Sorry, Charlie

by CHOOSELIFE

Third story in the Charlie series. This story picks up two and a half years after Drake's last overdose. Ricardo has forced him to clean up his act, but still Drake can't seem to get away from his past. Everyday is a fight to stay clean and now that he doesn't have his favorite red pills, his depression and anxiety are just as hard to kick as his drug addiction.

1. Living Sober

[December] - 2 1/2 years after Charlie Horse's ending (Ricardo forced Drake to leave Tad's and told him that he no longer had a choice in the matter: Drake will get clean)

"Drake, get up," Ricardo said from the doorway as he buttoned up his dark blue shirt. He folded down the collar, then looked up and saw that the boy wasn't making any moves. "Come on. Time for work."

"Mmm," Drake groaned.

"I know you're not fucking sleeping, so stop faking."

"I don't wanna go today."

"That's really unfortunate because you're going to anyway."

"I really don't feel good."

Ricardo grabbed his arm and dragged him onto his feet.

"Come on, Ricky," Drake protested.

"I let you use a sick day yesterday."

"I'm still sick."

Ricardo sighed and examined his features. He seemed normal on the outside, but he could never be too sure. "Did you relapse again?"

"No," the boy said to his shoes. He seemed taken aback by the question.

"Drake?" he said skeptically.

"I didn't."

"Look at me."

Drake met his eyes. It was obvious that part of him was irritated while the other half of him knew that he had no right to be. "I'm clean today. I promise."

Ricardo believed him. "Good. Come on. Get dressed. I'll make you something to eat."

"I'm not hungry," the boy said.

"Drake-"

"I'll grab a granola bar on the way out," he said to please his friend.

Ricardo accepted this and nodded. He gave him a pat on the shoulder, expressing that he understood that Drake was going through a hard time while also giving him a bit of encouragement, then he left the room. Drake sighed, then went over to his closet and pulled out a nice tee shirt. He moved to the dresser, grabbed his jeans with large holes in the knees and a pair of boxers, then he made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the shower faucet so that the water could start getting warm and he brushed his teeth in the meantime. When that was done, he stripped off his clothes, then stepped inside of the tub. Although he'd been awake for quite some time now, he didn't feel very awake, so he hoped the water spraying down on him would snap him back to reality.

He didn't lie to Ricardo. He was sober, but damn if he didn't not want to be. Today was just one of those days where it was harder than the others, and there was no particular reason for his craving other than his own constant sadness. Despite what it had eventually led to, he would be lying if he said he didn't miss Charlie a lot. To be honest, he wasn't sure that most of that was Charlie's fault at all. In fact, when he thought back on it, he couldn't really recall why he had gotten clean in the first place.

Of course, Ricardo had practically kidnapped him and forced him to. He remembered having to follow the man everywhere: grocery store, work, the kitchen even. Ricardo hadn't been kidding when he'd said that he would be glued to Drake's side. He'd had a bedtime. He'd had a chore list. Until he'd earned his friend's trust back, there had been bars on the window of the spare bedroom and a lock on the outside of his door. It sounded extreme, but Drake had tried to escape and get high again on many occasions, and had that been possible, he'd probably be dead by now after the route he had been going down before his friend had showed up.

Although Ricardo had spearheaded the effort into cleaning Drake up, Drake had actually agreed with him in time, and he eventually started putting effort into his sobriety. But why? What was his reason, and why couldn't he remember it? If he could remember it, then maybe it would be easier to say no when he had the opportunity to use. He had no idea why he had gotten clean, and that was a dangerous place to be.

He has relapsed before — several times, actually — but it was...different. Having not used in so long, it was like...why did he ever like them so much? Every time he'd come back to them, he never enjoyed them as much as he used to. He'd ruined his life for these pills. He'd publicly been stripped of his pride and dignity just to feed his habit, and now he couldn't remember why he'd ever needed them so badly.

Basically, there was a lot that he couldn't remember, and despite that being annoying as hell, maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

---

"Keep the change," the man said as he got out of the stool and pulled on his jacket.

Drake thanked him, then went over to the cash register. After cashing out the man's check, he put the leftover three dollars into his pocket. When he looked up again, he saw another customer waving him over.

"Can I get another?" the man mouthed from the other end of the bar as he pointed at his empty glass.

Drake grabbed a clean glass, then picked up the nozzle for the Samual Adams and poured it until it was filled to the brim. He gave the man his drink, and when he went back over to the register to add it onto the man's tab, Ricardo walked up to him.

"I think the rush is starting to slow down a little," he said.

An African American woman who was roughly four years older than Drake (give or take) approached the two as she wiped down the counter. Her name was Shaniqua. Instead, Drake's gaze moved to the front door as a brunette girl wearing a short skirt and a tight tank top stepped inside. She offered her ID up to the man standing there.

"Slow enough for me to take my break?" the boy asked.

Ricardo followed Drake's eyes to the girl who was putting her ID back inside of her pocket. "I thought you two split."

"Not forever. She just needed some time apart."

"No, she wanted to be able to sleep with other guys without it being considered cheating."

Shaniqua piped up teasingly, but in a sisterly way rather than a rude way. "Like she hasn't cheated before."

"Ain't that the truth," Ricardo agreed.

"Fuck you guys. So can I go or...?"

Ricardo was irritated and he clearly despised the girl in question, but he wasn't a jerk about it. "Yeah, go ahead."

---

Drake closed his eyes, his uneven breathing audible. He moaned when the brunette girl from inside the bar moved her tongue rhythmically over the sensitive skin on his erect penis. They were in her car, which was parked behind the bar where all the workers parked. She always parked here because she knew no one could see them here.

Her name was Clementine, which she hated, so he called her Clem although everyone else knew her as Dahlia, her middle name. Clementine Dahlia Martin. What a mouthful. Her parents must've been super into flowers. And yes, Drake saw the irony in the fact that the first girlfriend he had since his father's death shared a name with the bastard.

Drake's breath hitched, and then he let out another moan. He warned the girl that he was about to ejaculate. After what he had gone through in his past, he learned that a heads up was much appreciated. When he finished and she sat up, he lifted his ass off of the seat and buttoned his jeans, then zipped them. He sat back down with an out-of-breath huff, then looked at the girl as he secured his belt. He could immediately tell that something was the matter.

"What's wrong?"

"You didn't tell Ricardo we were back together," she said in her English accent. She was from Europe, but she had been living in the states when her parents had relocated here for work five years ago. "I could tell by the way he was looking at me."

"Well, I mean..."

She waited for his response, but he didn't have a good excuse.

"I just haven't gotten around to it yet," he shrugged innocently.

"Haven't gotten around to it yet?"

Maybe his choice of words was questionable.

"What, are you ashamed of me?"

"No! God, no!" Drake turned in his seat and grabbed her hand. "Of course not," he said.

"Then what is it?"

"I just..." He never really updated people on his love life. If they asked, he didn't mind talking about it, but it wasn't something he usually brought up out of the blue. He could see why it upset Clem, but he still thought that she was overreacting. However, when it came to Clementine and her mood swings, he knew it was just best to apologize and remember never to repeat the same behavior later. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like you're not important to me. You know I love you more than anything." Believe it or not, his words were actually true. A lot has changed since his last overdose on Triple C's three years ago.

The girl allowed him to pull her into a hug and he rested his chin on top of her head.

"You mean everything to me. Okay?"

His voice expressed sadness despite the fact that he was trying to hide it. It broke his heart to know that he had unintentionally hurt her feelings. Because of the depression and anxiety he was now dealing with on a constant basis caused by his sobriety, he would obsess over this moment for hours, possibly even days. It was such a small thing that Clem seemed to no longer care about now that he'd apologized and said such nice words, but Drake's ever intrusive mental illnesses kept him convinced that he was the shittiest person alive.

He kissed the top of her head and spoke into her hair. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, and she kissed the crook of his neck.

---

Drake opened his eyes when he felt movement. He took in a deep breath as he stretched, then he let out a moan. He looked over and saw a nude Clementine sitting on the edge of the bed. She pulled one of his tees over her head.

"Where you going?" His voice was strained because of his tiredness.

"Gonna shower." She pulled the pair of panties that he'd taken off of her last night up her legs, then she crawled across the mattress on her hands and knees and gave him a kiss.

Drake moaned again. His eyes were closed, and he could already feel himself getting aroused. He slipped his hand under her shirt and touched her waist, and that's when she separated her lips from his and started to get up.

He grabbed her hand. "Stay," he said softly.

Instead, she pulled him into a sitting position. "Come shower with me."

---

Drake stood in front of the stove scrambling eggs when Dahlia entered the kitchen. She was now fully clothed in jeans and a burnt orange tank top. Her hair was still damp. She walked up behind Drake, then smacked him on the ass. He grinned, then felt comfort when she wrapped her arms around his torso and leaned her body against his back.

"I thought you were getting dressed," she said.

"I did."

"You're wearing pj's."

"Because I just wanna stay home with you and relax while I'm off work."

"But I thought we could go shopping." She always wanted to go shopping on Drake's dime. It wasn't a coincidence that she came over today — his payday.

"Doesn't it sound more fun to lay in bed all day with pizza and Netflix? We've only got one more season of Shameless left." Drake hated going out in crowds and dealing with people on the road and in stores, but he loved her, so when she gave him her classic puppy dog face, he conceded. "Fine."

"Yay!" She kissed his cheek, so he turned his head so that their lips could meet.

Ricardo walked in then. He had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. He didn't like Clementine at all, but she made Drake happy, and after a rough young adulthood, he deserved to be happy. "Good morning."

The two pulled apart, and Clem gave him a bright smile. "Morning."

Ricardo made his way over to the coffee pot, grabbed a mug from the cabinet above, then prepared himself a cup of joe. He looked at the clock and saw that it was twelve in the afternoon. "Drake, you're up earlier than normal."

Because of the late hours brought on by working as a bartender, it was usually two o'clock before he woke up, and even after he woke up, more often than not, he would lay there forever until he thought himself into a depression "episode." One good thing about Dahlia being around was that she kept Drake busy and distracted, Ricardo supposed.

The man sat down on the middle stool in front of the island, then sipped on his coffee. He noticed that the two were already dressed. "What are your plans for today?"

"Drake is gonna take me shopping," Clementine said with a big grin. "And then-" She looked at her boyfriend, then wrapped her arms around his waist as he poured the eggs onto two plates. "-I thought we could go see that new movie with Bradley Cooper."

"The chick flick?" Ricardo said as he chuckled into his coffee. His poor friend was so far gone that it was almost adorable.

Clementine grabbed her plate, then took a seat next to Ricardo. "So can we?" That fucking puppy dog face.

"Sure." Drake leaned against the counter and poked at his breakfast.

"Isn't he just the dog's bollocks?"

"Oh, absolutely," Ricardo said in a sarcastic tone.

"Fuck off," Drake said.

"I'll go lay out some clothes." Before the young man could protest, Dahlia had kissed his cheek and disappeared upstairs, leaving her plateful of eggs untouched.

"She's picking out your clothes now?"

"Not all the time."

He could tell that Drake was embarrassed that she was doing this for him, but his friend didn't have the courage to tell her not to. Knowing that Dahlia wouldn't come back for the food, Ricardo dragged the plate in front of himself and took a bite. All the while, he kept his eyes on Drake, who clearly also hadn't planned on eating what he had cooked. Every now and then, Drake would get lost in his own mind. He'd completely forget about everything around him, the fake smile would fall from his tired face, and his empty eyes would pierce through the walls or the floor as if he could see things in them that no one else could see.

"You alright?"

And then suddenly, Drake blinked and he was back to being his "normal, cheerful" self. "Just tired. I don't think I was ready to get out of bed yet." Understatement of the year.

Ricardo watched him force down a forkful of eggs. "I could always make that appointment with a counselor for you." For three years, he had pushed for this. It was the one thing he hadn't been able to force Drake to do.

"I'm fine."

"You've just been through a lot. You're still bottling up the things that happened three years-"

"Great. This whole spiel again." He rolled his eyes, and anger spewed from his lips.

"I..." Ricardo paused, his brows furrowed, stunned by the sudden change in his friend's mood. "I just think it would help. You know? Getting some things-"

"I said I'm fine," Drake spat harshly.

As an attempt to lighten the mood, Ricardo jokingly said, "What if I use that puppy dog face that Dahlia always uses on you?" He went on to mimic her famous expression. However, this didn't better the tone of their conversation in the slightest.

"Fuck off." Drake tossed his plate (still full) of eggs into the sink, and although it didn't break, it made a loud clanging noise.

"Drake," Ricardo started as his friend stomped up the stairs, but he ignored him. "Jesus. What the fuck?" He whispered to himself.

---

Drake got out of the passenger's seat and closed the door. He pulled a green pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, opened the box, picked one, and then lit up. He wasn't sure why his heart was racing so much. All he wanted was to be back home in his bed, but maybe going out was a good thing. He couldn't handle facing Ricardo right now after his blow up. He felt guilty for being such a prick. He knew his friend only wanted what was best for him. He just didn't like talking about it. He'd spent the entire drive in silence, replaying the conversation in his head over and over again until his brain came up with the conclusion that Ricky now hated him. He knew that it wasn't true, but it was like there was this voice in the back of his mind constantly nagging at him like a mosquito that wouldn't go away no matter how many times you swat at it. Ricardo hates you. He only puts up with you because you're pathetic and he pities you. He knows you couldn't make it on your own. And he's right. You won't amount to anything. You are nothing, you damaged, worthless, no-good piece of-

"Shit. What the fuck is this then?" Clementine grabbed the cigarette from between his lips and dropped it, then smashed it with the toe of the red flats that Drake had bought for her right before they'd broken up. "Are you fuckin' jokin'?"

"I may have started back when we were broken up," he admitted shamefully.

"Well, that's just bloody brilliant, innit?"

He didn't have any reasonable excuses. He just can't handle the stress he feels when she's not around.

"Christ, did you even think about dragging a comb across your head before we left?"

"I did." Drake self-consciously brushed his fingers through his hair.

"Fuck it. Come on, ya cock-up."

Now that she'd manipulated him into feeling guilty and completely shitty about himself, he would do anything (or buy anything) to get back in her good graces. One would assume that he would catch on to this little game she played every single time she wanted something, but he was too in love to see what she was doing. He needed her, and she knew it, so she used that to her advantage. She knew that, no matter what she did, Drake would always take her back, and as an added bonus for her, he usually found ways to blame himself and would do all of the apologizing when it was time to make up. Everyone saw it. Everyone except Drake, but he needed this to be real; he needed her for reasons that he couldn't understand. Maybe she was just a replacement for all the shit that had been washed out of his life. Maybe he couldn't handle going through each day without the usual drama, abuse, and neglect that he'd lived with for so long. Maybe he needed her there to remind him how much of a "cock-up" he truly was.

---

Drake was shoved backwards, but the soft mattress caught his fall. He scooted back a bit, his eyes filled with lust as Clementine crawled towards him, her cleavage showing in her orange tank top. She straddled him, then pulled off her shirt and pressed her lips hard against Drake's. He unbuttoned his jeans, pulled down the zipper, then placed his hand on his girlfriend's cheek to deepen the kiss, his tongue finding hers and wrestling for dominance despite the fact that they both knew that she was the one who held all the power in their relationship.

When Dahlia reached around to unhook her bra, the boy pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the side. She immediately grabbed a handful of his hair and forced his head in between her breasts. He could hear the rapid beating of her heart, and she could feel his bulge growing between her thighs. She grabbed his hands and rubbed them up and down her waist, and then to her breasts. His lips made their way across her collarbone, up her neck, and back to her lips.

Clem slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers, and moments later, Drake let go of a moan. He rested his sweaty forehead on her shoulder, his heavy breaths of air hitting her chest and letting her know what technique was working best for him. As she massaged him, his breath hitched and he let go of another moan.

"I'm so wet," she said.

Again, his breathing got caught in his throat. "Oh, God..."

"It's dripping between my thighs. I wanna feel you inside of me. I want you to shove your cock in my fanny so hard and so fast that I'm screaming your name. Oh, Drake!" she imitated in a high-pitched squeal. She felt his hips bucking involuntarily. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes! Oh, yes!"

"Stop." He grabbed her wrist. "I'm gonna cum."

She pulled her hand out of his boxers, then removed her shorts and panties. As she did this, he finished undressing also, then he pulled her closer and stuck a finger inside her, then another to really get her going. He spanked her a few times per her request, and then they were both at a point where neither could contain themselves anymore. When Drake finally penetrated her, they both moaned. She was on top, moving up and down on him, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face. His hands were on her ass, urging her to move faster...faster...faster... Until...

"Oh, fuck," he moaned.

"Oh, God, Drake," was her satisfied reply. She dropped on top of him.

Both were dripping with sweat and panting for air.

"Goddamn," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "I fucking love you so much."

---

Drake winced when the door squeaked. He held his breath, then pushed it shut. He slowly let go of the knob, allowing it to turn back into place, but all of that was useless. The second he turned around, he saw Ricardo sitting on the staircase right in front of him. He visibly jumped at his unexpected appearance.

"Good morning," the man greeted, but his voice sounded anything but welcoming.

"You're up." Drake didn't know why he'd stated it out loud.

"Where were you last night?"

"Just...out."

"Out where?"

"I stayed over at Clem's."

"Doing what?" the man interrogated further.

Drake rolled his eyes. "Fucking. Jesus. You wanna know what color underwear I'm wearing, too?"

Ricardo stood, then made his way down the couple of steps so that he could be close enough to examine his friend's eyes. "Did you get high?"

"No!" He was unable to hide his irritation.

"Are you lying to me?"

"No! And before you ask again, because I know you will, the answer is still no."

Ricardo always asked three times because sometimes it wasn't easy to come clean right away.

"I just want you to be honest with me."

"I am," Drake said. Despite his frustration, he understood where the man was coming from. "Ricky, you know I'm always honest with you about that. I have no reason to lie. I know you'll stay as cool as you can. I know my housing situation isn't in danger. If I've used, you know I always admit it to you."

"You walked in the house all sneaky like you had done something wrong."

"Because I knew you'd act like this if I stayed out all night."

"I just want to trust so bad that you'll make the right choices."

"I know, but I wish you would just..."

"Just what?"

Drake hesitated. He couldn't even look at him when he said, "Back off."

Ricardo wasn't mad. He and Drake had their fair share of arguments, but they usually never raised their voices and actually fought. Drake was so used to taking verbal abuse and criticism from his father that he tended to cower away and become submissive when someone yelled at him. Ricardo had learned that pretty quickly after the boy had moved in, so when they had issues or complaints, they could usually talk it out in a calm manner. Although his father was long gone, Drake had it drilled into his head that disagreeing or saying what he felt would lead to some sort of torturous punishment, so Ricardo always had to push for him to keep his end of the conversation going.

Like expected, Drake immediately retracted. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't be."

"I know I have no right to say that after all the shit I've done-"

"Of course you do. I know I'm overprotective sometimes. You're just like my little brother and my best friend, and I care so much for you."

Sometimes it felt like he was the only one who did.

"So how about this?" Ricardo said. "I'll try to be a little less, you know...overbearing. And you...just keep being honest."

"I can do that," Drake said.

"So just for tradition's sake, I didn't really get my chance to ask the third time, but...did you get high?"

Drake met his eyes, but this time, he wasn't agitated anymore. "No," he said. "I didn't get high."

"Good. I'm proud of you." Ricardo gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Come on. Let's eat breakfast."

Drake followed him into the kitchen, then leaned against the counter while Ricardo searched through the refrigerator. "Um, and while we're being all serious and shit..."

Ricardo moved past him with a can of biscuits in his hand.

Drake kept his head pointed at his feet. "I'm sorry about snapping on you yesterday. I was just..." He shrugged. "-in a shit mood, I guess."

"I get it. It's hard to talk about." Ricardo tapped the can against the counter, but it did nothing, so he banged it against the hard surface, and the can popped open. "You know I'm always ready to listen. I just thought it might be easier to talk to a stranger, and it's probably a lot more beneficial to work through things with the help of a professional."

"I just hate talking about it," Drake said. "I can't."

"I know. But I'm still gonna bring it up." He grabbed a circular pan out from one of the cabinets. "And maybe in two years, you'll get tired of me nagging you and finally go."

Drake cracked a smile. He was truly grateful for Ricky. Without him, he would be dead right now. Or a fucked up, drugged out vegetable left in Coach Tad's care. He shivered at the memory of what his hands felt like all over his-

"You alright?" Ricardo had seen him twitch. He glanced at him for a short moment with a furrowed brow.

"Yeah. I'll be right back." Drake made his way past the pantry and into the bathroom. He quickly lifted the toilet seat, and the second he parted his lips, vomit spewed out like a volcano.

When Drake returned to the kitchen, he found that Julio had joined his brother.

"Why don't you lay off on the coffee?" Ricardo said, fearing that it would send his little bro into a panic frenzy.

Ricardo was easily the strongest person that Drake had ever met. He had his own life with his own shit going on, yet he somehow always had the ability to stay mostly happy and content despite the negativity the younger boys threw around and their ever worsening mental illnesses.

Julio protested. "I'm so tired." And it showed on his face. Despite Ricardo's fair warning, he poured himself a cup of coffee anyway.

"Aren't you gonna be late for class?" Drake asked as he took a seat on the stool and rested his own tired head on the palm of his hand.

"Eh, whatever."

Ricardo glanced at the clock on the oven and saw that the boy was right. He grabbed his brother's cup and poured the coffee into a travel mug. "Go on."

Julio groaned, but he moved towards the front door anyway.

"Book bag," Ricardo reminded.

Julio tiredly jogged up the stairs, then soon returned with his backpack.

"Got your phone?"

The young man patted his pockets. "Fucking hell." And then he was making his way back upstairs again.

Ricardo turned towards Drake with a grin. This was their normal routine every time Julio had to go to his college, so it made no sense that he was still forgetting the same things every day.

Loud, quick footsteps made their way down the stairs until Julio was standing by the front door again. "Okay. I'm leaving for real this time."

"Have fun," Ricardo called as he stepped outside. Once his brother was gone, the man walked over to the counter, then picked up a chain of keys and held them up to show Drake.

"Christ." He laughed.

"Seven... Six... Five... Four... Three... Two..."

The front door open and Julio stepped in, quietly cursing up a storm. Ricardo tossed him his keys and then the boy was on his way...for real for real this time.

"Sometimes I don't know how he even gets dressed without me." He shook his head, then went back to his spot next to the oven and leaned against the counter. "So are you and Dahlia doing anything today?"

"No, she's got school, too."

"Then I guess it's just us today. You up for a revival of Best Bad Movie Monday? I've heard Zombeavers is a good one."

Drake forced a smile. "Nah, I think I'll fall asleep if I watch a movie." His face went back to its normal expression and he looked down at the table top. Quietly, he said, "I wanted to go see Meelah today."

He went when he could, which wasn't often now that he was with Clementine. She didn't like him going to the cemetery, so he had to go in secret. She was jealous of a dead girl.

"Do you need support?"

"I'll be fine," he said. "Thanks, though."

"Well, hey, take my car." He grabbed his keys off of the hook by the front door, then handed them to the boy, who slid out of the stool.

"Thanks."

---

Drake's fingers gently grazed over the gravestone. It was the closest he could ever get to touching his former girlfriend, but it felt completely different. It was cold and hard and jagged, whereas she was none of those things. She was the exact opposite. He traced over the letters carved into the stone. It read, Meelah Dekody: beloved daughter, friend, and soulmate. Meelah's parents were so incredibly kind to include Drake and his relationship with their daughter despite that fact that he had practically been the one who had ended her life.

"God, I miss you," he whispered, pulling his arm away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "I found this song the other week, and it makes me think of you sometimes. I know I haven't come by in a while. Clem just doesn't like for me to come and... Well, I just..." He knew it wasn't really a good excuse. He owed Meelah everything after what he had done. "Anyway," he said sadly, "I just thought you'd wanna hear the song maybe. If you're not too pissed." He pressed play on his phone, and then a soft melody drifted through his ears.

All I want is nothing more
To hear you knocking at my door
'Cause if I could see your face once more
I could die as a happy man I'm sure

"I remember the first time I met you. God, it was the best day of my life. I was at a Bob Dylan concert with Julio and Stevie and some other guys that I haven't spoken to in years, and we were sitting on the lawn drinking beer and smoking a blunt. And I remember that the sun was going down, and everything was great, the music was great, and I felt great. And then there you were, just spinning around in your long hippie dress with flowers in your hair and no shoes on your feet. God, you were so fucking beautiful, and just looking at you, I immediately knew, like...this...this is the girl that I wanna spend the rest of my life with...which is crazy because you weren't smiling at all. In fact, it was the opposite. You had this uninviting presence, like you were in your own little world. Like you knew things the rest of us didn't and like you felt things that no one could possibly understand. I wanted so desperately to be apart of that world. When I saw you, you looked like you had come alone, but you didn't care. You were twirling around, feeling the setting sun on your skin, the grass between your toes, the music awakening your soul. Despite coming alone, you were more connected to everything than anyone else. You acted like you were the only one there, and when I first laid eyes on you, you were the only person I saw, too, and for a second, I caught a glimpse of what your world looked like."

When you said your last goodbye
I died a little bit inside
I lay in tears in bed all night
Alone without you by my side

"I later came to find out that the reason you weren't smiling was because of the numbness from the Triple C's. You weren't alone at all, were you? But at that moment, I saw you, and you were broken, and I was broken, and I thought that we would be perfect for each other. I don't think I've ever been more wrong about anything in my entire life. You were the match that I needed to set myself on fire, and then I became poison burning through your veins."

But if you loved me
Why'd you leave me
Take my body
Take my body

"I remember how much I stressed over talking to you. My friends were laughing because I've never felt like that before. I finished off my beer for courage, and then I took Julio's and finished that one, too. And then I stood and walked over to you. I had no idea what I was gonna say, and for some reason, the first thing that popped into my head when you opened your eyes and looked at me was to ask if I could have one of your cigarettes. Maybe I was still nervous even after the alcohol. We used to laugh about that. Remember? During our Charlie nights, we'd get fucked up and you'd tease me about my lame pick-up line, but it was never a line. I only ever wanted to talk to you."

All I want is
All I need is
To find somebody
I'll find somebody
Like you

"It was pretty lame, I guess. You knew what I meant, though. Already, it was like you could read my mind. You knew that, Could I bum a smoke? really meant Please, let me have your babies, so you didn't even answer me back. You just leaned in...and you kissed me...and I kissed you. The whole time, I had been shitting myself, but it was that easy."

'Cause you brought out the best of me
A part of me I'd never seen
You took my soul and wiped it clean
Our love was made for movie screens

"I can still remember feeling my heart beating out of my chest. You felt it, too. I knew because, when we pulled apart, you kept your arms around me and rested your head on my chest and listened to it. And right then, beneath the orange and pink sky, for a moment...everything was perfect. But then you said those three little words."

But if you loved me
Why'd you leave me
Take my body
Take my body

"Wanna get high? I was already high. I smoked more weed than any of my friends just to work up the nerve to approach you. However, in that moment, I would've taken off my clothes and ran up on stage if you would've asked me to. I would've done anything, so I said I did, but you didn't offer weed. Instead, you held open the little bohemian purse you had hanging down to your hip and showed me a bunch of tiny red pills. Take, like, sixteen, you said. I thought that was an outrageous number, but I wasn't about to look like a pussy, so we sat down, you counted them out for me, and then you gave me your beer to chase them down with. You said, Give it an hour. You'll feel so fucking amazing. But I didn't. I felt so sick. I kept trying to tell myself not to throw up, but I couldn't hold it in anymore. You didn't laugh. I knew my friends were sitting somewhere not too far behind us, and they were probably laughing so hard that they were crying, but not you. You gave me a cigarette to mask the bad taste, and then you pulled my head onto your shoulder and sung along to whatever Bob Dylan was singing. At that point, I wasn't even listening to him. I only heard you singing right in my ear, but I couldn't make out the words. It was just your voice running through my head, taking me someplace deep inside of my mind that I've never gone to before."

All I want is
All I need is
To find somebody
I'll find somebody

"I don't remember a big chunk of that night. I don't think I blacked out because I know I was non-stop sick the entire time, but what I do remember is laying on the grass, and the entire world was spinning around us as if we were the only thing that mattered — as if we were what held it together, and if we separated, everything would collapse. I guess that was kinda true in a way, though."

But if you loved me
Why'd you leave me
Take my body
Take my body

"I never meant to hurt you. I know, for a while there, it felt like it was Charlie that I was really in love with and you were just tagging along like a third wheel, but I swear I loved you, too. I still love you. I can't stop thinking about you. I was so shitty to you." Drake's heart filled with regret, and it made him nauseous. He felt water building up behind his eyes. "God, I...I should have supported you. I should've gotten clean, too, or...or let you go if I knew that I couldn't. This whole time, you always thought it was you who was the bad influence, but it was me. I deserve to be where you are, and not a day goes by where I don't think about joining you, but after everything I've done...I don't think I'll end up in the same place." The young man's bottom lip quivered as the tears began to fall. He shamefully hid his head in between his knees. "It's so hard to keep going without you," his voice cracked, and then a whimper left his throat. He sniffled. "I'm so fucking sorry, Meelah. I'm so sorry. It should've been me. God, why couldn't it have been me?"

All I want is
All I need is
To find somebody
I'll find somebody
Like you

---

Carter: im been throwing up all day. Srry I can't come in

Ricardo sighed with disappointment. Carter was always calling out "sick." He was the most unreliable worker he had, but he knew that he had his reasons. He responded to the text in a professional manner, then checked his watch. Carter was supposed to arrive at work in twenty minutes. Couldn't he have given a better head's up or something? He sent a message to Shaniqua asking if she could stay a bit later until he got there, then he headed upstairs to change. On his way to his bedroom, he passed by Drake's room, and when he did so, he heard a sniffle coming from inside. He stopped, then pushed open the door and saw his friend laying on his mattress with his back to him.

"I didn't hear you come in," the man said.

Drake said nothing, and the sound of his weeping ceased. Ricardo knew that he was going through a hard time and he felt horrible. He moved over to the mattress and gently sat down. He couldn't see it, but Drake's face contorted at the display of compassion. He sniffled again, and it was obvious that one of his nostrils was stuffed up, making it hard for him to breathe. Ricardo placed a hand on his shoulder for support, and then he just sat there in silence, resting his back against the wall.

---

"Hey, put this in the office, will ya?" Ricardo passed Drake his cell phone charger, then made his way over to Shaniqua to thank her for staying so long and let her know that she could leave.

Drake went behind the counter, then down the hall, passing the kitchen. The office was in the very back. He pushed open the door, then set his friend's charger down on his desk. Drake shut the door behind him so that he could be left with peace and quiet. He wasn't working tonight, but Ricardo had said that it was too dangerous for him to be home alone, and honestly, Drake agreed. There was too much of a temptation to relapse. Visiting Meelah's grave gave him a reason. Maybe he shouldn't have gone.

Despite the fact that Drake was so depressed that he wanted to cry and so anxious that he couldn't stop moving around, the boy pulled out his cell phone, went to Facebook, and pulled up Meelah's page. He was aware that he was being self-destructive. He felt like shit, but instead of trying to distract himself, he just wanted to wallow in it.

Her profile picture was still the same one she had left. He clicked on it so that it filled up his screen. It was of herself and Drake. She wore a grin so large that her sparkling eyes were squinted. Drake was pretending to bite her cheek, but at the same time, he wore a smile just as big as hers. That was the closest to happiness he could ever remember being. God, what he would give to turn back the clock and travel back to a time when he could hold her in his arms again.

Drake exited out of the picture, then scrolled down her page. The most recent post was from two months ago. It was a paragraph long note to Meelah that her cousin had tagged her in. As the young man read it, his eyes watered over. In the status, she mentioned how much she missed her, how often she thought about her, and how hard it was not being able to talk to her like she used to. There were several more posts after this one that were written by family members, friends, co-workers, even a couple people from high school that she never hung out with. Even though they were just acquaintances, Meelah had made such a huge impact in their lives in one way or another. These people went out of their way to write such sweet things about her, sharing memories about things she had done to help them or brighten their day. Meelah had been one big ball of sunshine that Drake's darkness had wrapped around and smothered like a boa constrictor squeezing the life out of a mouse. All of these people talked about how much they were hurting by not having her around, and that was Drake's fault. His addiction — his selfishness — had not only fucked up Meelah's life, but it had greatly affected all those around her who looked up to her and, like himself, felt hope that things would get better. Without her shining light, that was gone. Drake had taken it from all of them, including himself.

Although he knew that it was an awful idea, he read through every heartfelt post even though he had read them all before. Within minutes, he was back to crying his eyes out. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, scrolling down her timeline, thumbing through her photos, watching all of the videos she had posted. All he knew was that he wanted to get high. He desperately needed to dull the pain, and Charlie could do that. It'd been about nine months since he'd last used. It was the longest he had ever gone, and that was something to be proud of, but he couldn't keep holding off on the inevitable.

Drake stood, his mind seemingly made up. He grabbed his jacket and wrapped it around himself. He took a step towards the door, stopped, then turned and started walking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. What if Ricardo caught him? What if he stopped by the office while Drake was out? Drake didn't want him to know what he was doing until after he had done it. That way, he couldn't be stopped.

The thought of using again brought back that familiar sickness. Drake's face was a bright shade of red, and he was burning up. His breathing was faster than normal, and he felt that he could throw up at any second. His heart was racing, and already, his lips were numb. He could feel it. He could feel exactly what it was like to trip despite the fact that he hadn't swallowed a single pill yet. God, he needed them, and he needed them now. Fuck Ricky. Who cares if he sees me? I'm a grown ass man. I don't have to be here. He doesn't run my life.

Suddenly, Drake remembered leaving his wallet at home at Ricardo's request. Sure, he probably looked old enough and could get a pass without having his license, but there was no way he could get the pills without his money. "Fuck!"

He pulled open one of the drawers on the desk, then started rummaging around inside. Ricky has to have some change around here somewhere. However, he found nothing of use in that drawer. He opened another, then another, his panic rising all the while. They were mostly filled with papers and folders and office supplies — none of which was what Drake was looking for. He yanked open the next drawer, and this time, he started pulling things out and furiously throwing them on the ground. He wanted to scream. He felt like digging his fingernails into his face and peeling off the skin. Still, he was crying.

"Fuck!"

He gave up, giving one of the drawers a hard kick, then he immediately felt guilty. Despite it being an inanimate object, displaying acts of violence towards anything made him think of his dad and how the Drake he was hiding inside of him was just like the evil man. The newly added emotion only stressed him out more. He rubbed his fingers through his hair, then pushed himself into a corner and sat down on the floor. Looking around the small room, he saw that his friend's workspace was destroyed. Papers were scattered about, pens and pencils were spilled all over the floor, rubber bands and erasers were in every line of vision no matter where you stood, yet there wasn't a single goddamn cent to be found.

Ricardo was going to be so pissed. Drake let go of a couple sobs as he anxiously rubbed his forehead, which was achy and sweaty and still feeling feverish. At this point, he was so desperate for a fix that he was willing to do anything. Therefore, he pulled out his phone and brought up his girlfriend's number, then pressed call. She didn't answer the first time, so he called again.

"Come on. Please", his voice cracked.

She answered on the fifth ring. He knew because he had counted.

"Drake?"

"Hey, what are you doing?" He tried to sound as casual as possible.

A man's voice came from the background. "Come on. Hang up the phone."

"Who was that?" Drake asked.

"I'm out with some friends from class. We're trying to study before the test. Did you need something?"

"Um..." He closed his eyes and his face contorted. He didn't want to sound weak, but he couldn't swallow down that lump in the back of his throat. He was embarrassed that he was crying, so although she couldn't see him, he put his hand over his eyes to hide his face. He couldn't hold back his sobs any longer.

"Hey, what's wrong?!" Clementine asked with genuine concern.

"Baby..." His cracked voice came out several octaves higher than normal.

"Yeah?"

"I really need a favor."

"What is it?"

"Can you, please, bring me, like, a couple boxes? Please," he begged.

She sighed. "Drake-"

"Please, don't fight me on this. It's just this one time. I just really need it. This is the last time, I swear."

"Babe-"

"PLEASE!" It came as a desperate growl tearing out of his throat. "I'm not gonna get hooked again. And I will do anything you want to make it up to you. It's just this one time," he repeated.

There was silence on her end, and each second that went by caused Drake's heart to beat a little bit faster. He looked up, the disappointment he felt in himself evident on his face. His eyes glistened with tears. He closed them, then tried to calm himself by exhaling through his nostrils. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, but it still shook.

"Please, babe. I'm begging you."

He felt so undignified. It was nostalgic in a way. This was the person that he was always going to be — the fiend he always fought so hard to get away from, but he was back. This hunger was always inside of him, subtly planting seeds, steering him in the wrong direction, dismissing everything he'd ever learned about the whys and hows of sobriety. He was so quick to want to go back to a life of hunger, cold nights, sex work, and loneliness.

But like he'd said, this was going to be the last time. He wouldn't let it get that bad again. He just needed something to take the pain away, and then everything would be fine.

Finally, Dahlia spoke after letting go of her breath. "Okay."

Drake's insides were doing backflips, but he had to keep his outward excitement at a minimum. He didn't want to come off more desperate than he already had, if that was even possible. "I'm at the bar. Just text me when you get here." He thanked her, but she hung up without a response. He didn't care. He was going to see Charlie again.

---

Drake picked up another pen out of the floor, then put the cluster of writing utensils he was holding in the pencil cup that was on Ricardo's desk. That was the last of the mess he had made. Now his boss will never find out. He took a seat on the padded bench that was on the opposite wall as the large desk. He balled up his jacket, then laid on his side, using it as a pillow. All of the stress and the burning of his eyes from crying made him sleepy. He yawned, then rested his eyelids.

He felt a lot calmer now that he knew that his pills were on the way. He yawned again, so big this time that his jaw popped. He nestled his head into his jacket, taking comfort in the fact that, finally, things were starting to get better.

---

"Yo. Wake up."

The sound of the door shutting startled Drake. His eyes shot open and he lifted his head off of his jacket. Despite the fact that Martin had died almost three years ago, Drake still remained on high alert. He was always prepared to bolt or block his head if he needed to. He surveyed his surroundings, his tired eyes landing on Ricardo.

"Did you call Dahlia? She's waiting up front for you."

Drake looked at his phone and saw that he had received multiple text messages and calls over the span of fifteen minutes. "Shit!" He quickly stood and stuffed the phone into his pocket. He grabbed his jacket and slipped his arm through the sleeve as he made his way out the door and down the hallway towards the front.

His girlfriend was standing on the other side of the counter. When she saw him, she lifted her arms in question. "What the fuck? You told me to text you."

"Sorry, I fell asleep."

Drake led her outside, then pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. This time, Clementine said nothing about it. The two of them made their way around the back of the building where the workers' cars were parked. She always parked here, too. They walked side by side. Drake took a long drag from his cigarette. Now that he had been woken up so suddenly, his heart was back to pounding against his chest. Fucking anxiety.

"Are you alright?" the girl asked, watching his fingers tremble as he held the cigarette between two of them.

"I'm better now that you're here."

Clementine snorted, then playfully shoved him away.

Drake looked at her with a grin, which faded just as fast as it had come. "So?"

"Jesus, you can't wait until we get in the car? It's fucking cold out here."

When they approached the car, Dahlia got in. Drake leaned against the passenger's side door and took another deep inhale of the smoke, allowing it to fill up his lungs. Even when he finished the whole thing, he didn't feel any less nervous. He got inside the car and took comfort in the warmth from the heat blowing out of the vents.

"Did you get them?" he asked.

"Hey, Clem. Good to see you. Sorry I pulled you away from your study group and then left you sitting in the car for half an hour because I slept through your text messages and phone calls." She was exaggerating about the time, but that's just who she was.

Drake looked at her, then apologized like she expected. He leaned in and gave her a kiss. He didn't ask about his drugs again because he didn't want to be rude. However, she could see that his apology was insincere and the medicine was all that he cared about.

"Look, I didn't buy drugs for you," she said. "I'm not gonna do that." She watched as his smile melted into a frown, and his facial expressions changed from betrayal to hopelessness, then finally rage.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," he spat with venom spewing from his harsh voice.

Dahlia was shocked by his sudden change in attitude, and honestly, he'd never dared to speak to her like this before. She was the one who wore the pants in their relationship and she wouldn't put up with disrespect. "Excuse me?"

"I give you everything! I spend all my money on you! I do whatever you ask me to do! And the one time I need a small favor from you, you can't come through for me?! The fuck are we even together for?! I treat you like a queen and you just shit all over me and my needs! You're a selfish bitch!"

SMACK!

The sound of skin against skin rang through his ears. He kept his head pointed in the direction that her hit had forced it. His eyes were suddenly empty, and it was as if he wasn't there at all. In his mind, Drake was back in that trailer park with his alcoholic father. He was trapped in the corner of the basement, naked and shivering, and Martin was winding his fist back for yet another punch. Being back here brought back those familiar emotions: vulnerability, self-hatred, hopelessness, a fear so paralyzing that he couldn't breathe, shame so consuming that he wanted to kill himself. Her slap had put him back in his place. She had reminded him of who he was, where he had come from, where he deserved to be, and what he had done — all of which he'd fought every single day to keep buried somewhere in the darkest parts of his mind.

The first thing Clementine noticed was his trembling hands, and when she looked back up at his face, she saw a teardrop on the bridge of his nose.

"Drake..."

He shook his head. He was trying hard not to cry, but he wasn't succeeding. He had a thousand pent-up emotions that were finally breaking through the surface. His bottom lip quivered, and he hung his head when his face twisted into a frown. His lips stretched tightly across his face, but he was using every muscle he had to keep his mouth closed and his throat from choking out the sobs that were gathered there.

"Baby..." She reached for him, but he pushed her hand away and shook his head again. However, she didn't give up. She put her hand on the back of his head, then pulled him closer until his head was laying on her lap. "Shh, it's okay," she soothed.

Drake broke down then. She was so kind, so now he had guilt to add to the list of overwhelming emotions that were releasing themselves through the faucets in his eyes and the jerks of his body. His hateful words towards her would just be another one of those things that his mental illnesses wouldn't let him forget about, and he'd spend the next several days — possibly even weeks — obsessing over how he could make it up to her.

"Talk to me, baby," she said as she pet his hair gently.

"I'm sorry," he said, his high-pitched voice cracking.

"What is up with you today? Did something happen?"

Drake was too loyal to keep secrets from her. "I went to see Meelah," he said, then he cried harder. "I know you told me not to and that you'd break up with me if I did. I don't know why I did it."

She was visibly displeased and even a little pissed that he hadn't respected her wishes. "What, am I not good enough for you?" She shrugged her shoulders. "Do you still have feelings for her?"

Drake sat up and finally saw the hurt on her face. He placed his hand on her cheek and brushed her hair out of her eyes as she gazed into his flooded ones. "I love you."

"But you'd rather be with her."

"I wanna be with you," he said, his voice rather whiny.

"That's fucking rubbish. If you did, you wouldn't go behind my back to see her and lie to me about it."

"It was a mistake. I'm sorry."

"Oh, brilliant." She sat back in her seat and looked out the windshield. Under her breath, she mumbled, "Fucking tosser." She marinated in her anger for a few moments, shaking her head with disbelief. "And then you have the nerve to ask me to get you high after you bloody lied. You're a user. That's what you are. Now I remember why I broke up with you."

Drake sat quietly and listened as she called him names, vented, yelled, and called him names some more. He could never stop loving Meelah, and he understood why that made Clem feel less important or second best, but he couldn't help how he felt. He was completely head-over-heels in love with Clementine, though, and he couldn't handle losing her.

"I fucked up," he said softly, "and I'm sorry. I know I come with a lot of baggage, and it gets to be too much sometimes, but I fucking love you more than anything."

She met his eyes and saw his sincerity.

"Please, don't leave," he begged. "Everything gets so messed up without you."

She allowed him to take her hand. He was truly the nicest person she had ever met, and he was right: he came with a lot of baggage. There were times like this one that it got in the way of their relationship, but she still wanted to make things work.

Clementine reached up and wiped away the tear that was trailing across his cheek. "I don't want you to get high again."

"I won't."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," he said, then he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against hers, his cheeks still wet and hers burning from her earlier anger. "I love you."

This time, she closed the gap in between them, then pushed her tongue into his mouth. She placed her hand on the side of his face, deepening the kiss, but he pulled his lips away and instead rested his forehead against hers. His breathing was already heavy, and he obviously wanted to go a lot further, but he didn't want to be stopped after he really got started and have to go back into the bar horny as fuck.

"Are you going back to study group?"

"No, I wanna be with you."

He pressed his lips against hers again, then made his way to her neck. She tilted her head back for easier access and closed her eyes, taking pleasure in his touch.

"Let's go to my place," she said.

He agreed, and as she put the car in gear, he pulled out his phone and texted Ricardo.

Drake: goin 2 clems 2nit wont b hime

He smiled when he felt the girl's fingers on the crotch of his jeans. He leaned towards her and nibbled on her neck. As he did this, his hand disappeared under her dress.

She giggled. "I'm driving."

"You're so fucking hot," Drake whispered, earning yet another giggle from her. He then went on to tell her all the things he was going to do to her when they got to her house.

He could feel goosebumps rising on her neck. His hand was still hidden under her dress when she let go of a moan. She had to focus on keeping her eyes from rolling towards the back of her head. He started to pull his hand away so that she wouldn't finish, but she grabbed his wrist.

"Don't stop," she begged.

---

Drake pushed the shower curtain to the side, then stepped out of the tub and onto the pink, frilly rug on the floor. He had a pink towel wrapped around his waste, and he picked up the pink hairbrush that was on the bathroom counter and started combing through his wet hair. As he did this, he absently gazed at his reflection. His frame was still small, but he looked a lot better than he had two and a half years ago. His cheeks had color and were no longer sunken into his face. On one cheek were three red cuts, which were caused by his girlfriend's fingernails slicing into his skin when she'd slapped him during their argument in the car last night. On occasion, his eyes were still surrounded by dark circles, but that was something he had learned to live with. He always looked tired, but that's because he always was tired — if not physically, then mentally.

Drake pulled the brush away from his head and saw a lot of his damp hair stuck in between the bristles. He would always lose a lot of hair, probably due to stress. Luckily, his hair grew back fast to replace the old, so it wasn't noticeable. He pulled the tangled strands out of Clementine's brush and flicked them into the miniature trash can. When that was done, he once again examined his reflection, picking apart and obsessing over every little flaw that he could find. His eyes landed on the spot under his right nipple. This is where his father had dug a scalding hot needle into his skin to permanently brand him with the words WORTHLESS COCK-SUCKING SLUT. Now, however, it was covered with a dark black square, and inside the square, one word stacked on top of the other, was ER'UOY .YAKO in perfectly straight, white capital letters in the bottom left corner. Unlike most people, he never showed off the tattoo. It wasn't the kind of body art that he wanted people to see and compliment or criticize and ask for the story behind it. It was just a personal note to himself — a reminder. That's why it was written backwards. When he looked into the mirror, he could read it perfectly. It was just like how ambulances have ECNALUBMA written on the hood of their vehicles so that cars in front of them can read what they are in the rearview mirror. In Drake's case, when examined through his reflection, his read, YOU'RE OKAY.

He had two other tattoos, which served the purpose of covering up the self-harm scars on both of his forearms. During his stay with Coach Tad, he'd attempted suicide for the second time in his life. However, the man had intervened after finding him covered in blood in his bathtub. Since Drake was right-handed, the cuts on his left forearm were much deeper than those on the other arm, so he'd gotten that one covered first. This one was a mixture of dark, outer-spacey purples and blues and greens and oranges that danced across his skin like cigarette smoke in a cold, night sky. Ranging in sizes congruent to the planets were nine black circles stretching from his wrist and going almost as far as the inside of his elbow. The scars on the right forearm weren't nearly as bad, so he simply used his favorite John Lennon lyric: WAR IS OVER stacked on top of each other — center-justified — in large, blocky letters, and a tiny IF YOU WANT IT on a single line underneath.

Continuing his self-examination, Drake turned, then looked over his shoulder so that he could see the reflection of his back. This part of his body was a mess, and he always felt insecure about it. He had a couple dozen scars caused by Martin dragging a knife across his skin. Each one ranged in size from an inch long to half a foot except for one, which perfectly traced over Drake's spine from his neck down to his lower back. Thicker than those marks were the spots where the sharp, pointy blade had actually penetrated deep into his skin — one above his left shoulder blade and one under. These matched the stab wound on his stomach. Perhaps the largest and most noticeable scar was the discoloration splotched across his skin. It was mostly around the bottom left side, but there were places where this showed up in the crease of his back and around his shoulder blades. This had been caused by the brutalist rape he'd ever had to endure: Christmas Eve three years ago. His father had, before and during the forced entry, poured boiling water down his back until Drake had complied with the man's demands to say the most disgusting and perverse words that had ever been spoken from his lips. Although all of these scars were a reminder that he was weak and pathetic, this one in particular always led to fantasies of swallowing down a thousand bottles of pills or putting a gun between his teeth and pulling the trigger or tying a bag of rocks to his ankle and going for a swim in the deepest part of the ocean or...

Drake turned away from his reflection and closed his eyes. Please, stop, he begged his brain.

Unfortunately, his brain was one of the most relentless forces known to man. Remember the way he touched you? Remember counting each thrust — each time the sharp tip of his penis penetrated your insides and reached all the way up to repeatedly stab at your deflated and depleted heart? Remember begging him for it — being forced to urge him to force himself on you faster...harder...harder!...HARDER! Remember praying to God that all the tears you cried that day would be enough to flood your entire room so that you both could choke on them and die? Remember his hand tugging on the part of your body that was meant to be kept private other than to yourself and your soulmate? Remember having to do the job for him when you couldn't climax while he stood above you...just watching at first, then trying to help by sharing erotic stories involving Audrey, Meelah (both an alive version and a dead version), Rhinestone, and Mindy? Remember laying on your stomach for an hour, still tugging, with your naked ass in the air and your legs spread and ready for another round, still tugging? Remember having more scalding hot water poured onto your back every time you tried to stop tugging because your arm got tired or every time you complained about how painful it was to keep trying to arouse your chafed and bleeding penis? Remember when you finally got hard, so he got on top of you to finish the job, squishing you into the mattress and making it hard for you to breathe? Remember having to masturbate for so long that you were actually relieved when you got aroused just so you could rest your aching, blood-covered hand? Remember asking God to help you stay hard long enough this time for your dad to get you off? Remember the sweat pouring off your forehead, your eyelids hanging low over your eyes, your mouth dropped open, your body trembling as your orgasm started? Remember moaning and panting into his neck when he pulled you closer and brushed your damp hair out of your eyes so that he could see the look of pleasure on your face? Remember being tossed to the ground afterwards, once again reminded of your useless existence? Remember-

Suddenly, the door opened. "Oh, shit. Sorry." Her name was Samantha, Sam for short, and only her boyfriend got away with the occasional Sammy. She was tall and tan with bleach blonde hair and double D sized breasts. She worked at Hooters as a waitress and had a little yappy dog that liked to piss on every pair of shoes in sight and bark obnoxiously at strangers. Despite Sam's description, she was one of the nicest, realest, and most down-to-earth girls he had ever met.

"Nah, you're good. I'm done."

He squeezed past her, then made his way down the hall and back into Dahlia's room. The girl was on her phone when he opened the door. She set it down, then gave him a big grin as she reached her arms into the air and stretched her back. From this, it was obvious that she had just woken up.

"Hey, baby," she said.

Drake gave her a quick kiss, then sat down next to her. "Morning."

She yawned. "You work today?"

"Yeah. Ricky's gonna come pick me up."

She frowned, pushed herself onto her knees, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "Hmpf," she pouted, then kissed his neck. From his lack of reciprocation, she could tell that he was distracted by something. Her brows furrowed. "What's wrong, baby?"

He turned his head towards her, offered her a weak smile, then averted his gaze. He felt like crying. This was something to be added to his list of ever-growing downsides of not being on drugs. He used to never cry except on the occasion of receiving a vicious, relentless beating. Now he cried all the time. He woke up crying, showered crying, drove to work crying, watched a movie crying, fell asleep crying. Just last week, Ricardo had walked down stairs one morning to find the boy weeping in the kitchen. Through his blubbering, it sounded to Ricky like he got upset because the bowls were stacked so high in the cabinet that he couldn't get the one he wanted (or any of them because he wasn't picky) out of the stack without getting some sort of resistance. His struggle was a metaphor for his life. He always felt like everything was too hard, that he wasn't good enough, that he could never achieve anything. Simply getting frustrated with a stack of bowls for ten seconds sent so many self-depreciating thoughts through his brain that he wanted to kill himself. Needless to say, Ricardo made sure that both he and Julio never stacked the dishes that way again.

"Nothing," he said softly. Drake turned and gave her another kiss, this one longer than the first. "You want some breakfast?" Although this was her house, he found himself doing most of the cooking.

"Pancakes?"

Another quick peck on the lips. "Okay." And another, then Drake stood.

He opened the top drawer of the dresser. This was Clementine's underwear drawer, but it also contained some of Drake's belongings in the right half: a few pairs of boxers, two t-shirts, a box of unopened condoms (the open and nearly empty box was in her nightstand), a phone charger, etc. He grabbed a pair of boxers, then dropped the towel that was around his waste. On Dahlia's way to the bedroom door, she whistled and smacked the boy's ass, then made her way down the hall and into the bathroom. Drake pulled a Sex Pistols shirt over his head and, after making a mental note to bring some extra pants that he could leave here next time, he pulled out a pair of his girlfriend's jeans and slipped them on. He turned and looked around the room, finding the belt he'd removed before making love to Clementine last night, then he picked it up from the floor and started snaking it through the loops of the jeans.

When he was dressed, he went into the kitchen and again saw Sam. She was drinking out of the orange juice carton. Because she had just brushed her teeth, she winced and her nose turned up with disgust at the taste. She immediately pulled the carton away from her lips, twisted the lid back on, and put it back inside of the refrigerator. She then turned and saw that she had been caught.

"Shh, don't tell Dahlia." She grinned, and her eyes sparkled when she did so.

Drake knew that his girlfriend hated when people drank out of the cartons and jugs. Josh always had as well. He could remember his step-brother tattling on him when he spotting Drake in front of the fridge one morning. He actually missed that. He missed Josh a lot. He thought about him and the rest of his family all the time. He used to keep up with them on Facebook for a while, but then it became too hard to look at their pictures and statuses and know that they were living their lives just fine without him. He had always been tempted to strike up a conversation with them and maybe ask to meet up for lunch or something, but because of the promise he'd made to Walter to stay away, he'd blocked them over two years ago, so now he knew absolutely nothing about them and vice versa. He wanted so desperately for them to see him now so that he could show them how well he was, how clean he was, how responsible he was...how sorry he was. However, all of these were liable to change in one fell swoop. He could become a drug fiend living on the streets again in the blink of an eye. It was a day-by-day thing, so he couldn't promise that he would never hurt them again. That's why he could never go back.

"I'm making pancakes. You hungry?"

"Ooh, yes, please," Sam said, tying her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her dog hopped into her lap, then laid down as she picked up her phone and started scrolling through Instagram. "Jesus Christ, I follow way too many puppy pages." As Drake found the needed ingredients, she asked him, "Do I follow you on Instagram?"

He squatted and searched through the cabinets to find the right pan. "Nah, I don't have one."

"What?! You don't?!" Her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head at this. "Why not? You're fucking hot."

"I just don't really get on social media much," he said.

Drake's addiction had started back in high school, and everyday, his peers watched his life unravel before him. When summer break came, he'd managed to disappear until the night he'd filled in for Stavros and performed on stage with his ex band members Julio and Stevie. He had been high that night, too, and the audience had loved it. His band used to have somewhat of a cult following that liked to go to every gig just to see what kind of crazy shit Drake would do. Once, he'd vomited due to taking Charlie mid-performance, then there was the time that he finished an entire bottle of vodka on stage and proceeded to slur his words and stumble over the plethora of cords on the floor around him until, during the chorus of "Terrific," he'd just disappeared backstage without an explanation. Julio and Stevie had found him passed out on the couch in the green room. Another time, he'd gotten so stoned that he forgot the lyrics to one of their songs that he himself had written, so he'd just exhaustedly laid down right where he was on the stage and allowed Julio to take over the vocals, while he grinned stupidly and praised his beautiful singing voice. Everyone at that school had worshiped him. They either wanted him as a friend or a fuck. However, sometimes he searched Facebook for those whose names he could remember, and they either had envious careers or were getting there via college, or they were happily married, and some even had adorable little children. They had grown up and actually done something with their lives, while Drake, in the meantime, spent every second of every day trying to convince himself that he didn't need to get high.

He remembered running into some of his old classmates at Walmart during Charlie runs. Luckily, he was living with Coach Tad and didn't need to beg for spare change, but they could still tell just how strung out he was, and he could see that they knew. When his father had died, the story had been all over the news and shared repeatedly on Facebook, and although it never included Drake's name, everyone knew that it was about him because they showed the trailer Martin lived in in the articles and they used his dad's name. In the reports, they mentioned "...the son, a victim of heinous physical and sexual assaults that are said to have been taking place for half a decade. During the attempted murder, he suffered from several violent acts being committed against him, including rape and vicious physical torture. We have a confirmed list of injuries, and they are as follows..." Headlines had read, "WORST LOCAL CHILD ABUSE CASE IN AGES" and "SON FORCED TO KILL FATHER TO STAY ALIVE." It was every news reporters' wet dream come true. During Charlie runs, he'd had a couple inconsiderate former classmates stop him for a chat and ask him about what had happened and if it was true. It was absolutely humiliating that people knew so much about the personal life that he'd worked so hard to hide. He could always remember worrying about keeping it hidden from his family and close friends, but he had never once thought about the possibility of the entire school learning his secret.

One encounter specifically stuck out in his memory. There was this guy on the football team who, despite having everything, was always jealous of Drake. His name was Colt. He used to push him around and tease him — nothing too serious, but Drake, who already had a low self-esteem thanks to his father, took a lot of his words to heart. Colt had stopped him one day when they were passing by each other at Walmart. He offered up an apology for everything he had done to make Drake's life miserable. He explained that he hadn't known about the abuse and wouldn't have acted that way if he had. He told Drake that he knew he had a drug problem, and he offered to help, explaining that he had went through it before with his oxy-addicted older brother. He was very blunt with the way he spoke. He didn't shy away from words such as addict, murder, beat and rape. Overall, he was genuine with his apology and he honestly did want to help. However, having pity expressed to him by his high school bully was degrading. After getting the pills he had come for, he'd went home and cried in Tad's arms.

Although he wanted nothing more than to post a photo of himself on social media and show everyone who saw him as an entertaining train wreck that he was doing okay, he knew that more harm would come from it than good. People were judgmental as hell these days, especially in the comment section. They fearlessly and rudely say things as if the person who posted the picture wasn't reading every last comment. He knew he didn't have the mental strength to handle that. He'd much rather fade away from all of their lives as quickly and quietly as possible.

"Drake's cooking?" A boy entered the room. His name was Brett, but he also answered to Brat when his girlfriend called him that. He had sandy brown hair and brown eyes. He had the build of a football player, with muscles all over every part of his body. His six pack of abs was perfect, so unlike Drake, he wasn't too shy to walk around shirtless. However, out of respect for his girlfriend, he didn't do this publicly unless he went swimming or was doing some other activity where being topless was a must. "I love when you spend the night. You're literally better at cooking than my mom."

"That's not saying much," Sam said. "Your mom can't even boil water without burning it."

"Hey! Rude." However, he smiled, leaned over, and gave the girl a kiss."

Brat and Sammy have been together for about a year and a half. To Drake, they were the perfect couple. There was never a time when he saw them fighting. They had little mini-arguments here and there, but they always ended with cuddles and giggles. They were nothing like his and Clem's arguments, which involved screaming, crying, and physical violence. Theirs always ended with Drake apologizing for whatever, then, depending on Dahlia's mood, either make-up sex or a break-up, which also eventually always led to make-up sex.

Drake loved both Brett and Sam. They had been friends and living with Clementine since before her and Drake had met, so it should've been expected that she would spill all of his juicy abuse and addiction secrets to her best friends. When he'd found out that they knew, he'd blown up on her, then, like always, he'd later apologized. Both Sam and Brett were actually super cool and mature about the whole thing. They never made him feel embarrassed, and he actually liked that he had people that he could just be normal around. Sometimes, it was nice to be able to talk to someone other than Ricardo about certain things, and he didn't feel like he had to hide here. Take earlier, for example, when Samantha had walked in on him in the bathroom. The lock on the bathroom door was broken, so they had all walked in on one another naked at some time or other, and it was okay. When they saw his scars, they didn't act how his mom or Josh or some stranger on the street would have. They all had flaws and parts of their bodies that they hated, and everyone in this house had seen all of them, so it was okay. Finally, it was okay.

"Brat, look at this dog." Sam held up her phone. "Isn't he so cute?"

He could tell where this conversation was heading already. "We're not getting another dog."

She groaned and frowned.

"This loud fucker is enough, don't you think?" Despite his hateful words, he took the dog off of her lap and held it against his chest while running his fingers through its fur. "Good morning!" he said in a high-pitched voice, then made kissy faces at the animal.

It was then that Clementine entered the kitchen. "You really have Coco at the table? That's so unsanitary." She sat down as Brett put the dog in the floor.

Sam looked at her boyfriend and laughed. "Busted."

"You're the one that..." He rolled his eyes, which soon lit up again when he saw Drake set a slab of pancakes in the middle of the table. He grabbed four for himself, and the girls soon followed by taking two each, then passing around the bottle of syrup.

"Babe, grab me a Diet Coke?" Clem said with her mouth full.

Drake did, and he grabbed himself a beer. He passed along her drink, then sat down and opened his own. He pulled his phone out of his pocket to see if Ricardo had sent a message saying how close by he was. He hadn't, but there was a notification alert on his Facebook. He opened it and saw that Sam had taken a selfie with Drake cooking in the background. The caption read, "My fav butler is here. Guess who doesn't have to make breakfast today."

"Are you really drinking this early?" Clem's irritated voice pulled him away from the photo.

He put his phone down. "I mean..."

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

"It's just one beer," he said meekly.

"It's ten a.m."

"It's not like I'm gonna get wasted or anything."

Her eyebrows twitched in a sassy manner as she looked back down at her plate. She mumbled although she made sure he heard it when she said, "I just thought that after your dad, you would've done everything in your power not to be like him."

Her comment had cut through him like a knife, and it showed on his face. Dahlia didn't like that he drank, and he got that. He did get addicted to things easily, but he was pretty good about not drinking all the time. Well, he did work in a bar, so of course he drank most days of the week, but he didn't drink enough to really feel anything. He just liked to have a beer or two to take the edge off. He only ever got trashed once a month or so, but still, he wasn't violent ever and he never put her or anyone down like his dad had done to him. Despite all of this, he didn't touch his beer for the remainder of breakfast.

---

Ricardo watched as his friend got into the passenger's seat with a huff. He was going to ask if he was okay, but instead changed his route of questioning when he saw the scratches on Drake's face. "Did she hit you again?!"

"No," Drake said. He was still irritated about Clementine calling him out for drinking a beer, so a lot of his annoyance was unfairly directed towards Ricardo.

The man grabbed his face and turned his neck so that he could get a better look, but Drake shoved him away.

"Drake, what the fuck?"

"It's nothing." He knew that Ricky wasn't buying it. "Just a sex thing," he tried to explain.

The older of the two knew that he was lying, but he stopped his interrogation on the subject as he put the car in gear and backed out of the driveway. "So what happened yesterday?"

He shrugged. "It was just one of those days, you know?"

Ricardo glanced at him. It was obvious he wanted to go through with his ritual and ask his friend if he had used, but he refrained. He was trying to back off like he'd been asked to.

Drake gave him what he wanted anyway. He knew that it was important to 1). admit when he wanted to use and 2). keep the line of trust open between himself and the only other person in the world who seemed to have his back. "I was in a really bad place. I called Clem and begged her to come pick me up with Charlie." Although Ricardo didn't want to give off any sort of judgement, Drake could see his fingers grip the steering wheel tighter. "She didn't." He was always trying to prove to him that his girlfriend was a good person, so maybe this would help change his mind. "But I got pissed and yelled at her. We talked it out and we're okay." He shrugged, then quietly added, "I'm just really embarrassed."

There was hurt in his voice. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry."

"We've been working on this for so long. You've been doing so well."

"I know." And then a pause. "I feel really ashamed."

Ricardo knew that adding on more guilt wouldn't help anyone. He took in a breath to calm himself, then slowly released it. "Well, look, you didn't relapse, and that's what matters. And even after all of that, I am still so proud with how far you've come. You're holding down a job. You're coming up on a year of sobriety. You're doing amazing."

This seemed to lift his spirits a bit. "Thanks. Some days are fine, but then others are just..."

"I know."

"I just wish I could get to a point where I wasn't thinking about it every single day. It's so exhausting, but I know that it's something I'm gonna have to deal with for the rest of my life, and I just get so discouraged because I don't know how much longer I'm gonna be able to convince myself not to use. It's the same thing everyday — multiple times a day — and I just get so tired. I don't know if I can do this every minute of everyday for the next sixty years or so." He sounded hopeless and distraught, and it broke Ricardo's heart every time he started feeling this way.

"You know what they say. You just have to take it one day at a time. When you wake up in the mornings, just tell yourself that you're not gonna use. Just for today. Don't worry about tomorrow. Don't worry about next week. Don't worry about next year. Just give everything you've got to today."

Drake's meek voice expressed his doubt. "I don't think I've got much left to give."

"Hey," Ricardo said kindly. He met his eyes now that he was at a stop light. "I believe in you."

Jesus, here come the fucking waterworks again. Ricardo could never even begin to imagine how fucking much Drake appreciated him. He'd sacrificed so much for him despite the fact that Drake didn't deserve it. The boy owed him his life.

"I'm just really scared," Drake said. "I don't wanna end up on the streets again."

"You know I would never kick you out."

Drake wanted to believe this. After all, he was still living there despite his mess-ups, mood swings, and all around chaos. However, he never dreamed that his own mother would toss him out of his home either, but she did it twice. Everyone has a breaking point, and Ricardo wasn't immune.

Drake pulled down the sun visor and looked at himself in the mirror. He sniffled and wiped away the wetness around his eyes. They would be pulling up to work soon, and although it would just be the two of them for a while getting things ready to open the store, he didn't want to walk in there looking like a mess.

"Stop it, bruh. You're cute."

"Fuck off." But he was smiling. "Is Ms. Wendy coming in today?"

"Yeah, she's first shift with us."

Drake felt relieved. She could help fix his face in no time so that no one else could see the scratch marks. Besides himself, she was the only other Caucasian employee at Ricardo's bar, so she was the only one he could ask to borrow make-up from. This wasn't the first time that she'd helped him out with a problem like this, but she was always so nice about it.

"So are you gonna tell her it's a sex thing when she asks or...?" He grinned coyly.

"Fuuuck you."

---

"Alright, sugar. Good as new."

Drake turned towards the mirror to make sure the scratches were hidden. "Thanks, Ms. Wendy."

Wendy was a short ball of kindness in her late forties with big, light blonde nineties hair and a strong southern accent. Drake related to her more than anyone else here. She'd opened up to him about her past, explaining to him that she had put up with her abusive husband for eight years before finally filing for divorce. As she tried her best to acclimate to her new, single life, she sometimes saw him following her in public and she swore he had broken into her house on two different occasions. Fearing for her life and getting no help from the police, she moved from Alabama to California and has been here for two years now.

"I still think you should leave that girl," she said in her long, southern drawl. "Now I know it's none of my business, but you're too handsome to let this face go to waste on someone who doesn't appreciate it." She pinched his good cheek.

He smiled and humbly looked at the floor.

"Alright, let's get back out there."

Drake followed her up front. It was still early, so the bar was empty other than a couple workers and two regulars who practically lived in the barstools at the counter.

Wendy greeted them with a smile. "Hey, y'all. Having a good day?"

Jazzy, a sixty-five year old African American male wearing overalls and a trucker's cap gave her a gap-toothed grin. He had scratchy gray whiskers on his face and long ears. "Ooh, there's that crazy lady! I was wondering if you were working today, Ms. Wendy."

"I'm always working. If it's not here, then it's something at home. Yesterday, I tried to wash some clothes and come to find out, my damn dryer's broke down."

The man chuckled, then immediately erupted into a coughing fit.

"See, I told you to lay off them smokes now, didn't I?" Wendy said, wiping down the counter, then she playfully swatted at Drake with the washcloth. "You, too."

"I thought your girl got you to quit, Drake." It was the other regular, his name Phil. He was tan and balding, and the faded dark green tattoos on his age-spot splotched arms were stretched out slightly with the extra weight he had procured over the years.

Drake only shrugged as if to say he had tried.

Jazzy set down his beer, which he'd used to wet his dry throat and help with the coughing. "Hey, you smoke all you want if it helps you lay off those drugs," he said.

During the day shift, the bar was occupied mostly by alcoholics and the same frequenters who ordered the same things every time they came. The co-workers were all very open with one another and were a tight-knit group, and even some of the regulars were like family since they were here so often. Drake preferred this shift more than the second. It was more casual and laid back, and he got comfort in the feeling of community that came with it. Night shift was different. It was much busier. The employees were all still really close, and still regulars came then, too, but there were also a lot of young adults meeting up with friends or possible future spouses, partners, or one-night stands.

"Getting close to that year anniversary, ain't cha?" Jazzy said.

"Slowly, but yeah, it's getting there," Drake said, feeling a tinge of self-worth knowing that someone else was rooting for him to succeed in life.

"You're doin' alright, son. I remember when I was on that shit. Took me fifteen years to finally kick the habit. I was a wild child, too."

"Sugar, you never stopped being a wild child," Wendy said. "Now what have I told you about coming up in here with them dirty boots? You're messing up my clean floor. Everyday — a trail of dirt all over the floor leading right up to your stool."

Drake cracked a grin, then offered to clean the dirt up for her when she grabbed the broom. Wendy was always cleaning up after people, even when it was barely noticeable like this so-called "trail of dirt all over the floor."

"Thank ya, sweetheart. See, y'all. This is a real gentleman right here. Take some notes."

---

"And then — get this — the zombie beavers had actually cut the fucking phone lines."

"What the fuck?" Drake's brow furrowed and the corners of his lips curved upwards.

"Right?" Ricardo hefted a full garbage bag into the dumpster behind the bar, then grabbed the one out of Drake's hand. "I don't wanna spoil the rest of the movie for you, but you definitely have to watch that shit on our next Best Bad Movie Monday."

"Is it on, like, The Room level?"

"No, you know no one can ever match Tommy Wiseau's pure brilliance, but still, it's worth the watch." He tossed the last bag, then they started making their way back to the bar.

"I definitely miss our movie marathons. I've just been so caught up with Clem-"

"Hey, don't sweat it. You're living your life, and I couldn't be prouder."

Movie marathon days were back when Ricardo wouldn't let him leave his sight during the early stages of recovery. This was back before Clementine, before the bars were taken off his bedroom window, before he had the freedom to go to the grocery store alone.

"Still, I know I need to make more time for you. I've just gotta learn to manage a schedule better. Like, I miss our guy time, but I just always wanna be around Clem, too."

"That's what happens when you fall in love." Ricardo pulled on the handle, then held open the door for his friend. "That's a part of growing up. You move in together, get married, have kids. You don't have much time left over for friends after all that, and that's okay."

"I just don't think I'm ready for all that."

"I feel ya. Look at me. I'm almost thirty and still single."

Drake thought that Ricardo was absolutely perfect. He was attractive, kind, and supportive. He was protective, but also had a soft side — funny, but could be serious when the situation called for it. The real reason that he thought the man was single was because he spent all of his time managing not only the bar and the house responsibilities, but also both Drake's and Julio's depression and anxiety — not to mention Drake's addiction, which was a full-time job on it's own. He didn't have time for himself, and Drake felt guilty about that.

"You can go ahead and clock out. I've gotta tell Georgiana we're leaving and make sure she has her keys to lock up." Ricardo went past him towards the front.

Drake stopped at the clocking station next to Ricardo's office. He found his card amongst the others, then punched his time in. He put his card back, then opened the office door and grabbed his jacket off the hook.

"You leaving?" Wendy said as she made her way to the back with dirty dishes.

"Yeah."

"I got an hour and a half. You work tomorrow?"

Drake stepped out of the room and closed the door. "No. I'll be here Thursday, though. Day shift again."

"Oh, great. I'll see you then. Have a good night, sugar."

"You, too, Ms. Wendy." Drake made his way down the hall, passing the kitchen. As he neared the front, he heard Ricardo's voice.

"You need to leave. You need to leave right now."

"He's here, isn't he? He's back there?"

"Get ou-"

"Drake!"

The young man froze when he heard the voice. He recognized it immediately. The sound of his name being called from those lips knocked the air out of him and made his stomach churn. He already wanted to throw up.

"Drake!"

"Get the fuck out of my bar," Ricardo said.

Drake felt like crying. His hands were shaking, and he'd lost all the color in his face. He wanted to run out the back door, but for some reason, his feet shuffled forwards instead.

"Get your fucking hands off of me, you prick!"

Finally, Drake made it to the front. He hadn't thought that he could feel any worse than seconds ago, but seeing that face again... He couldn't even begin to work through the emotions that were rising up from the deepest parts of his heart. At first, he felt humiliation, but it was immediately replaced with anger, then guilt, then humiliation again.

"Look, there he is. Drake!"

Although he couldn't take his eyes off of his visitor's familiar ones, he knew that everyone was watching him. They saw his knees trembling. They saw his fingers quivering as he tightly gripped his balled-up jacket. His brows were furrowed with confusion, making him look like a vulnerable and wounded animal. He was holding back both his tears and his vomit. The last thing he wanted was to cry or puke in front of all these people.

"I just wanna talk."

Ricardo gripped the man's jacket tighter and shoved him towards the door.

"Let me go! Drake, you owe me!"

The boy flinched when he felt a hand on his back. It was Wendy.

"Sweetie, come back here with me, okay?" She tugged on his arm to turn him around.

"After everything you did to me?! After using me and then running out the fucking door, you can't even face me?!"

"Come on." Wendy tugged again.

However, Drake pulled away from her and found himself walking towards the familiar face. He found his meek voice saying, "Tad?" There was so much hurt in his voice. How did he find me? Why did he come here? Why would he do this to me?

"Just let me fucking talk to him!" The man pushed Ricardo back.

Drake stepped in just in time. "Stop."

"Get out," Ricardo said. It took everything in him to keep himself from throwing this fucker on the ground.

"Not until I talk to him."

"You must not have fucking heard me-"

"Ricky," Drake whispered, "please, don't cause a scene."

The man looked around and saw all eyes on them. He moved his gaze back to Drake, who was red with embarrassment and close to tears. He had been so pissed about Tad's arrival that he hadn't stopped to think about the toll that this was taking on Drake.

"I'll just talk to him-" Drake started.

"No."

"It'll just be a minute, okay? It'll be fine." He wanted to wrap his jacket around himself and hide away from the world in it. "Please, just..."

Once again, Ricardo glanced around the silent room at all the people watching, then he glared into Tad's eyes, speaking quietly so that no one else could hear. "I swear to God if you do anything, I will personally find you myself and kick your ass like last time." He roughly let him go, then said to Drake, "I'll be in my office."

"It'll just be a minute," he assured him, then he led Tad out the front door and around to the back of the building. "What the fuck?!" His voice expressed hurt instead of anger. "Why would you do that?"

"I just wanted to talk."

"Now?!" There's the anger.

"Well, I wanted to talk about everything when it happened, but it's not like you really gave me a fucking chance to, did you?! You ran out the fucking door! I had no idea where you went!"

Drake wore the most pathetic expression on his face. He hung his head, too ashamed to look up at the face of the man whose dick he used to suck for drug money. "What do you want from me?"

"I just want an explanation."

Drake's face contorted when Tad put his hand on his bicep. Don't start crying. Don't start crying. Don't start — Jesus, really?! He sniffled, then choked out a few sobs.

"Why are you crying?" Tad asked, his voice the same caring and compassionate one that he remembered.

"I'm just sorry," his voice cracked. "About everything."

"You really hurt me. I loved you."

"I know." He was cornered between the wall and Tad, and the man was gently brushing his fingers through his hair like he used to do to comfort him. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Didn't I mean anything to you?"

More sobs. He pushed himself against the wall further when the man stepped closer. "I'm so sorry."

The way the tips of Tad's fingers slid across his skin seemed to send him back to a time when he was desperate enough to do anything from drugs. He could remember exactly how the coach's hands felt rubbing all over his naked body. He could feel the weight on top of him. He could smell the sweat. He could still hear the arousing words he used to say to him. He could taste the cum — could feel himself choking on it.

"You can't tell me that after all that time we spent together, you have no feelings for me."

"I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of. Using you is one of those things."

Tad shook his head, then pulled away and watched Drake cry as his own tears began to form. Again, he shook his head. "No." Sniffle. "No, I refuse to believe that. You told me you loved me."

Drake shamefully covered his face with his hands. "I'm so sorry."

"You told me that you loved me! Don't you remember that?!"

Drake felt like absolute scum. Whether Tad deserved it or not, breaking his heart was never intentional, and Drake was absolutely disgusted with himself for leading him on like he had. "Please, understand-"

"Understand what?!"

"I was in a bad place. I was really messed up. I didn't mean-"

"You used me?" Now it was starting to sink in. "You made me fall in love with you so you'd never run out of those stupid fucking pills?"

"You were so nice to me. You were the only one left who cared about me, and I took advantage of that. I'm so shitty. I know. I didn't deserve your kindness. I'm ashamed of the person I was on drugs-"

"You should be! You lying fucking whore! You broke my heart, Drake! Do you know how many nights I've stayed up crying?! I thought about you every fucking day! And look at you! You're doing just fine now! You got what you needed and you tossed me to the fucking side, and now look at me! I'm a fucking wreck!"

Drake was bawling his eyes out so hard that he couldn't speak. He knew exactly how it felt to be tossed to the side. His own father used to rape him and throw him down like an unwanted present on Christmas. He left him feeling ashamed and worthless. He left him questioning what he had done to possibly deserve it. He'd left Drake with sleepless nights filled with fantasies of slitting his own throat and hanging himself from the ceiling. He'd left him feeling like it was his own fault, and that was the worst fucking feeling.

"You bitch! I gave you everything, but it was never enough for you, was it?! Nothing's ever good enough for you, and nothing ever will be! You know that?! You're gonna relapse again, and now that you've betrayed the last person on earth who had your fucking back, you're gonna be alone. And when you're out there on those cold streets, hungry and withdrawing, you're gonna wish you still had me around, you pathetic fucking piece of shit junkie. You're nothing without me! Don't let those people in there fool you. They don't give a goddamn about your pathetic existence. Do you hear me? I was the only one. Me! And now I'm done. How does it feel to be completely alone in this world, you complete waste of fucking space slutbag cunt?! Huh?!" Tad shoved him against the wall, then roughly gripped his cheeks and forced him to meet his eyes.

Drake was a blubbering mess. Everything the man said, he took to heart. "Ple-ee-ease..." He couldn't even continue to beg for mercy. His throat was closing up, and again, he was choking on his sobs. He squeezed his eyelids closed, too ashamed to meet his eyes.

Tad violently shook his jaw. "Look at me, you worthless whore!"

Drake's eyes snapped open and met the man's furious ones. Now they were anything but kind and compassionate, and his touch was anything but gentle. It was like looking at his father. His heart was beating rapidly now, fear creeping up his spine.

Tad began to speak again, his mouth filled with fangs and his words the venom that got underneath Drake's skin and would eat him alive from the inside. "I hope that one day, you take so many pills that you can't move, and I hope you lay there, fully awake, and choke on your own vomit. And I hope that there's no one around to help you, you sorry excuse for a human."

With that, he let the boy go, and that's when Drake noticed that he had been shaking the entire time. He wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, to say anything, but he couldn't speak through his sobs. He had never felt so fucking shitty in his life. He wanted to die. He wanted to cut himself into a million tiny pieces and send them out to all of the people he had ever hurt so that they could celebrate the death he long-deserved.

---

Ricardo opened the car door, then got inside. Drake had texted him to tell him that he was ready to go home because he hadn't wanted to go back in there in front of all those people. The man could tell that he'd been crying, but it was expected. Drake cried about everything these days.

"How did it go?"

"Good actually. I feel much better now that we talked. I think we both really needed it. We made amends. That's one of the twelve-steps, right? It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders."

Ricardo had no idea that he was lying through his teeth. "What did he say?"

"He just told me that he was hurt. I explained everything to him and apologized. He got mad, and then he got sad, but then he started to understand."

"Wow. I'm really glad that it all worked out for you."

"Yeah, me, too." Drake forced a smile.

---

Ricardo's attention was pulled away from Netflix when an alert popped up on his phone to let him know that he only had 20% battery life. He reached for his charger, but found that it wasn't on his nightstand. Suddenly, he realized that, with all of the commotion going on at work, he'd forgotten to grab his cell phone charger. He cursed. He literally had ten minutes left on his Shameless episode. Drake had gotten him hooked on the show because he and Dahlia were currently watching it and constantly talking about how great it was.

The man got out of bed and left his bedroom in search for a charger. He knocked quietly on the door across the hall to see if Julio was awake. He wasn't. He passed by the bathroom and came to Drake's door, which was cracked open. He pushed it the rest of the way and found that the boy's bed was empty.

---

Author's Note: Lookie who's back! It's been about five and a half months since I finished Charlie Horse. Hopefully, you guys are still reading. I've been working on this story a lot, so hopefully it's a fitting addition. I've got some crazy things planned, and I've already written a couple chapters ahead. Anyway, let me know what you think and if there's anything you really wanna see happen in this story. I think this one is mainly gonna focus on his recovery and life afterwards. I know, it took three stories, but finally, right?

Anyway, please review. Y'all are great. That is all.