasn't actually drunk? This whole thing could be some type of delusion he created," said Julio. "While we waited for you, I was doing some research — trying to find answers. There's this thing called drug-induced psychosis, which can happen if you take a lot of drugs or mix substances or go through withdrawals. It can cause things like delirium and hallucinations, and there are a lot of articles online that compare it to schizophrenia, and I'm bringing that up because, before you got here, Drake told me he thought he might be schizophrenic. I don't think he even believes half the shit he's saying." Julio sat down so that he and his brother could work this out. "I mean, think about it. If he found a camera, then why would he immediately flush it without showing us or at least taking a picture first? And I feel like this paranoia shit about Dahlia just came up out of nowhere. Like, why is she all of a sudden showing up and putting a knife to his throat? He's been out of the psych ward for a month, and he hasn't said anything about her, and now, suddenly, she's everywhere and she's been following him and hiding cameras and microphones and threatening him. Either he's lost his fucking mind or he's been keeping a lot of secrets from us since he got back."

Ricardo weighed these points his brother brought up, and they were all really good points. "You don't believe him?"

"No, I do believe him. I do believe she's doing all the things he claims she is," he said. "I guess I just don't want it to be true, so I'm trying to debunk everything in my head and, I mean, he makes it easy to write him off when he's been using and lying to us about it. He's not the same person anymore. Like, you saw the video they played in court when he was slinging his food at everyone. What was that? Why have we not talked about that? During all our years of friendship, he has never once acted or reacted like that. They had him drugged up in there, too. He was doing crazy shit in there and now he's doing crazy shit at home, and I don't understand what's happening, but what I do know is that he's been lying to us. I don't know what about, but he knows more than he's saying."

"Thanks for letting them stay."

"Of course, babe," Dee said. He cleaned off his toothbrush, then joined his partner in bed. "They're welcome anytime, too. I just feel bad that I don't have another bed."

"Don't. Julio passes out on the couch at home all the time, and Drake...well, he probably has no idea he's even on the floor right now."

He lifted his feet off the floor and scooted back until he was behind Ricardo, then he began massaging his shoulders. "You're so tense."

After a moment, the man said, "That feels good."

"Drake knows he's caught. The truth will come out tomorrow, and you'll get some answers on what's real and what isn't as he sobers up. But tonight," he said, "you're gonna lay down..."

Ricardo closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly let it go.

"...relax..."

"Mmm," he moaned.

"...and let go of the stress..."

Drake's forehead creased, and he looked around with confusion. He was always waking up in strange places these days. Because he didn't come here so often, it actually did take him a moment to recognize Dee's living room. He had no recollection of falling asleep, no idea how he'd gotten here and, honestly, he couldn't remember what day it was. He sat up and, on the couch, he saw Julio snoring away. He could understand if he himself showed up to Dee's house while out of his mind because he's done it before, but why was Julio here? That's fucking weird.

Suddenly, he had little flashes of finding a camera above his bed and falling out of the attic. Julio must've believed him and felt safer here. Ricardo was probably here, too. Maybe he had them both on his side now. Maybe they could all figure this out as a team.

Drake tucked a corner of the towel in so that it hung around his thin waist. It wasn't until now that he realized just how small he'd gotten. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't really remember the last time he'd eaten. He was sure he had, but he just didn't remember a whole lot from this past week or so. It had been a while since his last shower. That was for sure. His hair had been oily, and his underarms reeked. He'd woken up around two a.m. and, while everyone was still sleeping, decided to get a shower. His brain was still super cloudy, but he was starting his come-down. Well, for now, at least. He planned on buying another script later today.

He never cared much for Xanax before, but now it was everything. It wasn't his fault. Dahlia started it when she drugged him. He'd developed a dependence then and even had to go through withdrawals in jail, then once he was moved to the psych ward, they put him back on the same pills, amongst many others. He didn't want to take them. In fact, he'd refused the medications, and they wouldn't let him out. Ricardo and Julio begged him to go along with their rules. They also participated in Drake's newfound addiction. No one was allowed to say shit to him because it was their fault.

The young man stepped in front of the sink and, when he looked in the mirror, he froze. It wasn't his reflection he saw because the surface was fogged up. Instead, there was writing within the steam. Someone had been here and he knew who.

Drake glanced around, checking to see if this was a trap. You could never be too sure with her. When he reached the car that was parked along the curb, he grabbed the handle and opened it, then got inside.

"I see you got my message."

"The hell do you want?"

"Whoa, okay. No need for rudeness. I come in peace. Didn't you see the little heart in my note?"

"The note you wrote after breaking and entering into someone's home? What the fuck? Were you watching me shower?"

"No," she said, then she smirked slyly. "Well, maybe a little."

"That's fucking creepy, Clem."

"You're calling me Clem again." She seemed pleased.

"Look, what the fuck do you want?"

"Those pills make you a lot braver," the girl noticed.

Drake brushed off her comment. "I only came out here because I didn't want you to break into Dee's house again. That's really fucked up, by the way."

"But kinda hot, yeah?" She squinted her eyes in a cute manner and lifted her shoulders innocently.

The young man was taken aback by the way she was acting. She did look extra sexy tonight, he noticed. She wore tight jeans that showed off her legs, and her long-sleeved shirt was low cut and showed a lot of cleavage. In fact, he could see part of her bra. It was his favorite and she knew that, which is why she'd worn it. She always knew how to arouse him.

He shook his head as if shaking away the thoughts that had begun to emerge. "No," he said. "Not at all."

"Hm." She shrugged, then changed the conversation topic. "So how are you?"

"How — you — I — what? After everything you did to me — spying on me, threatening to *kill* me — you're really gonna ask me how I'm doing?"

"Drake..." Dahlia laughed as if he was being adorable. It's one way she'd always patronized him and invalidated his feelings. "That was all part of the role-play. You know? Sub/dom stuff," she said, "so when we get back together, the shag is gonna be so hot."

"Clem, that doesn't make any sense!" he said with desperation. He needed answers. He needed her to confirm for him that everything he'd seen was real. "You broke into my house! You put a knife to my throat!"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, Drake. Are you really gonna sit there and tell me that you weren't even a little bit turned on? I went home and touched myself after."

"So you weren't ever really gonna kill me?"

"Isn't it hotter not knowing?"

He was speechless. Had he not lived it — had he not felt that fear — then yeah. He could almost see what was so appealing about it, and the fact that he did confused him.

"Why do you keep fucking with my head?" he asked.

"That's our thing, babe. I fancy doing it, and you fancy when I do it."

She said it with such confidence that he felt like he couldn't protest. Was she right? His dad did fuck him up a lot and left him feeling like he deserved pain and punishment, but was there a part of him that actually...enjoyed the abuse, like she was saying?

"I don't like it," Drake said. "I want you to stop."

The young woman chuckled. "You know we both know that's not true."

"Yes, it is! Okay?! I don't want you spying on me! I don't want you putting cameras in my house! I don't want you breaking in! I don't want you following me! Okay?!"

"Okay." She shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Clem, I mean it."

"Oh-kay," she emphasized.

Drake could tell she wasn't being sincere, and he didn't know what to say anymore. He didn't want to keep playing her game, but she wasn't getting that, and if she was, she wasn't showing it.

"Clem," he started, "do you think we're a couple right now?"

"I don't think." Now it was her turn to express confusion. "We are. We always have been."

He felt like he wanted to cry, but thankfully, what was left of the Xanax in his system wouldn't let him. "So when you told me to kill myself, it was all part of your...your weird sex kink?" Drake said. His voice gradually got louder as his anger grew. "When you drugged me and raped me and then got me thrown in jail, that was a cute little game to you?"

"Don't act like you didn't know. You were into it, too. That's why you got with that skank from the loony bin. You wanted to make me jealous. You knew I was there. You knew I was watching. You know how hot that was for both of us."

"You're a crazy fucking bitch."

Clementine mistook this for a compliment and grinned. "Thanks."

Before he knew what was happening, he found her on top of him, straddling him...

"Cle—"

...her tongue practically down his throat...

"Mm—"

...her hand in his pants...

"Clem—"

"Shhh. Don't talk." The young woman pulled the handle, causing the back of the seat to fall suddenly so that they were laying down, then she went back to sucking his soul out through his mouth.

"Mm—" He was scared to touch her because he was terrified of getting locked up again. He wasn't sure how exactly, but he knew she was cunning enough to flip this around on him if he pissed her off enough.

"There he is," Dahlia said when she felt his penis stiffen with her strokes. "He missed me, didn't he?"

He couldn't help but cringe with pleasure at her touch. He let go of a shuttering breath. "Stop," came out on a whisper.

"I missed having your big cock in my mouth," she teased with a seductive voice.

"Don't."

"I miss the taste of your cum."

"Mmm..." he moaned. "Stop..."

"None of those other women can do it like me, huh?"

Maybe he was still a little high on the Xanax because he was starting to convince himself that this was okay. Xanax had a way of doing that.

"You liked knowing I was watching you, didn't you? It made you hot, too," she said. "When that nutted bitch was sitting on top of you, riding your dick like her life depended on it, you knew I was right outside her window...watching you...rubbing myself..."

"Stop..."

"When you lay in bed thinking of me while you masturbated, it got you off knowing I was watching and masturbating, too."

"No..." He opened his eyes, sickened by the things she'd seen. "Stop. Clem... Clem, I'm serious. Stop." Drake didn't sound like he really meant it, and part of him didn't want her to listen, but the other part of him was creeped out and repulsed by her. "I said stop!" Finally, he pushed her away. This might've been the first time he really stood up for himself like this, and he wondered where this bravery was when, instead of Dahlia, it was his gym coach or his dad.

The girl huffed and rolled her eyes as she sat back in her seat. "Don't pretend you didn't like it."

He was mentally kicking himself for letting things get as far as they did. He fumbled with the button and zipper of his jeans, then wiped the sweat out of his eyes before buckling his belt.

"Look at you. I had you all worked up," she teased proudly. "Look how sweaty you are."

He felt so stupid. He didn't know if she was just toying with him or if she really wanted to fuck him, and he hated himself for that moment of weakness. He really needed to get laid...just not by her. Once his pants were fixed, he opened the door and got out.

"What the fuck? Where do you think you're going?"

He leaned over to meet her eyes from outside the car. "Listen to me, Clem. I'm done. Do you hear me?" His voice had never contained such seriousness in his life. "It's over. Stop following me. Stop breaking into my house. Stop interfering with my life. I don't wanna be with you, and I don't ever wanna see you again. Okay? This is over," he said, and he didn't once cower under her glare. In fact, his was stronger. "I mean it. Leave me alone." With that, he closed the door and started walking down the sidewalk and away from her car.

Dahlia got out. "You get back here this instant! I'm talking to you! That's an order!" She was outraged when he didn't obey like he used to. "Do you think Charlie's still gonna love you when I'm through with you?!"

She was grasping at straws and even she knew it, but this got his attention and stopped him in his tracks. Drake turned back around and came towards her — no fear, only rage. When he was close enough, he grabbed her throat and shoved her against her car door.

"If you ever come near my daughter or my family and friends again, I will kill you."

Clementine was taken aback by his courage, and seeing this other side of Drake for the first time even scared her a little bit. Of course, she wasn't about to let him know that, so instead, she brought the conversation back around to sex. "Now this is more like it," she struggled to say with his hand around her neck. "And if I'm not mistaken, I'd say you're just as hard right now as I am wet — just like how hard your dad was when he had his hands around your neck like this."

Dahlia felt his grip get tighter, and she smirked smugly although she couldn't breathe. Her words had struck a nerve and she knew it. She could still get to him, which meant that she still had power over him.

Drake finally let her go, then he turned and stormed away.

"Hey! Don't you dare walk away from me, Drake Parker!" She gasped with offense when he gave her the middle finger without even stopping or turning back to her. "You're gonna regret this! You hear me?! If you think this is the last time you'll be seeing me, think again! I am going to ruin you! Just wait!" She growled with fury through clenched teeth, then got back in the car, slammed the door and sped off so fast that the tires screeched.

"Bro, come on." Julio nudged his friend with his foot and, finally, this woke him. "Are you ever gonna get up?"

Drake pulled his blanket up to his chin and turned his back to him so that his face was now right up against the bottom of the couch. "No," he said in a whiny voice.

"Dude, get up." He waited a moment. "I'm gonna dump water on you."

The tired young man groaned like a ten-year-old with a tantrum. "Why?"

"Because it's almost two o'clock. How are you this tired?"

After his meet-up with Dahlia, he was actually really affected by how things had went down. He wasn't sure what came over him and possessed him to grab her by the throat, but he felt sickened by it, even if he was protecting his daughter.

Another soft kick. "Drake!"

"What?!" the boy said with matching irritation. "Lemme fuckin' sleep!"

His friend started walking away. "I'm getting the water."

"Don't!" Drake begrudgingly pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Julio, don't!" He tiredly rubbed his blurry eyes.

Julio went back over to him, then held out his hand. The young man on the floor glared at him, but he took it and was helped onto his feet. Afterwards, he followed him into the kitchen/dining room area, where the rest of the crew was.

"Look who's finally up," Dee said from in front of the stove.

"Fuck off," he groaned.

"Drake..." Ricardo scolded. He didn't raise his voice, but he spoke with all seriousness.

Sigh. "I'm sorry."

Ricardo was standing next to his boyfriend as he cooked, and Julio and Drake were in the dining room. There was a large, open window on the wall that divided the two and, on the younger boys' side, there were a couple of bar-stools placed at the window, as well as a dining table. They both sat down in the stools. In front of one was a plate with half a grilled cheese on it. Julio picked it up and continued eating. Dee, who had just finished up the next grilled cheese, flipped it onto a plate with a spatula and slid the dish in front of Drake.

"Thank you," the young man said quietly.

Despite the fact that it had just come off the pan, he picked it up and took a bite. For the most part, he ate with his eyes closed. There was small chatter amongst them, but Ricardo was focused on how small his troubled friend was and how he had been losing more weight rather than gaining it back after his psych ward release. Drake's weight fluctuated often, especially during his more severe depressive states, so they really just shrugged things off as that, but now that he looked at him, he wasn't sure how he hadn't seen it before. It was almost like he'd aged ten years overnight. His cheeks and eyes were sunken into his head. His shirt loosely hung off his shoulder and showed his collar bone, which protruded from him like it was trying to break out of his skin. He was sure that, without the shirt swallowing him whole, Drake looked like a skeleton, with each piece held in place by his tight skin. He wondered when the boy had last eaten, and he guessed that it had been a while ago considering how fast he scarfed down his sandwich.

"Oh my God," Drake said. "This is the best grilled cheese I've ever had in my fucking life." His words weren't exactly slurring today, but they connected lazily, so maybe he was coming down, Ricky thought.

"And it's vegan," said Dee.

"What the fuck? It's not even cheese."

Even Julio noticed that his friend wasn't talking like normal and it made him sad. He felt like he should've seen this before. Maybe it's because he wasn't home often. He was always at his mom's visiting Charlie, which made Julio wonder what he was acting like over there. It broke his heart seeing Drake talking a bunch of nonsense and acting in such a way that would've made him embarrassed had he been sober. Whenever they manage to get him back to normal, Julio knew his friend would feel so ashamed, and he knew what that was like, so he hated that the boy even had to deal with that. Why couldn't he have noticed something was off sooner?

"It's this plant-based pepper jack cheese," Dee said.

"We need to start buying this," he said as he chewed his last bite.

"It's pretty expensive. Almost eight dollars and you only get ten slices in the pack."

"Shit," the young man cursed with disbelief. "I don't know. I would probably be okay risking jail time for this cheese. I'm pretty good at stealing things."

Ricardo spoke up. "Except you literally went to jail for stealing when you were what? Eighteen?"

"Well, that was one time, which isn't bad because I used to steal a lot of shit. Your brother used to send me inside the store to steal computer duster all the time."

Unlike Drake, Julio could tell that the man had been angry since the second his friend had opened his mouth. He closed his eyes. "Oh, please, don't rope me into this."

"Oh, yeah. No, I'm kidding. I stole it for myself, I meant. Julio's never done drugs in his life."

Ricardo said, "I don't know why you think stealing's something cool to brag about, but it's not a good look, Drake."

The young man was smiling as if something about this conversation was comical, and the two audience members wondered how much longer it would take for him to catch on.

"I think you're just jelly because you weren't as sneaky as me," he teased playfully.

"You're acting like you're on some tough shit because you went to jail, but you only lasted, like, two weeks before you had a nervous breakdown, then you were crying every time I came to visit you."

Drake went quiet, and it seemed like it finally hit him that this wasn't a game of irrelevant, playful banter. When he spoke again, his smile was gone. "Geez, fucking relax, alright? It was a joke. Obviously, I'm not stupid enough to steal a pack of sandwich cheese. I'm not five years old."

"Then why are you fucking acting like it?"

If he didn't know before, then he definitely knew now that Ricardo was mad at him. Drake looked at Julio as if he'd diffuse the situation for him, but his friend wouldn't even face him. His eyes moved to Dee, who also quietly kept his head pointed downwards. It was obvious to him then.

They know.

Usually when they caught him after a relapse, he would feel a lot of guilt or shame or fear or even panic. This time, however, he was angry, which was a side effect of the Xanax.

"You know what? Fuck this!" He got up and knocked his chair over in the process. "You always act like you know better than me! You don't know anything! I'm just as capable of controlling my life! I don't need you doing it for me all the time!"

"Are you sure?!" Ricardo responded. "Because you look like a strung out fucking mess right now!"

"And it's your fault!" he yelled back. "All of you! I tried to stop taking the meds, but you told me to!"

"You can't put that shit on anyone but yourself! We all told you the second you met Dahlia that she was no good! You decided you knew better than everyone!" It was a good rebuttal, and it made his opponent even madder.

"It must be so great up there on your high horse knowing you're so much better and smarter than everyone! But you're not shit!" Drake screamed, and his eyes watered over. "I was the one who told you that Clem was drugging me, and you didn't listen! I begged you to believe me! Remember?! You were wrong, and she raped me because of it!"

Dee tried sticking up for his boyfriend just like he'd done for him. "Drake, come on, man—"

"You wanna know what happened in the psych ward?! Five men jumped me and dragged me into a room! Four of them held me down! The other guy pulled down my pants! He raped me—" His voice cracked when he said this, and a few sobs left him. "—and then he helped hold me down, and another one took his place until they all took their fucking turn on me!" The dam behind his eyelids broke, and several tears raced down his cheeks all at once, but he ignored them. "Because you didn't listen! Because you think you know everything! But you don't! I refused the medications so I could fight back to keep it from happening again! You told me to play their game! You told me to let them dope me up! Do you know how many times they raped me?!" His nostrils flared and his lips trembled. "You let that happen! You let them do that to me! YOU FAILED ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"

He was shaking like all hell, and snot dripped down his nostrils. He wasn't the only one crying. Julio wept quietly as he watched the ticking time bomb that was his best friend explode.

"So congratulations, Ricardo, on having a life that's so fucking PERFECT—" He threw his empty grilled cheese plate on the floor and it shattered, causing Julio to flinch.

Ricardo finally spoke. "Drake—"

"—that you don't have to get fucked up just to handle being alive! Instead, you get to spend every waking moment judging me!" Now he broke Julio's dish.

"Stop it," Ricardo warned firmly with a clenched jaw and his pointed finger aimed at him intimidatingly. When he saw the boy pick up his full glass of juice, he said, "Drake Parker..."

CRASH!

"Drake!" He quickly moved around the corner so that he was in the dining room now.

"What are you gonna do?! Huh?!" He managed to snatch Julio's cup before the young man could, and he added it to his pile of destruction. "You gonna hit me?!" He picked up a rounded dish that was on the window sill and slung it against the far wall to his left without removing the keys and coins that were in it. "Do it! Hit me!" To give him a demonstration of what he wanted him to do, he turned and punched a picture frame that was hanging on the wall, and the glass rained down to the floor. His hand was bleeding, but he couldn't even feel the pain. To add to the debris, he picked up a small trinket on the window sill and smashed it. "HIT ME!" There were no more glass objects close by, so he went in on the fruit basket. He picked up an apple, wound his arm back and hurled it right at the man, hoping that would force him to take action. "COME ON, YOU FUCKING PUSSY!"

This did get Ricardo moving. He came forward swiftly, and Drake waited for the blow, but it never came. Instead, he felt his opponent grab him...

"Get off! Fucking get off me!"

...and wrap his arms around him tightly.

"Get off! Don't touch me! I hate you! I hate you!"

Drake then heard Ricardo's quiet voice say, "I know. I know. It's okay."

He still tried to shake the stronger man off with both his words and his body. "I hate you! Fucking bastard! Piece of shit!"

"It's okay," he continued to whisper in a soothing voice. "I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Drake broke down sobbing with these words. "Don't touch me," he tried, but he was no longer yelling and he no longer meant it. "Get off."

"It's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you."

The young man leaned against him weakly and squeezed him tight now, too. He didn't know why he was crying so hard, and he couldn't control it. It was perhaps the hardest he's ever cried in his entire life. "O-ho-ho, God!"

Ricardo petted his back, then his hair as he held him close. "It's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I didn't wanna be there alone!" Drake's back jerked with his sobs, and he was bawling vocally — practically yelling — like he was grieving a great loss he'd suffered. He had suffered a great loss. He'd lost himself.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Julio was knelt down next to Drake's pile of rage. He had a garbage can next to him and a broom and dustpan leaning against the wall nearby. He carefully picked up the larger pieces with his hand, then put them in the can.

He could hear Drake crying from here. Ricardo had taken him to the bedroom to try and calm him, leaving the other two boys to clean up the mess. Julio looked up at Dee, who stood in front of the shattered frame on the wall. He couldn't see his face, but the fact that he stared at it so long made him think that there was some significance to it. He started to ask when the man finally gripped the sides and pulled it off the nail, but he heard the bedroom door open. When his brother entered the kitchen, he stood.

"I'm getting him some water so he can take his pills," he explained when he saw Julio's concern and curiosity.

"You're actually letting him take them?"

"I don't know what else to do. He's talking about suicide. I'm just trying to get him to calm down," he said. "Besides, we can't just make him give up the Xanax cold turkey."

"We made him give up Triple C's cold turkey."

"But it's different. People can die from Xanax withdrawals. We'll have to be patient and slowly start tapering him off them." Ricardo's eyes then moved to his boyfriend. "I am so sorry. I wouldn't have asked if we could all come if—"

"It's okay," the man brushed off.

"I'll replace everything—"

"It's fine," Dee said nonchalantly. "Just go take care of Drake. He needs you."

Ricardo felt bad for leaving, but he really did need to get back in there. When he was gone, Julio grabbed the broom and dustpan and swept up what was left of the glass, then he dumped it into the trash bin. After he finished, he saw that his brother's boyfriend was still focused on the frame.

"What's that?"

"Um..." Before Dee turned towards him, Julio swore he'd heard the man sniffle. "It's, um..." Dee pulled out a chair and took a seat at the dining table, so his friend followed suit. "It's this family thing that's been passed down by my ancestors since my eighth generation great-grandfather." He began carefully picking away the tiny glass crumbs until he could remove the old, brownish-yellow paper, which had three folds in it and was torn most of the way across the uppermost line, with some smaller rips along the sides due to aging. He placed it gently on the table between them so that Julio could read.

Know all men by these presents that I, Charles Wallace of the County of Crittenden in the State of Kentucky have let free my negro man by the name of Oscar Christensen aged forty-two about six feet and three quarters inches high has a scar across right eyebrow, a scar across his nose, for the sum of one hundred pounds, which he the said Oscar has paid me. Witness my hand and seal this 3rd day of March 1808.

"These are freedom papers?" Julio realized.

"Yeah. In the mid 1600's, some of my ancestors were stolen from Ivory Coast in West Africa and sold into slavery here in the U.S."

Julio continued reading, which took a little longer than normal due to the faded cursive writing.

"When I was young, I remember it used to hang on the wall between the kitchen and the living room. It was there since as far back as I can remember, and sometimes my dad would sit in his recliner and tell me stories that were passed down to his father and then to him," Dee said. "When I first moved into this house, he came over and gave this to me and said it was my turn to hold onto it."

Julio's heart went out to him and he felt just as guilty as Drake actually was. He should've stopped his friend once he started breaking shit or diffused the argument once it started or maybe they shouldn't have been here at all. This wasn't Drake's first time being under the influence here and throwing things. It happened the night he'd blacked out and wanted to express his gratitude towards Dee by drunkenly attempting to offer sexual pleasure.

"I am so sorry," he apologized on behalf of his friend.

Dee was quiet for a moment. His eyes were slightly sparkly, but he didn't cry. "It's okay," he said. "The letter didn't get messed up. That's the important part. I can replace the frame."

"Shhh..." Ricardo whispered. "It's okay." He was laying down with Drake, and he held him in his arms. He was sure the Xanax had finally kicked in because the boy was down to a soft weeping. "It's okay. It's okay."

Drake had his back to him, so he couldn't tell if he had his eyes closed in an attempt to fall asleep or if he was laying there staring at the wall. He wondered if the three Xanax bars were enough to put his friend to sleep after the confession he'd made. Ricardo could tell he was having a rough time fighting to keep the thoughts from replaying over and over again in his mind because, every so often, the young man's crying would get a bit heavier until he was choking out sobs and struggling to breathe.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

He suddenly became aware of how tightly he was holding Drake. It was because, roughly half an hour ago, the grieving boy kept fighting him and pushing him away while spouting off about killing himself and wanting to be left alone. Ricardo reached up and brushed Drake's bangs out of his eyes, feeling his warm forehead in the process.

"Ricardo?" came Drake's pitiful voice.

"Yeah?"

His crying caused him to hiccup and stutter in the middle of his words. "I di-didn't mean it."

"It's okay."

"I don't hat-hate you."

"I know." He rubbed the boy's bicep to assure him that he understood.

"It's not your fault." A sob left him. "I jus—" Sniffle. "—just said that because I'm embarrassed I star-started using again." Sob. Sniffle.

"It's okay. We can talk about it later."

The conversation stopped there, and several minutes passed. Eventually, Drake's weeping subsided and his breathing slowed.

When the boy spoke again, his voice was barely audible. "Ricardo..."

"Yeah?"

"...zzthisreal...?"

"What?" He was met with a long silence and, for a moment, he thought his friend had fallen asleep, but then he heard his quiet voice again just before he drifted away.

"...Idon'knowwha' s'realanymore..."

"Yeah, Drake. This is real."

When Drake opened his eyes, he couldn't see anything due to blurriness. He blinked and quickly found himself in Ricardo's bed. "Mmm..." he moaned tiredly.

"You up?"

Drake looked towards the foot of the bed and saw Ricardo sitting on the floor. He had the tv on with the volume low while he folded laundry. He tiredly dropped his head back on the pillow and rubbed his eyes as he stretched his legs. "How'd I get here?" he asked with a strained voice.

"You don't remember?"

He didn't answer because he didn't like his answer. Not quite ready to get up, the young man turned onto his side and closed his eyes again. He dozed off pretty quickly, then woke up shortly after, dozed off, woke up...until finally, he pushed the comforter away and sat up.

Ricardo stood, then sat in front of him on the bed. "How ya feeling?"

"Head hurts." He reached up to massage it, then hissed at the pain he felt in his hand. "Ow, shit!"

"What is it?"

"My hand. I think...dude, it's fucking broken."

"Let me look at it."

Drake pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his forearm on it so that his hand was floating in mid-air between himself and Ricky. When the man reached for it, he freaked out. "Don't touch it! Just look."

"I've gotta take off the towel to see it." He gently loosened the knot he'd tied after the incident, then he slowly peeled away the—

"Fuck, Ricardo!" Drake exploded angrily, then he felt angry with himself for being angry. He knew it was because of his Xanax come-down. He huffed, although he meant it more as a sigh or calming exhale or silent apology, then he rested his head against his knees so his caring friend couldn't see the pain he was in. When the man got the makeshift wrap off, he heard him let go of his breath as if with surprise and concern. "It's bad?" He lifted his head and looked. "Oh, fuck..."

His hand was swollen and bruised. There was blood on it and cuts left by the chunks of glass Ricardo had picked out during his heavy slumber. The largest was about an inch or so long, and it was right between his knuckles. He hid his head in his knees again.

"Can you straighten your fingers?"

"Mm-mmm," he replied immediately, shaking his head. He didn't even want to open his mouth because he thought any sudden movement would make it hurt even more.

"I'll drive you to the hospital."

"It's your mom."

Drake pulled his eyes away from his new hot pink cast, which stretched from his forearm near his elbow all the way to his hand, holding two fingers together and leaving the others exposed. He looked at the radio, where his mother's name came up, then Ricardo pressed a button on his steering wheel and answered it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ricardo. It's Audrey."

"Hey, how are you?"

"I'm alright. Well, honestly, I'm a little worried. Drake hasn't been by in a few days, and I haven't heard from him at all." This wasn't the first time that she was afraid he'd started abusing drugs again. However, this was the first time since their reunion that her fears were true.

Her son spoke up to offer her comfort. "Hi, Mom."

"Oh, Drake, there you are. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah." He realized it was a short and maybe not-so-truthful answer, but he didn't want to talk about this over the phone; she deserved better.

"Where have you been, sweetie?"

"Um, just..." He didn't know how to answer her, so he didn't. "Sorry, I should've called. Is Charlie okay?"

"Yeah, she's okay. She's just been asking about you a lot."

Drake glanced at the time. 8:32. "Is she still awake?"

"Yeah, you wanna talk to her?"

"I'll just swing by and see her for a little bit and then put her down for bed."

Audrey was glad. She didn't want to not trust him, but she couldn't help that she was skeptical of his wellbeing. Seeing him would make her feel better. "Alright. She'll be happy about that."

"Give me, like, thirty minutes, I guess."

"Okay, sweetie. See ya when you get here. I love you."

"I love you, too." After the call ended, he said, "When we get home, I'll run in and grab my medicine, then take Julio's car." He was met with silence. "Or...?" He was back in sobriety-restart mode, which meant that he needed to be more considerate and willing to compromise.

"I would feel better if I dropped you off and picked you up."

"Okay." He didn't really mind either way. "Can we still stop by the house to get my meds, though?"

"Do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I can't just cut them out completely. You said so yourself."

"It was a yes or no question. Trying to manipulate me into giving you pills by using my own words against me is addict behavior," Ricardo said.

Drake rolled his eyes and sighed with annoyance as he sat back in his seat.

"And you keep calling it your 'medicine' instead of saying what it actually is: Xanax."

"Because it's my actual medication." Cool, it's time to argue apparently.

"No, you're saying that to downplay to me how big of a problem they are and, honestly, I think you're trying to fool yourself, too."

"Whatever."

"Do you see how upset you are because I asked you to wait a couple more hours before you take them?"

"Are you just gonna sit here and call me out for all my bullshit? Is that what this is?" Drake said. "Anything else you'd like to enlighten me on since apparently you know me better than I know myself?"

The man said nothing for a moment, but he couldn't help himself. "You're getting a little defensive, if you ask me. Why do you think that is?"

"Oh, fuck you." Irritated and pissed off, he turned and looked out the window. His voice was quiet and pouty. "I shouldn't even have given you the pills."

"Why? Because I won't let you get fucked up before you go see your daughter?"

"I wasn't gonna get fucked up!" Drake snapped.

"No, you were gonna take a responsible amount because that's what you do, right?"

"Why are you being such a dick and attacking me?"

"You feel attacked because I'm simply bringing to light the lies you're telling?"

"You know what? Fuck it. Just take me home."

"You're gonna blow off your worried mom and your daughter who hasn't seen you in days because you can't wait two hours to get fucked up?"

"Yes! Okay?! I'm choosing drugs over my daughter! Is that what you wanna hear?!" When the man looked at him, he saw that Drake was in tears. "I'm struggling, Ricardo! I wanna get high! I wanna feel like everything's gonna be okay! I've had a shitty day and a shitty week and just a shitty life in general! I'm a fuck-up! I'm an addict! Okay?! I need help! I know that!" In a begging tone, Drake cried, "Help me!"

Ricardo was already in the process of pulling over. Once he stopped the car, he wrapped his arm around his friend, moving him closer. "I will," he promised. "I will."

"I'm so tired of feeling like this."

"I know. I know it's hard, but you are so strong, and I know you can beat this. You're gonna get through this and come out even better than before. You're a fighter. You keep getting knocked down, but you still get back up. I need you to get back up again. I need you to meet me halfway," Ricardo said, "or if you can't give that much right now, meet me twenty percent of the way, and I'll meet you eighty. I just need you to work with me. Can you do that?"

Drake nodded against his chest. "Yeah."

"You have to want it."

"I do. I want it," the boy said, and he sniffled. "I wanna get clean."

Drake slowly and gently sat up as not to wake Charlie. He was glad Ricardo had calmed him down and talked him into coming here. His daughter was already tired by the time he arrived, so when she saw him walk through the door, her bottom lip stuck out and shook, and she broke down in fake tears. He went down to the basement and laid down with her, and they had a conversation until the toddler drifted off to sleep.

He ascended the staircase quietly, crossed the kitchen, then entered the living room, which is where everyone was. Ricardo was still here, and it was just his luck that Josh just so happened to be over for a visit tonight of all nights. He wished his mother would've given him a warning when they'd talked over the phone.

"She's asleep?" Kenzly asked, and her ex nodded.

Audrey spoke with concern. "Drake, what happened to your arm?!"

"Just snapped a metacarpal bone," he said. "No biggie, though." He hoped no one questioned him further, but...

"How did you do that, sweetie?"

Great. What was he supposed to say? "Um...I don't know. Just being stupid."

She understood then that he'd rather not talk about it, so she didn't pry further. "Well, come sit."

He stepped over the pairs of feet to get to the only free seat, which was next to Ricardo on the loveseat. On the couch sat Ms. Nichols, Josh and Kenzly, and Megan was in the recliner.

"How are you?" Josh asked, but it sounded more like a formality.

Drake offered a weak smile. "I'm okay."

After his break-down in the car, he'd decided that, to prove to himself that he was serious about getting clean, he needed to admit to what he'd done. That way, there would be more people holding him accountable, and it wouldn't be so easy to use some horrible manipulation tactic like he'd done to Kenzly yesterday. That's why Ricardo was here. Drake asked him to stay, and he did. However, Josh's presence was unexpected. It was hard enough making this confession to everyone else, but saying it while his former step-brother listened in was discomforting. He knew he would judge him. Josh probably wouldn't even be surprised by the news.

The talk in the living room was a light chatter, which intimidated Drake, so he had his head down, and he kept quiet. As the minutes passed, he got more and more anxious, and he was ready to go home and take his medicine.

"Are you alright, Drake?"

The young man was so lost in his feelings of anxiety that he didn't even think to acknowledge his mother until Ricardo whispered his name, pulling him out of his own head. When he looked up, he saw that everyone was staring at him. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" Ms. Nichols repeated. "You've been really quiet."

"Oh. Yeah. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just..."

Keeping secrets had become such a normalcy for him that it was a knee-jerk reaction to avoid opening up when he was asked about himself. However, this was the perfect opportunity to say what he'd come to say. He looked to Ricardo for confirmation that he was doing the right thing and that this was the right time. His friend didn't say anything, but Drake could tell by the look on his face that he supported him fully, whether he decided to admit to his sins right now or not. This gave him comfort. He didn't want to be a liar anymore. He hated himself when he was like that. His mom deserved better than that.

"Um...well...actually..." He sat up straight and found himself on the edge of his seat as if, the second this conversation went downhill, he was ready to zoom out of there. "I have to tell you something."

"Okay." Her face expressed both confusion and worry.

He's had to do this kind of thing so many times in his life that it should be easy by now, but it wasn't. Maybe it was because she was his mother. He hasn't actually had a conversation like this with her before, but he never used to really try to quit, so there was never a reason years ago to admit to a relapse. Now that he was sober — or trying to get that way, at least — he had to own up to his mistakes.

His eyes moved across the room as he gauged everyone's thoughts. He could tell that Kenzly was pretty sure she knew what he was going to say just because of how he'd acted yesterday. Now she'd recognize the fact that Drake had manipulated her.

Megan didn't seem to know what he needed to say, and maybe she shouldn't be here right now. Technically, she's still a kid, so maybe it was better if she heard it from someone else after the fact. He didn't want to do that to her, though. She was mature enough — more mature than him, in fact. For the first time in their lives, they were building a relationship. He trusted her and she trusted him, but he'd broken that trust. She had to hear it from him.

Josh definitely knew. It's like Josh has been waiting for this moment since his return. He'd never believed in Drake, and Drake couldn't keep trying to convince himself that that didn't hurt. His step brother was probably happy that the addict had fucked up. It was like now the rest of them finally had proof that Drake was a loser, just like Josh had always said. Maybe he was right.

He stared at the ground. "I, um..." He really hated himself for slipping up. Sure, it was all fun and games when he was getting high, but there was nothing fun about this. He hated knowing how hurt Kenzly would be, how indifferent Josh would be, how disappointed Megan would be, how scared his mother would be. When that thought ran through his mind, he met the woman's gaze, and just doing that caused his eyes to water over. He hated himself for being this way. He hated himself for doing this to them again. "I..." Drake's voice cracked when he said it, and there was no recovering from that. Suddenly, he crumbled. He hung his head and covered his face with his hand as he wept. He could feel Ricardo's hand soothingly rubbing his back.

"You're using again," Audrey realized sadly.

Drake nodded his confirmation and sniffled, then he lifted his head and met her eyes once again because he owed it to her. "I'm sorry." Once he opened his mouth to say it, his voice shook with miniature sobs, which embarrassed him because he hadn't planned on breaking down like this.

"Oh, honey..." She stood and made her way over to her son, then got on her knees in front of him and wrapped her arms around him. When Ricardo offered up his seat, she thanked him and moved there.

He was so grateful for the comfort, but that was the last thing he deserved right now. Nobody owed him anything. He'd betrayed every last one of them and, like always, he was playing victim. Although it was reassuring having his mom whisper in his ear that she wasn't mad and that everything would be okay, he couldn't take this moment away from them. They had every right to be angry with him, and he wanted them to know that it was okay to show that.

Drake started to separate from the hug, so Ms. Nichols let him go. He kept his head low as he sniffled and wiped his eyes and nose. The young man was having a hard time calming down, but he needed to pull himself together.

"Here you go, sweetie." Audrey held out a tissue box that had been passed down by Kenzly. After her son accepted one and blew his nose, she even took one herself and dabbed at the wetness underneath her own eyes.

He looked so pathetic and he knew it. He hated that he'd upset the women, but he couldn't stop obsessing over the judgement he knew his former step brother had towards him. Josh was the one he was most scared to look in the eyes. There would be no compassion there. In fact, it would be just the opposite. He would express such a lack of compassion that it would convince Drake he didn't deserve the love that anyone else was offering him. Maybe he didn't...

"I'm sorry," the boy said, and he grabbed a new tissue for his eyes and cheeks. He took in a breath, then let it out shakily. When he finally gained his composure, he said, "I'm gonna quit." Even Drake himself thought those words were laughable. "I know I've always said that to you without ever actually intending to go through with it. I'm not gonna try to sell this idea that, after all these years, I'm a new Drake. I know I'm the same..." He sniffled. "...lying, manipulating, fucked up Drake I've always been. I know I've made it impossible for you to trust me and that my words don't mean anything without proof. I just...want you to know...," his voice cracked, "...that I'm so sorry for putting you through this again."

His apology had made him cry some more, so he got himself a clean tissue and tried to freshen up a bit. Megan crossed the room and sat down on the arm of the loveseat so that she could be next to him. Both her and her mother refrained from touching him without permission.

Drake sighed to prepare himself to talk again. "At home, we have this kinda system in place. If I've relapsed, we all sit down and talk about it. I don't know...if you want to...or if you're mad, I can go and maybe come back another day."

And maybe come back another day. It saddened Audrey that her son thought there was a chance she'd be angry enough to shun him from the family for this. "No, sweetheart, we don't want you to go. Let's talk it out."

"Did you want to start or...?"

"We'll do it however you want to."

"Well, usually me, Julio and Ricardo talk about what led up to it and how they can help me get back to a good spot and what I can do to earn back trust and assure them I'm trying."

"Do you want to talk about why?" the woman asked, and she was met with silence. "You don't have to say anything you don't want to."

"No, I do," said Drake. "I just..." He sniffled. "It's just been a hard few months." He saw his mom move her hand closer to him, so he met her halfway and felt comforted by this. "I guess what really started it was when my ex was drugging me. I went through withdrawals in jail just to be forcefully doped up in the psych ward. When I was released, even after I stopped taking the meds, I was disoriented and...just out of it. I don't remember a lot, but I do remember when I saw Charlie, and it reminded me...that someone was counting on me, so I got up. Trying to pretend like things were normal was..." This was the point in his story where he'd started to lose control. "I decided to pick up the Xanax prescription that the psych doctor sent to the pharmacy. I guess I...convinced myself..." He was quiet for a long moment. "...I don't know," Drake said with shame. "In the back of my mind, I knew what I was doing. I knew it was wrong, but at the same time, I guess I rationalized it. I made myself believe that I was doing everyone a favor...because I was an emotional wreck, and I knew everyone was stressed out when I was locked up. I told myself I was doing the right thing by stabilizing and numbing myself so no one had to deal with my mood swings or outbursts or meltdowns..." He felt like he sounded like he was making excuses, so he added, "...but that was all just a lie I told myself. Even though I tried to ignore it, deep down, I knew what I was doing. I was aware enough of the fact that it was wrong that I hid it from everyone and lied to cover it up. I guess I just wanted to..." He didn't have his head lowered, but he also wasn't meeting anyone's eyes. "...numb the pain."

Audrey gave his hand a squeeze as a way to show she still supported him, and this gave him some comfort. The first time they had talked after he'd shown up on her doorstep, she'd told him that he could open up to her about anything and face no judgement. She was proving that today.

Josh, on the other hand, never made that promise. "You realize how selfish that was, don't you?"

Drake swallowed. Silent tears left his eyes as he nodded, then sniffled. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"Yet you still couldn't help yourself."

"Josh," Ms. Nichols scolded.

"It's okay," defended Drake. "He's right."

"So let me get this straight," the young man said. "After everything you put this family through, you thought it was worth their sacrifice so you could get high? Because that's who it hurts. You used knowing it was at their expense."

Drake opened his mouth to reply, but he hesitated and lost his chance.

"Do you really feel guilty," asked Josh doubtfully, "or are you just manipulating them?"

"No—"

"No, you don't feel guilty?"

"No, I — I mean, I do. I—"

"Well, which is it?" he interrogated.

"I do—"

"But you're sitting there soaking up all their guilt and their self-blame."

"I'm not—"

"You're really gonna sit there and tell me you're not?"

"I'm not trying—"

"How come you messed up and you caused everyone here pain, but you are the one being comforted?" Josh accused bitterly. His brother didn't know what to say, but he didn't give him time anyway. "Have you been high everyday since your release?"

The addict shook his head. "No—"

"Everyday this week?"

"Yes, but—"

"Drake," he said, "have you been high while you were watching your daughter?"

The boy went quiet. He had silent tears streaming down his cheeks due to his frustration. This isn't how these talks were supposed to go down. This wasn't how Julio and Ricardo handled it. Josh was right, though. He'd betrayed them, yet they were the ones always offering comfort. They'd coddled him the entire time he'd lived there.

Drake took in a sudden shuddering breath, then lowered his eyes just enough so that he wasn't looking at anyone. He sniffled, but his nose was stopped up so he had to wipe the snot away. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but the words got caught in his throat. He gulped and closed his eyes for a moment as if trying to gather his courage, but all he felt was regret and fear. He was scared because he knew that what he was about to say would change things. He knew that, after he confessed, it would be nearly impossible to ever get that trust back. This could very well be the last straw. This could be his family's breaking point, and it didn't just affect him; Charlie would suffer because of his mistake as well. What if they never let him see her again?

He could feel everyone staring at him despite the fact that his eyes were still closed. When he finally answered, the single word, "Yes," left his lips on an exhale and was somehow quieter than the silence that followed. He couldn't handle seeing their reactions, so he lowered his head.

"Do you understand how irresponsible that is?" Josh asked. "It's not just irresponsible. It's idiotic. You couldn't stop for one second and think that maybe getting doped up in the presence of a toddler isn't the best idea? What if something would've happened? What if she would've fallen down the stairs or — God forbid — you decided it was a good idea to get behind the wheel and total the car like you did with ours when you were on Xanax? Or you probably did drive with her, didn't you? Took her to McDonald's or something? By getting high, you were endangering her. You could've gotten her killed."

The young man was desperate enough to finally look to his mother. His bottom lip quivered despite how much effort he put into stiffening it. "Please," his voice cracked. "I know I made a mistake. Don't take her away from me. Please." He sobbed pitifully.

Josh said, "How is anyone supposed to trust you to take care of her when you can't even take care of yourself?"

"Because I love her. Mom," Drake pleaded, and he held her hand tighter, "please, I'm begging you. I'm begging you." His voice went out the second time he said it due to his crying, so he was just mouthing the words as he met her eyes.

"How do we know you won't go off and use again?" his former step-brother asked.

"Because I won't. I promise. I promise."

"Yeah, haven't heard that one before."

"Why are you doing this?" Drake found himself on his feet, and his opponent followed.

"Why am I trying to protect my niece?"

"She's not your fucking niece. This isn't your fucking family." He was heated because he felt threatened — or more correctly, he felt that his relationship with his daughter was being threatened — so his words were harsh. He definitely should've taken the Xanax beforehand. Not only would they have made him more calm, but he wouldn't be going through withdrawals that left him feeling angry.

"Boys—" Audrey tried.

"It was my family until you destroyed it," said Josh, "just like you destroy everything."

"Is this revenge? Is that it?" he said. "You're trying to get back at me for what happened with Mindy? She didn't love you! I did you a favor!"

"You're a narcissistic scumbag! You're the only guy I know who could confuse sleeping with his brother's girlfriend as helping!"

"Well, maybe if you would've actually satisfied her needs, she wouldn't have felt like she had to come to me!"

"Drake!" his mother scolded. "That's enough!"

"Don't get it twisted, Drake. She liked you because you're a junkie and you got her hooked on drugs! You're pathetic! Look at you! You look like you've just come back from living on the streets for a month! After all these years, you're still the same pitiful, helpless lowlife!"

"Yet somehow, you've always been jealous of me!"

"You know what? You're right! I was jealous, but not anymore because I know that you're a miserable person, and you make everyone around you miserable, too! You've always hidden behind this façade of coolness and popularity, but you're a fraud! You hate yourself, and you're so desperate to feel like you're not a horrible person that you've latched onto this kid! She makes you happy because she's too young to know how much of a piece of shit you are! You're fooling yourself if you think she'll be blind forever!"

"So you might as well kick me out of the picture now?! Is that it?!"

"I'm just looking out for Charlie because someone's gotta do it, and it doesn't look like it's gonna be her junkie father! Instead, you're spending your time following in the same footsteps as your own screwed up dad! At this rate, it's only a matter of time before you fully embody his personality! Or maybe you already have considering what you were arrested for!"

This time, it was an enraged Megan who broke in. "Josh, shut the fuck up! What is your problem?!" The fact that the boy even insinuated that Drake was capable of mirroring Martin's actions on his own daughter disgusted her.

Drake was even more furious than his sister and it showed when he gave his opponent a hard shove. Josh stumbled, then came back, unleashing his own anger. He was bigger and physically fit while his former step-brother looked like he hadn't eat in a month, so the boy fell backwards and landed on his ass. He hit the Christmas tree during his fall, so it tipped back and was leaning against the corner of the room. Drake was quick to get back on his feet, which is why Ricardo didn't make it in time before he was able to get another shove in. Josh fell backwards and landed on the couch, and Drake was on top of him before he could move. Audrey was on her feet and yelling at her two sons. She bravely reached into the brawl and grabbed the older boy's wrist, but he managed to shake her off and give Josh another good punch. All the while, he was swearing up a storm.

Drake felt strong arms wrap around him and, while he attempted to tear them away, Josh took his shot and slugged his attacker. This gave Drake that extra push he needed in order to get free, then he went right back to pounding on the young man. He was in one of his rare blind rages, like the time he'd beaten Coach Tad to a pulp. Ricardo could tell because he was winning even though he only had the ability to use one fist. Again, he got a grip on his friend and began dragging him away.

"—CAN GO FUCK YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING PRICK!" Drake was shouting so passionately that saliva splattered and dribbled from his lips. "COME ON!" he taunted with his arms spread. "COME GET YOUR FREE SHOT!" He was still kicking his feet in an attempt to get free, but as he passed the coffee table, he put the bottom of his shoe against it and kicked with all his might. It slid across the floor a bit before tipping over. The glass drinks and centerpiece crashed to the floor at Josh's feet. "THAT'S WHY MINDY LEFT YOUR BITCH ASS! YOU'RE A FUCKING PUSSY!"

"Thanks for proving my point that you are just like your dad!" his step-brother retorted as he moved his aching jaw around.

Ricardo was amazed by how much he was struggling to hold his roommate. He was definitely stronger than Drake, so he could handle him, but he wasn't used to using this much of his strength and energy with him. When he got him out the front door, he was glad that the boy stopped fighting him and instead began stomping towards the car on his own.

When she heard the loud bang, Rochelle opened her eyes with alarm and sat up. At first glance, their room looked intruder-free. Her head moved towards her boyfriend to make sure he was still laying next to her. "Babe?" she whispered as she shook his shoulder. "Babe?!"

Josh's eyes opened briefly, then closed again. "Hmm?"

"Someone's in the apartment!"

This got him up. He sat up swiftly. "What?"

"I heard someone."

He got out of bed and quietly made his way to the door. He listened intently and could hear faint noises that sounded like rattling and maybe talking. He felt ill-prepared for this as he glanced around for some sort of weapon he could use, but nothing seemed threatening enough. He was just going to have to take care of this with his fists, which was a laughable idea considering how bruised up his face was. Maybe he could sneak to the kitchen area and get to a knife. That would probably be his best bet.

"Josh," his girlfriend whispered worriedly as he reached for the knob.

He held up his hand to both quiet her and let her know that he had things under control. Did he, though? Either way, he couldn't chicken out now. He silently opened the door and slipped out as Rochelle reached for her cell phone.

The apartment was dark except for a light above their stove that they kept on for midnight snacking purposes. The first door he passed was the bathroom, which was empty. He continued until he came to a large open area. On his right was the living room and on the left was the kitchen and dining room, which was divided by the kitchen counter. He still wasn't seeing anyone, but he now could tell where the noises were coming from. Someone was outside his door, possibly struggling to pick the lock. He hurried over to the kitchen and pulled open the silverware drawer, then grabbed the sharpest knife they had.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang and the rattling stopped. He could just barely make out the word, "...shhhhit..." That meant it was definitely a person. This was actually happening.

Knock... Tap, tap.

He mustered up his courage and marched straight ahead to the front door. He put on a brave face despite how afraid he was. Maybe his confidence will scare them away. Josh turned the lock, then opened the door. At first, he saw no one, then he looked down at his feet and there, leaning against the corner of the hallway, was none other than Drake fucking Parker. The boy was clearly wasted, but apparently that wasn't enough because he had a bottle of liquor with him. He was positioned uncomfortably, which made Josh believe the loud crash from earlier was his drunk step-brother falling.

Drake chuckled when he saw the knife and tried to roll his eyes, but somehow managed to roll his entire head. "Yawanna killmenow, too, uh?" He was so drunk he could barely hold his eyes open. "Please. Bemyguest." A loud belch left him.

Josh's face fell and he looked on with a lack of amusement. He even seemed a bit disappointed that it wasn't a burglar. He definitely would've preferred that over...this. His arms dropped to his sides and his muscles relaxed as he sighed. He didn't even say anything. He just closed the door and turned around.

"Hey..." There was movement, then knocking. "Hey!"

One his way back to his room, he dropped the knife on the counter. His girlfriend was standing behind the door, so when he entered, she jumped with fright.

"Did you see someone?"

"Just my junkie brother." He went off to his side of the bed and slipped underneath the comforter.

"What?"

"Yeah, he's in the hall, drunk out of his mind."

Rochelle sat down next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He really sounded like he didn't care, and he looked the part as well. He already had his eyes closed like he was ready to go back to sleep.

"What is he doing here?" she asked, confused as to why Josh didn't want to do anything at all about the situation.

"I don't know. He probably doesn't know either. I doubt he'll remember any of this in the morning."

"I called the police," she said regretfully.

"Good. They'll deal with him."

"They'll lock him up."

"Sucks to be him."

The woman just stared down at him, but he didn't notice. His head was on the pillow and his breathing was already slowing down. He genuinely had zero worries at all right now.

She heard more noises, so she got up and left the room. From here, Rochelle could hear what was most definitely a police officer's voice.

"I don't wanna have to ask you again, okay?" The male voice was both kind and strict while also revealing his annoyance.

"I'sfine... S'fine..."

"If you can't remove yourself from this property, we're gonna have to do it for you."

"M'jus'tryna seemy brother."

There was more chatter, now between a male and female. She also had a no-nonsense cop voice.

"Hey!" the drunk exclaimed. "Hey!"

"What are you doing?" Josh's voice came from behind her.

"The police are here," his girlfriend said.

"Nononononono..." came from outside their door.

"Stop resisting, alright?"

"Don' touchme! Ow! You're hurtingme!"

"Hey, calm down. Stop kicking."

"You're hurting me!"

Rochelle turned to her boyfriend with concern. "What do we do?"

The young man shrugged. "Nothing."

"Josh! Josh, help!" Next came the unmistakable sound of handcuffs locking. "I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry! No! Stop! Josh, help me! Lemme go! Please! They'll killmeifI go back! Please! Ow!"

"Stop resisting. Do you have any drugs on you?"

Rochelle waited for a moment, but Josh did nothing, so she went over to the front door herself and opened it despite his protests. She saw a few of their neighbors standing in the hallway watching. Her boyfriend's brother was on his stomach on the floor with one of his wrists cuffed to his ankle as an alternative because of his cast. This was the first time she was seeing him in person, making her first impression of him just as messy and chaotic as Josh had always described him to be. Still, he didn't deserve to go to jail just for being drunk. Rochelle got the female officer's attention and started explaining to her that she'd been the one who had called and that she made a mistake because she'd thought he was a burglar. Josh appeared behind her and looked down at his pathetic brother.

"Idon'tlike tobe touched," Drake whined as the male cop patted him down.

"Do you have any drugs on you?" he asked again.

"No."

"No paraphernalia? Pipes, syringes, foil, spoon?"

"No."

The man emptied his pockets for him as he went, removing his wallet, loose change, a paper from his hospital visit, a lighter... "He's got a lighter," he mentioned out loud to his partner, who was still talking to Rochelle.

"I smoke!" Drake explained.

"Smoke what?" The man finished searching his pockets, then continued his pat-down. "You smoke meth?" He wasn't exactly being accusatory although he spoke with a tone that basically said, Alright, you're busted. Just give it up.

"Fuckin' cigarettes!" Even with all the alcohol in his system, he found himself getting nervous when the officer grabbed his backpack and unzipped it. "D'you havea warrant?"

The woman moved to a private spot away from everyone. "Paul," she called, then nodded to summon her partner.

As the two officers discussed the situation, Drake looked up at his brother. "Josh..." His voice was filled with fear. His eyes were red and glossy, but the young man couldn't tell if it was because he was crying or because he was drunk. "Josh, look," he whispered, "takemy baginside, okay?"

The resident didn't make any moves to fulfill Drake's request.

"Jusputitinside. Okay? Please?" he added desperately.

"There are drugs in it?"

He was too drunk to decide whether it was best to tell the truth or lie. "Please donlemme go backta jail."

Josh held the boy's gaze and, the longer he stared, it was like he could see through him. There was a fear inside Drake that he'd never seen before. His former step-brother was clearly anxious and afraid now, but this fear was something else — something deeper. It wasn't that he was just afraid to spend more time behind bars and away from drugs and freedom. There was something greater that had him genuinely scared to death. Rochelle was surprised when her boyfriend reached out and grabbed Drake's bag, then disappeared inside.

It wasn't long after that the two officers came back over and removed the cuffs. Rochelle had told the woman the truth for the most part — that she thought she heard an intruder, but it turned out to be her significant other's brother. The lie was that she said he was staying here and that he'd never forgotten his key before, so they didn't open the door. She also sprinkled in that this sort of behavior was so unlike him and that he must be having a really rough day. The nosy neighbors dispersed and the cops left. Rochelle helped Drake pick up the items that had been removed from his pockets, then led him inside.

"Sorry," he slurred, then he looked around. This was his first time being here and his first time meeting her. He glanced around for his backpack, then heard a zipper. He looked across the apartment and saw light shining from the open door to the left of the bedroom. Next, he heard a quiet plop! Despite how dizzy he was, he somehow managed to make a straight shot for the bathroom. Once there, he found that his suspicions were true. "What're yadoin'?!"

Josh saw how angry he was. He swiftly lifted the toilet seat, but Drake was on him before he could dump the pills. The young man grabbed his wrist and jerked it, slinging some of the Xanax bars out of the bottle.

"Gimmeit!"

Unlike earlier at their mom's house, Josh won this round, although he probably owed most of the credit to Drake's lack of balance and inebriated state. He shoved the drunkard back, causing him to hit the door hard and fall to the floor. Drake looked up at him pitifully, silently begging him not to do it. He managed to make the young man feel bad, but not bad enough to convince him to allow him to get high. Josh turned the orange bottle upside-down, emptying it's contents into the toilet, then he flushed.

Something that sounded like a pained sob left Drake's lips as he pushed himself onto his knees and began picking up the scattered Xanax. This was when Rochelle made it to them. Everything before had happened so fast. Drake had practically just ran into the bathroom and now he was somehow already on the floor crying over pills.

"Stop!" Josh said as he grasped his wrist and shook the drugs free. He was on the floor now, too.

"Sto-op!" the addict cried. He frantically made a grab for the fallen items, but he wasn't fast enough thanks to his drunken state. He clawed at his brother's hands desperately, but Josh managed to make it to the toilet in time. "No!"

He scoured the linoleum, but it was hard to see because his eyes were blurry and the white pills blended in with the white flooring. He saw Josh snatch one up, then another. Each time, he tried to pry them from the boy's hands, but he couldn't. The bloop of the pills hitting the water teased him until he couldn't take it anymore. Knowing that it was impossible to win against his step-brother when his own world was still spinning, he reached into the toilet bowl and blindly clenched his fist the moment he felt water. He was on his feet in no time. He pushed past Rochelle and bolted to the kitchen, tossing the three wet pills he'd fished out of the toilet onto his tongue as he went. He immediately turned on the sink and scooped water into his mouth. Josh, who was right behind him, shoved him to the side in his attempt to stop him, but it was too late. The Xanax bars were already making their way down his esophagus.

Drake gagged, and that's what woke him. He leaned his head over the side of the couch as vomit spewed from his lips. He didn't feel good at all, and he knew this wouldn't be the last of it. In fact, he felt more coming up his throat right now. He put his hand over his mouth and jumped up. He didn't realize that someone had placed a blanket on top of him and, the second he started his dash towards the bathroom, his feet got caught and he tripped. His knees landed in the first puddle while he created a second. The puke came up so forcefully that his abdomen was aching. His hand was covered due to his failed block attempt and the sliminess of it grossed him out. He hurled again and felt a burning sensation in his nose and throat.

The young man choked out a sob as he turned and worked on freeing his feet. Once he achieved this, he stood, feeling weak. He already felt like he was going to throw up again, but he wanted to make it to the bathroom this time. When he took his first step, which was unknowingly in a small, isolated puddle of puke, he slid down. He cried as he pushed himself to his feet again. He was covered in his own vomit, and he felt miserable. Miraculously, he made it to the bathroom without further incident. Once he reached the toilet, the bile erupted from his mouth like a volcano.

He felt like a lifetime had passed with him just throwing up. He shouldn't have taken the Xanax. You're not supposed to mix Xanax and alcohol. It's a bad combination and, had he not thrown it up, things could've been way worse.

Drake tried to wait until the nausea went away, but he eventually realized that that wasn't happening anytime soon. However, he couldn't stand being in these clothes another minute. He pushed himself out of the floor and exited the bathroom. When he looked back towards the living room, he saw vomit everywhere. It made a splotchy trail along the floor, and there was even some on the wall where his hand had been so that he could support himself. He stood there bawling for a minute. The sick young man knew he needed to clean up, but he felt like shit, and that seemed like such a hard task.

Josh is gonna hate me. I already know it. Why am I such a fuck-up? I hate myself. What have I done? Why did I leave Ricardo's? Why did I search through his private things until I found my pills? How could I have fucked up like this again? Why do I always do this?! How come I always end up here?! Drake sluggishly went back into the bathroom and stared at his reflection as he cried. Look at you! You're a fucking mess! Why do you keep embarrassing yourself like this?! Please fucking stop it! I don't wanna be like this! I don't wanna be this person!

He leaned against the wall and, as he broke down, he slid his back down it until he was sitting on his bottom. He sat there sobbing for several minutes as he obsessed over how much of a disappointment he was. What was he supposed to do now? Should he wake up Josh? Should he just bail? If he bailed, where would he go? Should he return home and, once again, expect Ricardo to straighten him out? How many more times did this have to happen before he came to terms with the fact that he was a lost cause? Should he just go to Tad's? Should he just give up and live out the rest of his days getting high on Charlie—

Charlie... She deserved so much better than him. She deserved a better father. He was a fucking disaster. What if she were here? What if she saw him like this? He couldn't keep these secrets from her forever. He's going to eventually fuck up, and she'll witness it. Josh was right. One day when she gets older, she'll see through his bullshit and realize how much of a loser he really is. Why was he even fucking trying? Who was he kidding?

Drake, shut. the fuck. up. with your whining. That's all you fucking do. You wanna be someone Charlie can be proud of? Then. fucking. do. it. Christ, Drake. Get. your shit. together.

He couldn't stop crying, but he did find the strength and motivation to stand. He quietly slipped into the bedroom and went over to his brother's side of the bed. "Josh?" he whispered, and his voice cracked. He tried again. "Josh?"

The young man's eyes opened and he looked on with confusion.

"I'm sorry," Drake wept with vomit all over his clothes and chin. "I'm so sorry."

Drake was seated on the edge of the tub when Josh entered the bathroom again. He was hunched over and weeping still. Everything was cleaned up now. While the boy showered, the resident cleaned up the living room, hallway and bathroom. He'd brought in some clean clothes. Despite how much weight Josh had lost over the years, his gray, long-sleeved tee still swallowed the addict whole. The collar was so large — or Drake was just so unhealthily small — that it exposed one of his shoulders, as well as his distinctly defined collar bone. After the young man had put on the pajama pants that had been picked out for him, they realized that, even with the waistband tightened and tied, there was no way they would stay up, so Josh switched them out for Rochelle's black ones, which had the word FEMINIST down the leg in pink letters.

"Try these." Josh held out the neatly folded pants.

Drake reached for them and lazily slipped both feet through the respective holes. He slid them up his legs, then stood and pulled them up over his boxers. "Thanks," he said. That little bit of movement was too much for him. He quickly whipped his head over the toilet and barfed.

Josh leaned against the sink counter and the wall with his arms crossed. His stance was both intimidating (because he was towering over the drunk) and distancing (because he used his arms as a sort of barrier between them). Neither were intentional.

When he finished throwing up, Drake weakly leaned his back against the tub and pulled his knees up to his chest — perhaps his own way of creating distance — as he sat on the floor. Somehow, this made him look even smaller if that were even possible. His former step-brother passed him a wet washcloth, and he accepted it, then wiped off his mouth. For a while, there was only silence between them. Josh was content with this silence. He had nothing to say to the guy he used to consider as his best friend. Drake on the other hand...

"I'm sorry," came his quiet voice. It was even quieter because he kept his head hung. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry for blowing up on you. I'm sorry for hitting you. I'm sorry for coming here. I'm sorry for...being like this. I'm sorry I woke you up. I'm sorry I made such a mess. I'm sorry for the things I said to you at Mom's."

He was trying to keep his composure as much as he could, but he was losing control. His face contorted and his bottom lip quivered despite how hard he tried to stiffen it. He couldn't keep it in. Sobs left him, but he tried to hide it by covering his face with his hand. Josh could see the boy's fingers trembling.

"You were right about me," Drake said when he collected himself enough to speak. He knew he wouldn't be able to stop crying, so he pushed through what he had to say despite the occasional interrupting sobs, voice cracks and sniffles. "I'm a fake. I'm a fraud. I hide behind these masks...always acting innocent...always playing the victim. I'm a liar. I'm a deceiver. I'm a manipulator. I act like I'm the one who's always getting attacked, but really, I'm the toxic one in all my relationships. I'm fucking abusive." He wiped the snot from his nose, and his back jerked as sobs left him. "I can't even deny it anymore. I am my dad," said Drake. "I'm worse. I hurt people that don't deserve it. I hurt you."

Josh remained silent and just listened.

"I knew how much you loved Mindy, but I betrayed you anyway. My own brother... I'm a piece of shit," the boy said. "I didn't mean what I said about you not being able to satisfy her sexually. It's like you said: the only reason she stuck around was because I got her hooked on drugs. I knew what I was doing and...I did it anyway. I ruined her life because I didn't wanna be alone. I'm so selfish. Because of me, all the plans you had for your life were stolen from you. Because of me, Charlie's..." His voice got caught in his throat and his words trailed off there as he let go of more sobs. "Charlie's not gonna have a mother in her life. She's gonna feel like something's wrong with her and that she's the reason Mindy left, but it's me. I did that. It's my fault she'll feel that way about herself. She's three years old, and I've already fucked her up...my own fucking daughter."

The sleeves of Josh's tee were covered in the hungover young man's snot. He'd never seen his step-brother bawl so hard before. Maybe this was the first time he's ever admitted to himself the type of person he really is.

"I've done so many horrible things." For the first time during his confessional, he lifted his head and made eye contact. "I killed my dad. I'm the reason Meelah's dead. I'm the reason my mom divorced your dad. I'm the reason Julio became an alcoholic. I fucked the love of my brother's life. I tried to fuck my best friend's boyfriend. You know how Mrs. Hayfer and me became friends? I was a prostitute living on the streets and I would whore myself out to men at the truck stop just to make enough money to get high. One of those men just so happened to be her husband, and she caught us together in the back of his tractor. I'm totally fucking naked..." He sniffled as tears poured down his face like a river. "...masturbating while he watched. He paid twenty-five dollars for that. I accepted twenty-five dollars for that. I even..." Drake looked like he was going to throw up again. "I tried to convince him to let me suck his dick. I turned around and got on my knees...trying to..." He'd never gone this far into detail about that night with anyone before. This was his first time saying these words out loud. "...trying to get him to fuck me so I could charge just a few dollars more."

Josh was both shocked and disturbed by this new information. He had no idea how Drake had done this and still managed to pull off having his high school teacher wear his friendship bracelet.

"I was laying there, playing with myself...putting on a big show, just...moaning and humping the air...then she walks in. He freaked out. He threw me against the wall and kept hitting me. Even after what she'd just witnessed, she tried to get him to let me go. He dragged me by my hair and literally threw me head-first to the asphalt. A bunch of other truck drivers were standing around because they heard all the screaming. They knew me. They knew what I was doing. I'd slept with most of them already or, at least, tried to. They all laughed at me and berated me. They threw change at me and called me names and I was just standing there in my underwear and t-shirt. I ran off I was so humiliated."

It actually broke Josh's heart to hear this story. The experiences his brother had had while he was on his own were brutal.

"Mrs. Hayfer followed me to this park I sometimes slept at. I was so embarrassed. When your biggest enemy sees you at such a low point in life, you'd think they'd feel satisfied about your failure. She didn't. Even after how I treated her in high school — after she caught me with her husband — she didn't look the least bit pleased to see the shit-show I'd made of my life. She looked at me like I was an actual person and not some object — some hole to shove a dick in." Drake sniffled as he pointed at himself. "Like I mattered. Like I deserved better."

When Josh had first learned about Drake and Mrs. Hayfer's friendship, he'd been really jealous. Now that he was hearing the story behind it, he didn't feel that way anymore.

"She got me in her car and, the whole ride to my motel room, she tried to convince me to go back to Julio and Ricardo. Even when we got there, she wouldn't give up. I kept trying to push her out, but she wouldn't let me shut the door. This guy I owed money to came over. He nearly beat me to death, but she stopped him. He put a gun to my head, and she grabbed his arm like she wasn't the least bit scared. He hit her so hard it knocked her out, and she banged her head on the way down. I thought he'd killed her. He came back over to me and forced the barrel of the gun into my mouth. I was terrified. It was so hard to talk, and I was begging him to let me go. I offered to suck his dick in exchange for my life, and he got really pissed off. He made me..." This was another thing he'd never before mentioned to anyone. "He made me act like I was giving his gun a blowjob. I knew that he'd kill me when I finished, but I was so scared I did it anyway. It felt like it lasted forever. He kept using this voice, like he was talking for the gun...telling me how he wanted it. He made me jerk off at the same time. When I was about to orgasm, he made these moaning noises for the gun and kept yelling that it was gonna cum, but I knew it wouldn't be cum that came out; it would be a..." His voice cut out when he said 'bullet'. Although Josh could read his lips, he repeated himself when he could speak. "...a bullet. I thought I was gonna die with my dick in my hand, but when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. He forgot to load the gun before he left his motel room. After that, he kicked me in the head until I lost consciousness. I woke up when my head was shoved into a bathtub full of water. He held me under until I could hardly stand it, then he'd give me just enough time to get a little breath of air. While he drowned me, he shoved the stick end of a plunger up my ass and...and kept moving it back and forth. I don't know how long it took for Mrs. Hayfer to wake up, but when she did, she saw him sexually assault me. She watched it happen. She got him to stop when she offered to pay him what I owed, then she took the plunger out, helped me pull up my pants and held me as I cried."

Josh felt sick to his stomach. He knew that prostitution was a dangerous line of work, with assault as a high risk factor that unfortunately came with the job. He wondered how many times something like this had happened to his brother.

"Finally, I agreed to go back to Ricardo's. She dropped me off, and I got clean again. When I got out of the hospital and was feeling better, I went to see her so that I could apologize and thank her. She told me to stay away from her and never speak to her again, which was understandable. Fast-forward to a few months later. I downed an entire bottle of muscle relaxers and hid in one of the showers in the bathroom at the truck stop so I could kill myself in peace. Mrs. Hayfer was picking up her husband, and he stopped by the bathroom and found me. They both did CPR until paramedics got there. When I woke up from the coma, I remember her being there. She gave me HotHands to keep me warm. She visited everyday and read to me. That's the second time she's saved my life," said Drake, "and what good has it done?"

For a moment, Josh thought that his brother was actually wanting an answer. Maybe he was hoping for one. They held silent, unbroken eye contact for what felt like an eternity. It was then that he became aware of his own stoic expression, and he wondered if he'd looked like this the entire time. At first, he felt bad because he wanted his older brother to know that he was listening, but then he decided it was best to not show his emotions because the addict might try to play off them.

Normally when Drake confessed to something, he would hang his head, but not this time. Now he was taking full responsibility for his actions. He bravely revealed his deepest, darkest flaws while looking Josh dead in the eyes. "I'm a bad person," he whispered. "I've hurt so many people that I can't even handle all the guilt." He choked on the word as sobs erupted from his throat. "I get high because it helps me get through the day. I've got all these people who love me and support me. They want me to succeed. They want to help, but I'm selfish. I get fucked up to numb myself from the pain even though I know what it'll lead to — what it always leads to. I'm an addict. Everyone else, whether they want to or not — they get swept up in my chaos. I destroy everything I touch," he said with deep conviction, "but I've got these pills to get me through, so at least I'm covered. At least I'll be fine." He was calling himself out for his own hidden thoughts, which he'd tried to ignore for years. "Yeah, it's gonna hurt these other people if I do this, but at least I won't have to feel like this anymore."

Josh was honestly surprised by how self-aware the boy was. He never really had too much hope for him in that department because Drake wasn't really the smartest guy around, but here he was openly talking about his own toxic and abusive behavior, calling himself out on all of his own bullshit. He was vocally admitting it to himself for the first time, and Josh was glad that he was the one who got to witness this. Perhaps he needed to hear it just as much as Drake needed to acknowledge it.

"It's revolting. I'm revolting," Drake said. "I'm a disgusting slimeball. I'm a narcissistic, sociopathic scumbag. I'm an attention whore. I'm an actual whore. I'm a life-ruiner. I'm a murderer. I'm a pathetic junkie. I'm a lying, cheating, manipulating piece of shit. I'm a burden. I'm an embarrassment. I'm a disappointment." His eye contact never once faltered as he owned up to his worst traits. "And I'm so ashamed."

Just the fact that the young man had vocally acknowledged these things in his presence seemed to put Josh at ease. He could feel his muscles relax for the first time in years. It's like a weight had been lifted from him.

"I know you hate me," his former step-brother said, "and I don't blame you. What I did to you is unforgivable. Even before I overstepped my boundaries with Mindy and before I started using drugs, I was always letting you down. I was disrespectful and mean and judgmental. Sometimes I'd avoid you in the halls in school because I thought I was too cool to be seen with you. I was wrong. All that popularity in high school was meaningless. You're the cool one. I'm a loser. I'm a nobody, and I was never a good brother."

Josh's eyes were glazed over, and it was an anomaly that he was able to hold so much water in his eyes without letting any slip.

"And I'm sorry."

Once he said those words, the dam behind Josh's eyelids broke. Although his tears fell freely, he wept silently like he was trying to ignore that fact. Drake's apologized before — plenty of times before, in fact — but this wasn't the same. Those other apologies were always meant to twist everything so that Drake received the sympathy. Sure, they were genuine, but there was always some level of manipulation behind them as well, whether Drake realized that or not. He would fuck up, but then he would still be the one to receive comfort. This time, he was accepting his shame and dealing with it on his own. This time, he recognized that he was the abuser rather than the victim, which was clearly very hard for him to admit, but he did. This was the apology that Josh has been waiting four years for. It wasn't even the apology that was important to him; it was the acknowledgement. Finally, Drake gave that to him.

He sat up on the couch. Drake didn't remember falling asleep. The young man rubbed his eyes, which were red and swollen from both tiredness and all the crying he'd done. What had woken him was the strong smell of breakfast, which was making him sick because of his hangover. Yeah, he definitely had to throw up. He hopped up and hurried to the bathroom. Thank God he was much more coordinated than last night because he made it to the toilet in time.

When he was finished, he caught his breath and relieved his bladder, then rinsed his hands off and gargled some mouthwash he found in the cabinet. As he swished the burning liquid around, he absently stared at his reflection, and the events of last night replayed in his mind: the alcohol, the police, the fight, the mess, the apology. He hated himself. Normally, he would start crying right now as he thought about the indignant behavior from the night before, but he was all cried out. No more fucking crying. He had to take responsibility. He had to accept that he was not the victim, and he had to live with the things he had done.

Drake spat the minty mouthwash into the sink, then scooped some water into his hand to rinse. When he finished up, he gave himself a quick once-over in the mirror — a natural habit. He wore Josh's over-sized sweater and women's pajama bottoms. His hair was oily and tangled and could use a nice wash and comb-through. He was pale, and his eyelids hung heavily. He had bags, and the circles around the boy's eyes were so dark that he looked like he had two black eyes. His lips formed an exhausted frown, and he couldn't muster up the energy to fake anything different. He didn't look healthy at all. He was losing more and more weight as each day passed. One day, he's just going to disappear. Poof. Maybe that would be for the best.

For a moment, he attempted to straighten up his hair so that he could be at least somewhat presentable, but it wouldn't make much of a difference because of the rest of his appearance, and the residents had already seen him at a low anyway. It was probably best to just leave. Drake exited the bathroom and headed straight for the front door, but as he reached out for the knob, he heard a girl's voice.

"You're leaving?"

He turned back to see Rochelle in the kitchen. The first thing he noticed was that she was super hot. It was different seeing Josh with someone like her. Josh was really attractive now, too, though. He'd grown up, lost the excess weight, built muscle, cut his hair, found his style. All the while, Drake's looks were deteriorating. Strange how everything has flipped around on him in his adult years. He used to be the hot one. He used to be the cool one. He used to be the one everyone wanted to hang out with. Now he was an ugly loser who people steered clear from.

"Um, yeah." He wasn't as smooth, well-spoken and confident as he used to be either. "Sorry for...everything. I appreciate you letting me crash here."

"Stay for breakfast," she said in a kind, bubbly voice.

"I...I'm not really hun—"

"Come on," she pushed, then she held up a dish full of food. "I made you a plate."

Rochelle walked around the counter with the breakfast and a jug of orange juice, then she went back for two more plates. At this time, Josh entered. He was dressed for the day, but not in formal clothes, which hinted that he was off work today. He leaned forwards and gave his girlfriend a quick kiss.

"Good morning, baby," the woman said.

"Mm, it smells amazing in here." He opened a cabinet and grabbed three glasses, then carried them to the table. He placed them next to each dish, pulled out a seat for Rochelle, then sat down. "You coming?" He looked at Drake.

The young man hesitated, then pulled his hand off the knob and joined them. "Thanks," he said quietly.

As he sat there, he was overcome by this new feeling. He'd never been the least attractive person in a group before, and it was a huge blow to his self-esteem. Appearance was such a trivial thing to be obsessing about at this moment, but he couldn't help but feel small. After all these years, he still compared himself to Josh. He was still jealous of his life, but Josh no longer reciprocated these feelings. Drake wasn't the type of person anyone would envy anymore.

He kept his head down as he took his first bite. He wasn't hungry, but he needed to eat because he looked like fucking shit. That's probably why they wouldn't let him leave before they got a meal in him. It was their subtle way of saying, You're ugly. Eat a cheeseburger.

Obviously, Josh didn't have a mean bone in his body, and he didn't have cruel thoughts like this. Drake was just feeling extra self-conscious today. He kind of wanted to crawl under a rock for a while — at least until he put on a bit more weight. He looked so thin — like he could snap in half just as easy as a twig. The clothes he was wearing weren't helping. Josh's shirt was long on him. It went all the way down to his lap, almost like a gown. The pajama pants fit for the most part. Rochelle was extremely thin, too, but in a healthy way.

"You okay?" Josh asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"Was the couch okay?" came from Rochelle.

"Yes. Thank you." He was so quiet that she almost had to lean forwards just to hear him, and he didn't make eye contact. He wished they could just eat in silence. He wished he wouldn't have felt obligated to stay at all. However, Josh wanted him to, and he felt like he owed it to him to do whatever he said.

"That's good," she said, but she got no further reply from him.

Her significant other asked, "Do you remember the police coming?"

Drake slowly nodded his head with shame as he stared at his food.

"Rochelle thought you were a burglar at first. We didn't purposely call the police on you," he said. "Although I guess I did shut the door and leave you out there after I realized it was you."

"I'm sorry about the way I acted." He wasn't sure how much his brother had told her about him, but he felt like he needed to explain himself. "I'm not always like that. I just... I made a mistake and everything spiraled. I was clean for a long time before that. Sometimes I just...fuck up," Drake said. "I'm sorry I showed up like that. I'm so embarrassed. It won't be like that next time. I won't be like that." He lifted his head because he felt like he should at least have the decency to be respectful. When he did, he saw the two share a glance, kind of like she was asking how trusting she should be and Josh was giving a little shake of his head as if to tell her not to get her hopes up. "Or..." He dropped his gaze again before they knew he'd seen them. "I guess I said that yesterday and turned right around and did the opposite within a couple hours' time. I guess that is me. That is my normal." Even if he wasn't always exactly like the way he had been last night, he was always a pathetic, chaotic hurricane. No use denying it anymore.

"What's your plan?" Josh asked.

"I guess I'll go back home... Start over again." Despite how monotonous he'd felt before, he was suddenly overcome with emotion. The second he said those words, his face contorted and he began weeping. At first, the young man hid his face behind his hand so that he could get ahold of himself, but when his crying only got worse, he stood and excused himself. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," Rochelle tried sweetly, but Drake hurried off to the bathroom. She expressed sympathy in her frown when she looked at her boyfriend. "You alright?" She rubbed his arm.

He nodded. "I'm gonna go talk to him." He stood after she gave his bicep a supportive squeeze, then he made his way to the bathroom and knocked.

"I'm okay," came Drake's pitiful attempt at sounding normal.

When Josh pushed the door open, his former step-brother looked surprised. "Lock's broken," he explained, then he closed the door behind him and took a seat next to the boy. He was quiet for a moment as he leaned his back against the wall. He couldn't help but notice how different his bathroom looked from the perspective of the floor. He's never sat on the floor of his bathroom before.

"I'm really okay." Drake sniffled and wiped his eyes.

"That's good," the young man replied, "That's really good...but if you weren't...that would be okay, too."

For a moment, the addict was able to hold it together, but then, before he could do anything about it, he broke. Josh put an arm around him and pulled him closer so that his head rested by the crook of his neck. His older brother never used to cry this much. In fact, he'd rarely cried at all. After last night's rant, the hardness around Josh's heart had crumbled. Finally, he could feel something other than hatred towards the boy. When he saw that Drake fully understood just how fucked up the things he had done to him were and that he actually felt remorse for his actions, it's like the bitterness and absence of compassion went away. Obviously, things weren't just suddenly fixed. There was still a lot of healing that needed to be done, but that could wait. His brother...his best friend...needed him.

Drake's high-pitched voice cracked with his sobs. "I don't wanna start over again."

"I know, but you are capable. You've done it before. You can do it again. I know you can."

"I'm so scared. I don't wanna lose everything. I don't wanna lose myself."

"You'll be okay," Josh assured. "You'll be okay."

The living room went silent when they heard the front door open. The heads of Ricardo, Julio, Audrey and Megan whipped towards the opening to the foyer and they waited with anticipation. Moments later, they saw Drake appear from around the corner. The boy looked towards the kitchen first, then the living room. For a moment, no one spoke a word. The worried group took in his appearance. Those weren't the clothes he had been wearing the night before, but even if they were, it was obvious by the look of shame on his face that he'd used drugs.

Audrey was the first to speak up. "Oh, there you are!" She rushed towards him and squeezed him tight. "Where have you been?!"

Now Josh entered, his face bruised from the fight he and his step-brother had at their mom's house the night before. He didn't have to say anything. The pieces were coming together. Either Drake had gone to him or Josh had found him. Either way, they knew Josh played a big part as to why the addict had returned home.

Audrey let go of her oldest and moved on to the next as Drake approached his friends, who bombarded him with questions. She gave Josh a hug. "Thank you."

"You alright?" Ricardo was asking. Since his friend had slept in his room, he was the first to realize he'd gone missing. He'd called Ms. Nichols to see if he'd popped up over there, then he went for a drive to check the normal spots: the park, the truck stop, alleyways, parking lots, etcetera.

"The hell are you wearing?" questioned Julio.

"I used again," Drake quietly admitted even though he knew they could already tell.

"Come on. Let's sit down." Ricardo motioned towards the couch.

Drake took the middle seat, although not by choice. It just happened that way because his mom and sister both sandwiched him in. Julio rested on the arm of the couch on Megan's side. Ricardo invited Josh to join and take his recliner, then he sat on the edge of the coffee table.

"You wanna tell us what happened?" the homeowner asked. Since the discussion didn't go well yesterday, he felt like he should step up and guide the conversation to give an example of how things were normally done and hopefully keep the peace.

His friend said, "I couldn't sleep, so...I convinced myself that I could just take a Xanax and it'd make me sleepy. I found where you hid them, and then I went outside to smoke. When I ran out of cigarettes, I tried laying down again, but I still couldn't sleep, and I was getting upset and frustrated, so I went out for another cigarette and remembered I didn't have any left. I took another Xanax to hold me over as I walked to the liquor store because it's the closest place with cigarettes, but while I was there, I decided to drink. I knew I couldn't come home like that, so I walked around for a long time. I don't know why, but I ended up at Josh's and made a complete fool of myself."

"Why didn't you wake me up when you thought about using?"

"I guess I..." Drake sighed. "I guess I knew the whole time that I was gonna take them. Not being able to sleep was just an excuse. I did plan on quitting yesterday, but then everything went so poorly when we tried to have that family talk, so... I mean, not that it was anyone's fault but my own. It's just another excuse."

It was different for Megan to hear her brother own up to his mistakes and accept responsibility. Old Drake never would've done that. "Do you really wanna quit?" she asked. She wasn't being accusatory or anything; she just wanted the truth.

Drake felt embarrassed and ashamed that he was such a mess in front of his little sister, although technically, she has seen him at lower points in his life. He definitely wasn't a saint, but being the oldest of his siblings, he felt like he was supposed to be something of a role model by default. Instead, he was the what-not-to-do child. He was the cautionary tale, the tragic lost cause.

"I do," he replied.

Ricardo knew that, if Drake was still in addict mode, then all these things he was saying was bullshit. Wording was important when asking questions during these discussions. "Are you going to?"

Of course, his friend could easily lie if he wanted, but Drake did have a conscience, and he did feel guilty about doing this, so instead, he usually used loop-holes, which Megan's wording had given him the opportunity to do. Wanting to quit and actually doing it were two different things.

"Yes," Drake answered shakily and, lo and behold, his tears started up again. When his mom moved closer and reached out to comfort him, he stopped her. "I'm okay." He sniffled and wiped his eyes.

He'd love comfort right now, but he'd learned a lot after last night's meltdown with his former step-brother. He wasn't the one who deserved the comfort. They shouldn't feel like they had to baby him. He couldn't force them to suppress their anger in order to sooth his guilt. Josh noticed this behavior and felt a teeny tiny bit of trust growing again.

"So what can we do to help you get there?" Ricardo asked.

The young man shrugged, then gave his head a short shake. "I'm just thankful to get another chance."

His friend didn't like that answer. "Come on, Drake. Be straight with us. We want you to succeed. It's okay to ask for help."

"Well...I guess... I know I broke your trust, and I know it'll take a long time to earn it back...if I'm even able to at all. I just... Sometimes I can tell when I'm being watched or examined. I can tell when you guys are suspicious of me and, I mean, you have every right to be, but like...if I enter a room and can tell you're checking to see if my eyes are dilated or studying the way I walk or talk or move...it just reminds me how much of a piece of shit I am," Drake said meekly, like he didn't have the right to say this. He added, "But it's okay if you do because, I mean, of course you're gonna be skeptical of me, and if it makes you feel even just a little bit at ease, then I'm okay with that. I can deal with it. All I want is for you to trust me again."

"You're not a piece of shit," Ricardo said. "And I know I've kept an overbearing eye on you in the past, and you've brought it to my attention before, so I'll continue to work on that."

"Me, too," said Julio, and everyone else agreed after him.

"Is there anything you could do to ease our worries as we work to rebuild that trust with you?" the man asked. "Any ways you think we should hold you accountable?"

"Um...I'm open to anything," said Drake quietly. "If you wanna make the room searches more frequent and bring back the curfew, I'm okay with that. You can hold onto my money, and I'll give you the receipt when I buy something. I'll take random drug tests."

His mother spoke up. "Sweetie, I would really like it if you had a phone again. I hate not being able to reach you. I can buy it if you don't have the money."

"I do," Drake replied. "I'll get one today." He looked at Ricardo. "You can set up the location tracker."

"I think we could go without that this time and see how you do," the man said. He never liked the idea of the tracker, and he rarely used it when he had it set up on the old phone.

"It's okay," Drake said. "I want you to. If I disappear, I wanna be dragged back home. I don't wanna lose control again."

Ricardo nodded.

"And I would be okay with everyone else having my location shared to their phone, too."

"I think one person is plenty," Audrey said.

The addict turned towards her. "What's gonna happen," he asked, "with me and Charlie?" Finally, he met her eyes.

His mother was quiet for a moment, and she could tell that everyone was curious to know her thoughts. "Well," she started, "I'm not gonna keep you from seeing her, but I would feel more comfortable if someone was there with you and...maybe we can hold off on the sleepovers for a while." She felt horrible for saying this and it showed.

He hated himself for everything he was putting his family and friends through, but he especially hated himself for letting his addictive behavior affect his daughter. "What if Kenzly spent the night sometime? Would Charlie be able to stay then?"

She accepted the compromise. "I suppose that would be alright." She could see relief in his features, and his eyes held so much water that they sparkled.

"I'm sorry I did this again," he told her.

"I know, sweetheart." When a tear rolled down his cheek, she lifted her hand like she was going to wipe it away, but he stopped her by doing it himself.

"I'm okay." He sniffled as he lowered his gaze again, then he stood. Drake excused himself before disappearing around the corner.

The group was silent for a moment before quiet discussion started back up. Drake made his way to the downstairs bathroom, locked himself inside, then leaned against the door. Once he was alone, he let himself break, but not for long. Twenty — maybe thirty — seconds passed, then he started taking in deep breaths.

You're fine. Everything's fine, Drake. We'll just take this one day at a time. We'll even start out by doing one hour at a time. Just sixty minutes. Just be sober for sixty minutes. He felt so guilty. He'd returned home only four months ago and, already, he was putting them through this again. He'd given them a lot of false hope that he was better when he wasn't, and here they all were again. Josh never got his hopes up, though. He knew his step-brother was incapable of cleaning up his act. He knew it was too good to be true. Maybe he still believed that — Drake wasn't sure — but it became apparent to him after this morning that he was possibly still willing to be there for him. All it took was for Drake to own up to his bullshit. All it took was that acknowledgment. He'd stayed for this "family meeting" after all. He could've left, but he stayed. That meant a lot to Drake. Maybe he hadn't fully given up on him yet.

Drake needed last night just as much as Josh had, even if it hurt him to admit a lot of those things to himself. He did want to genuinely work on them, and he was — like now, for example. He'd started getting emotional, so he'd stepped away to collect himself. Normally, he would accept their coddling and babying, and that was still okay to do sometimes...but not now. He was the one who had hurt them. It was unfair to make them feel the need to comfort him when they were the ones who should be upset. That's why he walked away.

Come on, Drake. You're fine. Everything's fine. She didn't take Charlie from you. They didn't shun you. They're giving you another chance. Don't crumble. They have every right to be upset. Don't make them bottle up their feelings because you can't handle it. That's not fair. He turned on the faucet and splashed water on his face as he continued to talk himself down.

He managed to gather his composure and cease his crying, but it was still obvious that he had. His eyes were red-rimmed and the tip of his nose was pink. He couldn't hide out in the bathroom forever, though, and it was to be expected from him anyway. He cried about everything. After another sniffle and quick once-over in the mirror, he stepped out of the bathroom and rejoined the others.

"You alright?" his mother asked as he took his seat.

"Yeah."

No one said anything about the fact that he'd obviously been crying.

"So," Drake started without making eye contact with anyone in particular, "um...I know you're all mad, and you don't wanna say anything because you don't wanna upset me, but it's okay to be mad at me...or sad or hurt or anything. So if you wanna yell or cry or vent or anything, it's okay to do that. If you have something to say to me, I'll listen, or if you want to ask me anything, I'll be completely transparent."

No one seemed to want to speak up, but Julio knew that his friend would feel better if people did rather than if they kept everything to themselves, so he started. "Were you ever driving my car when you were high?"

"Yes," the young man confessed.

"Dude..."

"I know. It was stupid, and I shouldn't have. If you wanna take the keys back or set ground rules or anything, that's more than fair."

He was quiet for a moment, then he sighed. "Lemme think about it." He didn't want to take the car from him, but Drake could've gotten killed or wrecked his vehicle, leaving both of them without a set of wheels. Julio couldn't afford that now — not with his important AA meetings and mandatory DUI classes he had to take.

Still, his family didn't want to make him feel any guiltier than he already did, so Ricardo followed his brother's lead and set an example with his own line of curiosities. "Can you explain to me what's going on with Dahlia? Was the camera a part of some type of drug-induced psychosis or was it real?"

"I guess...I can't say I'm a hundred percent sure," he admitted. "I've been having a lot of trouble remembering things and differentiating between what's real and what isn't." Even he wished he hadn't flushed the device. "I feel like the camera was real."

"What camera?" Megan asked.

Drake explained, but still wasn't making eye contact with anyone. "I found a camera in the attic that was pointed toward my room. I mean, I think I did."

Julio looked at his bro. "I did find my phone in the attic when I came in that day."

"I think she was at Dee's. I think I talked to her."

"What do you mean she was at Dee's?" Ricardo asked, and he felt himself beginning to get angry.

Julio already was angry. "You talked to her?!"

"I think," Drake said sheepishly. "I don't know if it was real."

"What'd she say," asked Ricardo.

"I think she said..." He had to recall the words. "...she was watching me and following me and that I knew it the whole time, and it was part of some sick game."

There was silence for a moment, then Julio said, "Honestly, she's so psycho that I wouldn't put it past her. I think it could've happened," he told the other Santos.

"You talked in Dee's house?"

"No, in her car," the young man said. "I was showering and she left a note on the mirror for when I got out."

Ricardo was clearly torn up by this news. "I don't know what to make of all this. I wanna believe you and I don't wanna believe you at the same time. I just wish you would've been sober," he said with frustration.

"I know."

"Drake," his mother spoke up, "I don't understand why you're still talking to this girl."

"Exactly," Julio agreed. He couldn't hide his disdain if his life depended on it.

"It was just that one time," the boy said.

"Are you sure? Because you've been acting really crazy. Wanting to put up cameras, not stepping foot in your own room, seeing all these things that no one else sees — that's not normal," his friend said.

Megan added, "And asking Kenzly to take Charlie in the basement to sleep every night and putting new locks on our doors at home."

"What?" Ricardo looked at Drake quizzically.

Julio continued. "See, you've got to know more than you're saying."

"I don't," Drake swore, "and if I do, I don't remember. I didn't even remember doing any of that until you said it, and I still only recall bits and pieces."

Multiple people sighed with frustration.

"Drake, this psycho bi—" Julio caught himself. "—you-know-what tried to put you in prison for ten years. If you can't remember anything that happened in the last — what? Week? Month? She could've set you up for something again. She could've done anything to you, and she's waiting for the right time to bring it to light."

This did make the young man nervous as hell. He wondered if she had done something while he was high on Xanax. Absolutely anything could've happened, and he hated having zero knowledge of it.

Ricardo saw the way Drake's fingers trembled just before he clasped his hands together in his lap, and he knew he needed to have everyone take a step back from this topic for now. "Look, it's possible that something happened, and it's possible that nothing happened. Until we know more, we can't do much about it, but Drake, if you're still communicating with her in any way—"

"I'm not."

"I'm not trying to be controlling or treat you like a child, but you can not talk to her. The second you give her an in, you're giving her back control."

"I know."

"Please tell me if she tries to contact you or if you think she's following you or anything. Even if you think maybe it's nothing and it's just in your head. I won't be mad. I just need to know. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You promise?"

"Yes."

This relaxed Ricardo a little, but only a little. "Later today, I can help you put up the camera in your room. Did you still wanna do that?"

"Yeah."

"Good. The second we catch her breaking in, we'll have proof, and she will be out of your life for good."

Now it was time for his mother to ask a question. "Was Josh right yesterday? Have you driven under the influence with Charlie in the car?"

"I can't remember for certain. I think I took her to the park a couple times. I just can't remember if I drove or if we walked. I feel like I drove," he admitted.

"You did," Kenzly confirmed.

"It makes me sick just thinking about it — what could've happened." This was probably his greatest regret. "It was...extremely irresponsible." He waiting for the yelling and insults to begin, but they didn't, and that felt even worse. "I don't know what to say. I made a huge mistake."

There was a silence in the air as the conversation ended. Audrey let out an anxious sigh, then excused herself for a smoke.

"I'll join you," her son said, and they headed out the front door.

While they had a break, Ricardo went into the kitchen and started on breakfast. He and his brother hadn't eaten yet, and he assumed it was the same for Megan and Ms. Nichols. He wasn't sure about Drake and Josh, but he made enough for everyone anyway. Now the three youngest — Megan, Julio and Josh — were left in the living room.

Because Josh had tried his best to avoid Drake and all his drama since their rekindling, he needed to be brought up to speed on some things. "What was all that about some psycho girl?"

"You haven't heard?" Julio asked.

"I mean, I was told she had him locked up for, you know..."

"Well, he didn't do it. It was the other way around. She was drugging him so he couldn't fight back and wouldn't remember."

"How do you know it was her drugging him and not him having relapsed?" He didn't mean for it to sound like he didn't believe him, but he wanted an explanation.

"We found the pills. She switched out the powder in our Tylenol capsules for something else. I don't know what for sure, but the come-down caused headaches, so he kept taking them and taking them. I was in the hospital at the time, which was also Dahlia's fault because she stashed alcohol in my room knowing I'm an alcoholic and, when I took the 'Tylenol'—" He made air quotes with his fingers. "—for the hangover, I passed out and hit my head, which led to my brother being mad at Drake. He stayed at the hospital with me, then when I got released, we walked in the house and found Drake stuffing all our food in the trash can and ranting about it being laced with drugs. Instead of believing him, we thought he was using drugs behind our backs until we discovered that the Tylenol wasn't really Tylenol. By that time, it was already too late. While we were still piecing things together, the cops came and arrested him," said Julio. "We thought he'd get out pretty quick. We still didn't know what had happened until his preliminary hearing when they went over the evidence in court and they said they'd found traces of his — you know — in her." He was trying to be as clean as possible because of Megan's presence, but he was sure she'd heard the story from her mother.

"She sounds insane," Josh said.

"She is," he said, "and that's just one story. She's done so many horrible, manipulative things to him."

"Why didn't he leave before it got to this point?"

"I know we're not victim-blaming," Megan butted in.

"No, I'm not. I just... I mean, I know it's not his fault, whether he chose to stay or not. I was just wondering why he did."

"Honestly, I have no idea," answered Julio. "It could just be because he loved her. It could be because that kind of abuse is normal for him and he felt some sort of comfort in that familiarity. Maybe both."

Suddenly, they heard a new voice. "No, of course not."

It was muffled due to the window, but they could tell it was Drake. Looking in that direction, they got a peep through the blinds of the scene. Audrey was in one rocking chair, hunched over, and they realized she was crying. Her words couldn't quite be heard at the moment.

"No..." He was leaned towards her, but she couldn't see his face, so he felt like she didn't believe he was being genuine. Therefore, he got out of his chair and squatted down in front of her, placing his cigarette in the ash tray on his way. "No, I'm not. I really mean it," he said sorrowfully. Drake gripped one of her hands. "It's my fault. I made the choice to use. It wasn't because of anything you said or did. Mom, I swear. I swear." He paused as she said something the crew inside couldn't hear. "You couldn't have known. You trusted me, so you had no reason to doubt me. I'm a liar. When I get like that, I get really manipulative and deceptive. You didn't see it because you believed I was a good person, and I betrayed you. I've gotta live with what I've done. You shouldn't feel guilty. It's my fault, and I'm so sorry I hurt you like this. I'm so, so sorry."

Josh looked at Julio. "Should we...?"

"Yeah." He was the first to stand. "Let's go to the kitchen."

Ricardo opened his bathroom door, then halted. "Shit, sorry. I didn't know you were in here."

Drake sniffled. "No, it's okay. I was just brushing my teeth." He held his head low as he picked up his toothbrush and toothpaste and put it away in the top drawer. He kept it in the very back because he was still so paranoid about Clementine, which is why he was using Ricardo's bathroom for everything now instead of the one he and Julio shared.

The man went over to the toilet and started to relieve his bladder. For a moment, he didn't speak and instead stole a couple glances at Drake, who was cleaning up the space he'd used. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." He knew immediately that Ricardo wasn't buying it. "It's been a long day." His voice was quiet and defeated. "Goodnight." He thought he would be able to slip away before he could be interrogated further, but unfortunately, that wasn't happening.

"Hey, wait a second." The oldest zipped up, flushed, then started washing his hands. "Talk to me."

"What do you wanna talk about?" He was given a dead stare, but even though his eyes were on his own fidgeting fingers, he could feel it.

"Come on, Drake."

The young man hesitated, then sighed. "I just..." He didn't want to say the words for fear of being reprimanded, but he didn't know how to word it any better. "I fucking hate myself. I don't know why I keep doing this. If it just affected me, then, you know, whatever, but when other people get hurt because of something I did..."

Ricardo frowned sympathetically when his friend, unsurprisingly, began crying.

"When me and my mom went out on the porch together earlier, she broke down. I don't think I've ever seen her cry like that. I broke her heart today." He wiped his damp cheeks. "And, like, that sucks because..." He sniffled and attempted to dry his eyes more aggressively as his tears came faster. "...because she's my mom, and she doesn't deserve this. She sacrificed her whole life to take care of me, and this is how I repay her? This is what I have to show for myself? After all her hard work — after all the time she spent — and I've turned out to be nothing but a disappointment." He saw Ricardo begin to move closer, so he quickly stepped back and held up his hand. "And I don't want you to pretend that I'm not, and I don't want you to comfort me."

"Okay," the man said quietly, and he kept his distance. He stayed silent as he watched his friend attempt to gather himself.

After a moment, Drake said, "I just need to do better. I can't keep fucking around like this anymore. I've got too much to lose now."

"You know I believe in you."

"I know."

"And I want to help any way that I can."

"Thanks, Ricardo."

Hearing him say his name like that left the man feeling discomfort. For a moment, he was quiet, but it was time that he set things straight. "Drake, I know it's been a while, but I wanted to apologize for blowing up on you when Julio relapsed that day. Some of the things I said to you..."

He was actually kind of disgusted with himself. He'd pretty much placed all the blame on his best friend and, while doing so, he'd insulted him. Well, maybe he hadn't outright insulted him, but what he insinuated had gotten Drake thinking poorly of himself. He'd made it sound like he couldn't bear it if Julio started doing the things Drake had done in order to feed his addiction. He'd talked about it like it was the ultimate low, and that Julio partaking in that was a tragedy. It was different when Drake had done those things, though. Maybe it was because no one expected anything more from him. Julio was held at a higher standard because Drake had already shattered through countless rock bottoms. If he did something crazy, it wasn't as shocking or unacceptable as it would've been had it been from Julio.

"It's okay," the young man said.

"It's not. I was just scared for my brother, and I was angry that I was so powerless. I hate feeling like I have no control, and I guess I took it out on you. It wasn't your fault, though, and I shouldn't have made you feel responsible. Julio's perfectly capable of making his own choices," Ricardo said. "And I didn't mean to make you feel like you're indebted to me. You don't owe me anything. All I want from you is for you to succeed, okay?"

All he could do was nod because he'd probably break again if he opened his mouth and gave a verbal reply.

"When I yelled at you, I feel like I put a barrier between us that's caused some mistrust and doubt. I feel like a lot of things could've been avoided, but you didn't feel comfortable enough with me to open up to me that way anymore," the man said, "but I need you to know that you can always talk to me about anything. I always try to keep an open mind. Sometimes, I might get a little upset or angry, but I don't want that to stop you from being honest. Just let me have my moment of rage or frustration. You know I can get over it pretty quickly and start to see your side. I just have a short fuse, but I'm working on it. Just know that nothing you do could ever be bad enough for me to hate you. Ever." He nodded his own head slightly as he said, "Okay?"

Drake nodded, too, and even though he tried not to, more tears fell, but these were silent. Since he'd already broken, there was no point in keeping his mouth closed now. His voice came out as a cracked whisper. "Thanks, Ricardo."

"Hey," the older boy said with a smile, "that's Ricky to you."

The corners of Drake's lips curved upwards. He reached up to wipe his eyes.

"Come here."

The young man accepted the hug he was offered, and it gave him feelings of comfort and security. That was something he really needed now that he potentially had Clementine creeping around, waiting for another chance to pounce. Despite the fact that he hadn't slept in his own bed or used his own bathroom in a while, he felt safe.

When they separated, Ricardo asked, "Do you wanna stay in my room tonight?"

His queen-sized bed was much roomier than Julio's full, but Drake didn't want to bunk with him — unless he really needed to — out of respect for Dee. Dee no longer seemed suspicious and worried that anything more would happen between Drake and Ricardo after their one-night stand, but that didn't mean that Drake should take every opportunity to have the comfort of sleeping next to the man every time his boyfriend wasn't sleeping over.

"I'll be fine in Julio's room."

The two said goodnight, then Drake headed to the room across the hall and closed the door behind him.

"Oh my God," Julio exclaimed with exaggeration. "Were you crying again? That's a dollar for the cry jar." He pointed to the messy desk in the corner, where an old piggy bank of his sat. "Go on."

A smile broke out across the boy's face. "Fuck you." He went around to the other side of the bed, then fell against the mattress with exhaustion.

His tone became more serious. "You wanna talk about it?"

Drake shook his head. "What are you doing?"

The young man sighed. "Nothing. Scrolling my life away on social media. You get your new phone set up yet?"

"Mostly."

"You call your mom?"

"Yeah."

It was the phone call that had gotten him crying again. His mother hadn't said anything hurtful. Instead, she gave him her encouragement and support and said she was proud of him because she knew it wasn't easy getting sober. She loved him unconditionally and he felt guilty for that, and that's what started the waterworks.

"How are you?"

Julio shrugged. "Fine."

"Are you?"

It wasn't until Drake repeated this question that he actually understood what he meant and bothered to take his eyes away from the screen. "I'm all good. I mean, yeah, there's a little bit of jealousy and frustration, but I'm not gonna go out and drink."

"I'm sorry I've been lying to you all this time."

"I know." He did know. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't angry about it, but at the same time, he's done the same thing before. He'd lied to his brother and his parents for months the first time his drinking had gotten heavy. "I'll feel better, though, when karma shows up with your xannie withdrawals."

The two laughed, and Drake said, "Shut up." He turned over and pulled the comforter up to his chin.

"You going to sleep?"

"Yeah," he replied with his eyes closed. "You?"

"Eh, I'm not really tired yet."

"Good, lemme fall asleep before you start snoring in my ear like a giant pig with a megaphone." There was a moment of silence, then Drake was given a hard shove. He was just able to catch himself by placing his hand on the nightstand before he fell onto the floor. "Ow, I was kidding!"

When Ricardo's alarm went off the next morning, he laid there with his head resting against the pillow, and he blinked his eyes to clear up the blurriness. Once he could see clearly, the first thing his eyes landed on was the curtain, which covered the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. It was pulled back only slightly — just enough that the man could see that the door was unlocked. His brows furrowed and he sat up. He wasn't sure if one of the boys had gone out last night while he'd slept or if someone — Dahlia — had found her way inside. He got onto his feet and made his way over there. He peeked out the curtain before opening the door, and that's when he saw Drake's slumped form. The boy was sitting with his feet planted in the chair so that his head rested on his bent knees.

Ricky pulled the handle and, because his friend didn't move, he assumed he was asleep. Upon closer inspection, this proved to be true. On the table in front of Drake was a bottle of water, an empty pack of cigarettes, a full ashtray and a notebook. The notebook was open and held that way by a pen. Drake's writing filled the page. Ricardo didn't want to be nosy, but he couldn't contain his curiosity. He skimmed through and quickly came to the realization that the notebook was acting as a journal or diary. Once this was established, he no longer felt comfortable reading it, but he continued to move his eyes over the pages in search of a few key words, like "suicide", "kill myself", "still lying", "still using", etc.

There were eight pages filled up, which meant that Drake had probably been writing for a long time. This was the first journal entry, so he probably just had a lot he wanted to get off his chest. When Ricardo got to the final entry page, he saw a bullet-point list and couldn't help but stop and read.

How To Be A Better Person

•Get clean
•

That was it. That was the end of the list. He'd probably fallen asleep trying to think of the next point.

Suddenly, he saw a circle where the page darkened, then there was another. It was beginning to rain. Standing there in only his boxer briefs, he could feel the freezing drops hit his skin, making the December weather even colder. Ricardo closed the book.

"Drake," he said softly. He started to place his hand on his shoulder to gently shake him awake, but he just managed to stop himself in time. "Hey. Wake up. Hey."

The young man's eyes opened suddenly, then closed them again. "Mmm..." he groaned, then he turned his head the other way and rested his other cheek against his knees.

"Hey. Come on." When his friend looked at him quizzically, he repeated, "Come on. Let's go inside."

Drake stood tiredly and trudged after him. The second he crossed the threshold, he went straight for the bed, curled up underneath the comforter and passed out.

Drake's sniffling is what woke Julio. When Julio opened his eyes, he saw his friend crouched over the suitcase he had against the wall. His paranoid roommate refused to go back to his own room for anything, so he'd brought the essentials with him when he'd moved here. Julio reached over and tilted his phone towards himself to check the time. 8:08. Another sniffle caught the boy's attention.

"You okay?" he asked with a strained voice.

Drake turned his head towards him and saw that he was watching him closely...curiously...skeptically. "Yeah."

Still, Julio asked, "What's wrong?"

The young man pulled a light brown long-sleeved shirt out of his bag, then stood. He was holding it, along with a white tee and white skinny jeans with holes and tears from the tops of the legs down to the bottoms. "My nose is just running."

He saw no tears, so he believed him. "Are you going somewhere?"

"I was gonna get cigarettes and then head over to my mom's." He was quick to assure him, "I wasn't gonna take the car, though, so—"

"It's okay. You can use it," Julio said, "as long as you can look me in the eyes and promise me you're gonna be sober today."

"I am," said Drake. "I'm not gonna use Xanax or any other mind-altering substance."

Julio reached into his nightstand, retrieved his car keys, then tossed them.

His friend caught them, then asked, "Do you need me to take you anywhere today?"

"No."

"Well, if you change your mind, just call me and I'll come back."

"Mm'kay." He laid his head against the pillow and closed his eyes again.

"Thanks for trusting me." It actually meant a lot to Drake that he was so quick to put the betrayal behind him.

Despite living with Drake for nearly four years, he still wasn't big on all the serious, heartfelt, fluffy talk, so his reply was, "Don't fuck it up."

"Again!" Charlie chanted. "Again! Again!"

Drake sat down on the edge of the porch and slumped over. "In a little bit, okay?" Sweat was pouring off of him despite the chilly weather, and his legs felt like jelly. The withdrawals were just beginning to kick in, and he already felt like shit. "It's nap time," he said.

"Nooo!"

"We'll play some more when you get up."

The toddler started crying. "I wanna pway!"

Just then, Kenzly pushed open the screen door and stepped outside. "I'll lay down with her if you were gonna shower."

He gratefully took her up on her offer. He borrowed a tee and pajama pants from her, then headed to the bathroom and rinsed off, careful not to get his cast wet. When he was done, Charlie was already asleep despite how hard she'd fought it. Exhausted and miserable, Drake laid down next to her and tried to sleep. Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. He still couldn't fall asleep. He finally gave up somewhere around the forty-five-minute mark. The young man opened his journal and started writing.

How To Fix Yourself

•Detox
•Get medicated
•Get a job
•Pay rent
•Give Mom money
•Pay Kenzly for babysitting
•Explain what happened and mend non-existent friendships with Mrs. Hayfer, Theo, Sam and Brett, Rhinestone, Gemini and Sawyer

At that moment, Drake's phone dinged. He picked it up and looked at the screen.

Joey: just pikked up my script. Meet up 2day?

The boy sighed, then dropped his phone. He suddenly became more aware of how tired and nauseous he felt, and that meet-up was sounding really good right about now. Wasn't it best to slowly taper himself off anyway?

Drake picked up his pen again.

•DELETE SUPPLIER'S NUMBER

"You okay?"

Drake gagged, then spat. He positioned an elbow against the toilet seat and weakly held up his head with his hand. His skin was damp with sweat. He wiped it away and rested his forehead against his arm.

His mother frowned with sympathy. She was still wearing her work clothes because she'd just walked in the door. She'd hardly had time to speak two words before Drake had rushed off to the bathroom.

"Daddy?" came Charlie's frightened voice as she stood in the doorway.

The young father turned and looked at her, and he immediately felt guilty. As he panted for air, some sort of noise of both exhaustion and disgust left his lips. "I'm okay, baby," he said. However, he looked anything but. Although he was wearing his own shirt today, it still hung loosely on him like Josh's had. Plus, his eyes were dark and had bags underneath them.

"He's just a little sick," Audrey said. "He'll be out in a minute." She started to take her back to the living room, but thankfully, Megan was there to get her. The woman turned back and grabbed a washcloth, then went over to the sink. As she did this, she heard her son gag again, then another round spewed from his lips. This was followed by spitting. "Can I get you some Advil?"

"Please," he said, his voice sounding vulnerable.

For a moment, she was gone. When she returned, she pressed the cold, wet washcloth against his forehead. Drake took it and sat down on his bottom so that he leaned against the tub. He kept his eyes low as he wiped away more sweat and cleaned off his mouth.

"Are you okay?" Ms. Nichols asked again.

He nodded and, because he wouldn't look at her, she knew he felt ashamed of himself. Audrey sat down on the edge of the tub and pulled his head against her leg. As he rested there, she petted his hair comfortingly.

When he finally spoke, he said, "I'm sorry." He wasn't apologizing for vomiting or anything. It was more of an apology for his relapse and because he couldn't hide the misery he was in. They shouldn't have to feel bad for him. He'd betrayed everyone when he'd started abusing his Xanax, and now he was paying the price.

"I know." She blinked the tears out of her eyes before he could see them. It was heart-breaking to watch him go through this, and she hated that he felt like he deserved to suffer. "I'm so proud of you," she said. "I know it's not easy doing what you're doing. It takes a lot of strength, and you're the strongest person I know."

He didn't feel strong right now, but her words were encouraging. He just felt incredibly grateful that she was sitting through this with him and not yelling or crying or judging or threatening rehab or any of the other things that used to happen back when they all lived with Walter and Josh at the old house. Just thinking about the unconditional support made him tear up, but he blinked them away because he didn't want to hurt her even more. Drake reached up and gripped her hand so that she was no longer running her fingers through his hair, then he just held it and they stayed like that for a while.

(2 days later)

"I'm good."

"Come on, dude," Julio pushed.

"I'm not hungry," Drake replied, and he was growing more and more irritated by the second.

"You need to eat."

"I said I'm not hungry."

"When's the last time you've eaten? A couple days ago?"

"I don't need you trying to micromanage everything I do! Your brother already has that covered."

"My brother and I are just looking out for you," Julio said from the doorway. He waited for some sort of retort, but was met with silence. "Look, Drake—"

"Can you, please, leave?!" the young man snapped.

Julio blinked with surprise at his audacity. "This is my room."

Without another word, Drake decided to leave. He got up, brushed past a confused Julio, then went downstairs and outside. Once there, he picked up his green pack, pulled out a cigarette, then lit up. His hands were shaking as he did so, he noticed, but they had been doing that off and on recently. He also had a killer headache and he felt nauseous. He hoped the cigarette would calm him down.

He was on edge a lot lately. He felt nervous all the time, and he was extremely irritable. This wasn't the first time he had wrongly snapped at one of the Santos boys for no reason. Any minute now, he'd come to his senses and realize that he was in the wrong. He was just so tired of constantly being checked up on and not having any personal space. Perhaps that was his own fault as well. He had a whole room to himself, but he chose to bunk with Julio out of fear. He should be grateful. He was grateful, but at this point, did it really matter where he was at night? It's not like he's slept in the last few days. Drake was so desperate for sleep. This also had a lot to do with why he was so rude and jumpy.

Maybe it was time for him to move back into his own room. He needed to get over his fear. He hasn't had a single suspicious thing happen since he's gotten sober, and he was wondering if any of it had actually been real. Every day that passed without incident had him doubting himself more and more, and he could tell that everyone else was doubtful of his claims as well. Maybe Dahlia wasn't as obsessed with him as he'd originally believed. Maybe it was he himself who had the obsession.

Julio followed the delicious aroma downstairs and found Drake in front of the stove. It was his night to cook, and that was Julio's favorite. Well, any night that wasn't Julio's night was Julio's favorite. "What ya making?"

"Soup." He said as he turned off the flame, then he grabbed two bowls out of the cabinet. "Is that okay?"

"Sure."

"I just needed something light on my stomach."

It was obvious that he didn't want to eat right now, but this was pretty much his way of apologizing for being a jerk earlier. The Santos men have both been trying their hardest to get him to eat, and Drake knew he needed to, but he just felt so nauseous all the time, and he was still throwing up today, although not as much as yesterday or the day before.

The boy poured potato soup into both of their dishes, then he slid into the bar-stool next to his friend. For a while, they ate in silence. Julio noticed that Drake was eating much slower and that he was practically forcing himself to take each bite. He had tremors and, while looking at his shaky hand, Julio's gaze moved up his arm. He eyeballed his bicep and estimated the measurement of it in his head. He wondered if he could wrap his fingers around it so that the tips of the middle one and his thumb touched. His best friend wasn't looking so good, and his appearance seemed to deteriorate more and more each day. Drake looked like he was starving and sick and exhausted, and he was.

Julio wanted to help him. He wanted him to get better. He just didn't know how. He couldn't imagine the things Drake had been forced to endure in the psych ward. He hasn't been the same since his release, but what else could you expect considering what had happened to him in there? He hasn't dealt with it at all. Upon his release, he'd laid in bed for weeks, unable to speak or comprehend what was going on around him. When he'd finally snapped out of it, he'd immediately started abusing Xanax. He doesn't remember much from his depression trance or his drug binge, so it was almost like he had just gotten out of psych and was having to deal with what happened while also kicking drugs. He was an emotional wreck every day and he cried every night. Julio usually talked him through it, but he didn't think Drake was getting any rest. Ricardo had told him the other day about finding the boy dozed off on his balcony. That was probably the last time the addict had gotten any sleep.

With each bite he took, it looked like Drake was in actual physical pain. At one point, he held his wrist over his mouth and froze. Julio thought he would barf. He'd hardly made a dent in his meal when he finally did jump up and hurry to the bathroom. Julio winced at the sound of his withdrawing friend vomiting.

(2 days later)

Ricardo's brows furrowed when he walked through the front door and saw that all the lights were turned out. Julio had gotten dropped off at Hannah's after his AA meeting this morning, but he knew that Drake was home. The man set his belongings down on the little table right inside the door, then he removed his jacket and hung it up on the rack. Afterwards, he started to head upstairs, but when he peeked into the rooms he passed along the way, he found his roommate seated on the couch, staring into space.

"The hell are you doing with all the lights out?" He wasn't given any acknowledgement, so he tried again. "Drake?" He flipped on the light switch, and this seemed to get the boy's attention. "The fuck are you doing?"

Drake squinted his eyes against the brightness. "M'sitting 'ere tryna get dressed," he mumbled. It was so quiet that Ricky couldn't make out every word, and what he could hear didn't make much sense.

"What?" Again, he got no response. "Drake?" he said again.

The young man finally looked at him, although blankly. He blinked his eyes a lot, either from his confusion or from the new bright light — maybe both. He seemed to have snapped out of whatever trance he may have been in.

"What are you doing?"

"M'tryna figure out whatta wear."

Ricardo saw that he was still in his pajamas from last night even though it was four o'clock in the afternoon. "Have you not gone to your mom's yet?"

"Mm-mm."

"No?"

Drake lazily shook his head. "Nothing fits," he said just above a whisper.

"What do you mean nothing fits?"

"My clothes. I look like shit in everything."

The man approached slowly and sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

"I'm not high," said Drake with an eerie, monotone voice.

"I didn't say you were."

"You're thinking it."

Ricardo didn't really have a reply to this because he couldn't honestly deny it. His friend was acting more and more strange as each day passed. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the boy began weeping.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ricky asked softly, his voice filled with kindness and concern. He scooted closer.

"I'm so tired," he whined as he hung his head. His weeping quickly got harder, and his body shook as he sobbed. "I just wanna sleep," he said, his voice a few octaves higher.

"I know." Ricky frowned as he pulled the boy's head against his own shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. "I know."

"I need to go to the doctor and get sleep medicine."

The man thought about this for a moment. He didn't want Drake to get addicted to something else, but he felt like, if Drake didn't get some rest soon, then the addict would relapse in order to end his suffering. "Okay," he said. "Do you wanna go now? I'll take you."

When Julio opened the front door, he could immediately smell spaghetti cooking in the kitchen. He followed the delicious aroma to find his brother in front of the stove. "Almost done?" he asked, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was.

"Yeah." His older brother turned to him. "How did it go with Hannah?"

"Good." He didn't go deeper than that because, as he approached the island, he saw a couple prescription bottles and little paper bags from the pharmacy. "What's all this?"

"I took Drake to the doctor today. He had a nervous breakdown because he hasn't slept in four days."

"Where is he now?" the boy asked as he picked up the bottles and read each one.

"He's in the living room. The meds knocked him out on the drive home, and that's as far as I got him."

"Prozac?" inquired Julio.

"Yeah, he brought up the depression and anxiety, and they went ahead and prescribed him that, too."

"He's gonna take them?"

"He said he would."

"Good," Julio said with both surprise and pride.

"I know. I'm glad he's giving antidepressants another shot."

When the young man was finished reading the containers, he set them down and watched the chef work his magic. "You wanna watch a movie in my room?"

"Sure."

When Ricardo got back from picking up Julio at AA the next morning, they found Drake still asleep on the couch. It wasn't until nighttime when he finally awoke, dragged himself to the kitchen, and sat down in a barstool.

"How are you feeling?" Ricky asked.

"Tired," he slurred with a deep voice. He glanced at the clock on the stove. "It's just ten?"

Ricardo could tell what he was thinking. "It's Sunday."

"Oh. Shit." He rubbed his heavy eyes, then stood. "I should probably call my mom so she doesn't freak out."

"Doesn't she have work in the morning? You think she'll be awake?"

"Oh yeah. I guess I'll just send a text. Where the fuck's my phone?" he mumbled to himself.

"I plugged it up in the living room. Hey? Don't forget your medicine."

Before he left, he took one of the pills, then went to grab his phone. He had a few notifications, and he noticed that one was from his mom and was less than twenty minutes ago. He decided to go ahead and call her back because he didn't want her to worry. As he held the phone to his ear, he headed out the front door and picked up his cigarettes.

"Hey, sweetie," came his mother's concerned voice.

"Hey," he replied, and his voice was kind of different because he had a cigarette in his mouth. He took it out, then blew out the smoke. Doing this caused him to cough, and he just now realized how dry his mouth was and how thirsty he was. "Hey, were you sleeping?"

"Not yet. I've tried calling you a couple times."

"I know. Sorry, I just checked my phone. I slept half the day yesterday and I just woke up, like, five minutes ago." He began pacing the porch, trying to get warm. He should've brought a jacket, but he didn't think about that before.

"Wow, that's a long time."

"Yeah, Ricardo took me to the doctor, and they gave me some sleep medicine because I've been having insomnia."

"Well, that's good you got some much-needed rest."

"And I talked to her about depression and stuff," Drake said, "and she gave me some antidepressants, so maybe they'll make me a little saner."

"That's great, sweetie. I'm really proud of you for giving it another try."

"I'm sorry I ghosted. I didn't know I'd be out that long."

"It's okay. Are you feeling any better?"

"I guess a little. I'm still pretty tired and my head's hurting, but I don't feel nauseous or anything right now."

"Good."

"Is Charlie asleep?"

"Yeah, she fell asleep watching The Grinch not too long ago."

"Aw." He suddenly felt a great longing for her, and he felt sad that he hadn't seen her in a couple days, especially with Christmas coming up. He was missing all the fun Christmas activities that he'd wanted to do with his daughter their first year together. "I'll come over tomorrow and hang out."

"That'll be great, honey."

"I'll let you go so you can sleep. I just wanted to call you and let you know I'm okay."

"Alright, sweetie. Thanks for getting in touch."

"Love you."

"I love you, too."

"Good morning," Julio said rather cheerfully as he plopped down next to Drake on the couch. He had a bowl of cereal in his lap while his friend held his cat. "What's up?"

The young man was staring off into space, but he still replied, although monotone. "Sitting here."

"You sleep okay?"

"Yeah."

The younger of the two furrowed his brows. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Why you being weird?"

Finally, Drake blinked, breaking his intense stare. He turned his head towards his friend. "I'm not," came his emotionless voice.

"Dude, you definitely are. You're acting like a zombie."

"Maybe it's the medicine."

"You took some today already?"

He nodded, but not as noticeably as he'd meant to.

"I thought you were going to your mom's," said Julio.

"I am."

"It eleven o'clock. You're usually gone by now."

"Oh," was all Drake said. He knew he needed to continue the conversation as not to cause anyone to worry, but it was hard mustering up the energy. "I just don't feel like anything."

"You don't feel like anything, or you don't feel like doing anything?"

There was a long pause, and Julio didn't think he'd get an answer, but finally, the boy replied with, "Both."

"I don't even think the medicine's supposed to work this fast. Maybe it's just because it's new and your body will get used to it soon."

"Hmm," was the only response the boy could muster.

Julio squinted his eyes with confusion and skepticism as he examined him, but his attention was soon drawn to his phone when he heard it ring. He set his cereal down on the table and instead picked up his phone. Ricardo's name popped up on the screen. He slid the green button, then put it to his ear. "What's up?" It was almost immediately that his demeanor changed to something more serious. "No..." There was a pause, then his eyes moved to Drake. "Yeah." Another second went by in silence, then he got up and left the room. The young man headed upstairs, entered his own room, then closed the door behind him. "Okay, what's wrong?"

"You're by yourself?"

"Yeah..."

Ricky sighed. "Ms. Nichols just called me and said Megan showed her some post Dahlia tagged Drake in, and it's got a bunch of private info and personal sex details and shit. There's a video, too. She said they didn't click on it, so I checked, and it's a video of him and some guy fucking, and Drake's clearly strung out."

"Fucking hell..." Julio whispered. He was already looking at the post and skimming through what she wrote. "Oh my — this is fucking sick."

"I know. I don't know what to do, but I can't leave work right now. We're really short-staffed. Do you think you can handle it?"

"How?"

"I don't know, but we have to tell him before someone else does. You've gotta keep him calm. This is a really fragile time for him. He just got clean. Maybe deactivate his profile and — I don't know — see if he'll finally get that restraining order. If I get the opportunity to leave early, I will."

"Okay."

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Call me if something happens."

"I will."

When the call ended, Julio sat down on the edge of his bed and reread what was written. Dahlia talked about Drake's drug use and mentioned a time when he'd called her crying and begging her to buy him the pills. She said that when she'd showed up empty-handed, he'd yelled at her and basically told her she was a horrible girlfriend. She spilled on the times he had cheated on her when he'd relapsed for two months and that, after his return, he'd admitted to prostituting himself what could very well have been close to a hundred times. She said that, after some time apart, she forgave him and, "by her own fault," got back together with him, and that Drake almost immediately cheated and relapsed again.

She painted Drake in a really bad light and went as far as to spill some embarrassing sex details, like when she'd manipulated him into doing a fantasy he wasn't comfortable with. Of course, she didn't say that's how it happened. In fact, she said it was his idea to role-play one of the interactions he'd had whilst involved with sex work. She said he'd had her wear a strap-on, and he'd imitated orally stimulating it, then he'd gotten on his knees and let her fuck him up the ass. She said she had to pay him so it felt real. She talked about his frequent crying, mood swings, blow-ups and when he would lay in bed for days. She publicly declared that they were finally broken up and that it was the best decision she ever made, then she finished up by making sure everyone would feel pity for her by using some type of reverse psychology. She basically said it wasn't his fault because of his murderer-rapist father and the trauma Drake had suffered after living with him all the way up until he was ultimately forced to kill him out of self-defense. She said that had skewed his perception of sex and that it led him to give a former teacher oral for a passing grade all throughout high school. She also sprinkled in how he and his drug use had gotten his ex-girlfriend killed, inferring that the same could've happened to herself had she continued a relationship with the toxic, troubled addict. She'd made herself sound like the good guy by saying that he was like a wounded puppy and that she'd just wanted to help him and make him see the beauty in the world.

Julio felt sick to his stomach. He tried over and over to figure out how he would approach Drake with this, but nothing seemed right. How does someone deliver this kind of news? This will humiliate him. Worse than humiliate. This could very well lead to another relapse...or worse: a suicide attempt.

He gave it some more time, but he finally accepted that there was no way he could come up with a nice way to break the news. Julio stood and headed back downstairs. Once he entered the living room, he saw Drake lift his eyes from his own phone screen and turn towards him with tears streaming down his cheeks. Julio could hear what could only be the sex video playing. He was too late. Drake already knew.

Author's Note: It didn't take me as long to update this time! I just wanna thank that reviewer who let me know that at least someone was still reading. Your review really motivated me to get this chapter out.

So what is everyone's thoughts on the chapter? Do you think Dahlia was really doing all the things Drake claimed, or was it drug-psychosis, or perhaps schizophrenia? What do you think about the huge bomb Drake dropped on the Santos brothers about what happened to him in the psych ward? Finally, Josh is beginning to forgive his step-brother. I had the hardest time figuring out how to get him to that point. What did you think of Josh's girlfriend Rochelle? These are just some prompt questions, but feel free to review about anything that stuck out to you. Please take the time to do that because these chapters take a lot of time to write.

There were no songs in this chapter, so I guess that's it. Have a great day. Until the next one. CCC ya!