If I don't write who's point of view it is, it means it's Keith. Cuz his point of view is the main one.

O O O 

I spread out all the pictures on the worn and stained wooden table and lean forward, seeking in the story written on them. I wish there was some story written on them; I wish I could trace my fingers over the smooth surface and somehow bring out words on them. I wish I could take those words and turn them into a book, to read it and jump right into the story that is my past. And as soon as the story gets too sad I can just shut the book closed and push it to the side.

I take up one picture and see me and my dad smiling bright at the camera. The quality is very bad, and I wonder who took this picture. I can't remember ever having a mom to take a picture of me and my dad just enjoying to be with each other.

I'm maybe five years old in this picture, and the only thing I know about the location is that it's a desert. Maybe this desert? I can't dig far enough in my mind to remember where I lived when I was this little.

But I push that particular thought away for a moment and look at what we're doing. The picture is taken almost up in our faces, but I can still see that dad is hugging me and pressing my body close to his, making my cheek press hard against his. He looks to be finding it funny that I'm attempting to smile while being squished like this, and my toothy smile looks pained but at the same time very joyful. I must have lost a tooth and I look like a dork. My hair was shorter at that time but still as black, getting a shade of dark blue under the light.

Dad smile is showing his teeth as well but he looks a little more hard-set. This is the only way I got to see him because I only had him with me when I was young, and he must have been quite young then, but still the wrinkles is evident just beside and under his eyes. He looks exhausted but somehow the most happy and awake person alive.

"You raised me to the point where you realized I was not worthy enough", I mumble and throw the picture away, planting my elbows on my tights and rest my face in hands, feeling the open window behind me let in a slight breeze. A breeze that smells just like summer, just like Jombonian's entirety.

That leads my thoughts onto Marc. No, Lance. Or maybe both? I sigh into my palms and shift a little on the hard and rusty couch, making it creak loudly. But I miss this creak, this couch, everything that is in the worst condition. I miss this whole shack.

But I wish this creak was real, and not just in my dream.

"It's not healthy for you to overthink like this", I hear form the front of the little living room and immediately recognize it as Marc's voice. But when I look up I see Lance in his regular clothes and his hands stuffed in his long jacket. He looks over at me and his expression is hard to read. "I don't like it when you prompt you head with thoughts like this. Dwelling on your past."

I blink and it's Marc standing there now, finally the real owner of the voice that just spoke. "I can help you get happy again. To forget your dad." He walks over to me and sit beside me, slowly looking at me and in this light he looks to be some kind of God or something, with the yellow light from outside cast a warm shade over the whole room and his pink skin. His eyes are almost glittering.

"How?" I breath and realize I'm desperate to have someone bring joy out of me. I must have wanted it for a while now but just not let myself believe it.

He places a hand on my tight and squeeze it lightly, flashing me a smile with teeth straighter than I'll ever be. "Let's start with you waking up, and I'll show you true happiness. Something your dad couldn't show you enough." I blink again, thinking no, not now. I want to stay here a little longer. But maybe it's good if I escape this place in my dreams too, so I stop analyzing my past that brings me no positivety.

I look over at Marc but see Lance's face instead, really close up to me before everything ends.

O O O

My eyes flies open and my breathing is too quick. I look up at the high ceiling and sigh when the disappointing fact hits me; this is not the ceiling in my shack, in my room. This is not a familiar ceiling. I hate it.

But then I roll very to my right and I'm met with familiar purple eyes, smiling at me, brighter than a smile could ever muster. I yelp and sit up, scooting away from the figure next to me.

"Marc?!" I look around like I would suddenly have audience witnessing my humiliation, and this feels all too familiar. Waking up with another man in the bed but this time this man is actually awake and very much aware of what's happening. And I don't have the guts to scream at him to get the hell of my room.

"How are you feeling?" he asks and his voice is deeper than normal - I didn't think it was possible - and must be because he just woke up. He have no hair so he can't relate to waking up with a bedhead but I can, and I probably have it now.

As discreetly as I can, I run my hand through my black, puffy hair and hope to style it good enough, flattening it and the top of my head.

But then I think over his words. How am I feeling? Other than shaken up to wake up next to him I'm feeling fine. And then I remember yesterday, and my ridiculous behavior. I blush fiercely and look to the side to somewhat hide the redness on my face, so red that my red jacket must be jealous.
So, about yesterday. I should be having a headache but I'm not. Or maybe their drinks has no side effects the day after. That would be an alcoholic's wet dream. To get all drunk and then wake up the next day feeling even better than yesterday. My body is still filled with the taste of sunshine.

"Good", I say as a very late answer to his question. Marc sits up slowly and I see that his torso are bare, showing off his muscles and the multiple yellow dots along his arms and stomach. I want to trace them all with my fingers.

Wait what? Where the heck did that come from? From Lance's shit? Well, it sure ain't pretty.

Before he has time to say something I ask: "What the hell happened yesterday?" Even if I now damn well what happened but I need a confirmation first.

"You had fun", Marc doesn't hesitate to say and when he sees my terrified expression he laughs softly, making a gesture over the bed. "Not like that. We didn't do anything like that. You just had really fun in the ballroom and seemed to enjoy our drinks and music. You kept humming on it."

My eyes widens. It's very rare that I sing, and especially in front of someone. "Oh..."

Marc puts on his shirt that laid beside him and continues. "Then you got really tired and asked me to sleep beside you." He shrugs and get off the bed. "So I waited for you to fall asleep before I laid beside you with a good amount of space because I knew you would regret it the next day." He smiles again but something about that smile says that he didn't regret anything. And maybe I didn't, too? Maybe I regret that I didn't bring him closer to me?

NO. I regret ever asking him to sleep beside me.

NO. I regret not bringing him close to me.

These two sides of me is killing me. I resist the urge to clutch my head and shake them out until my mind is just blank.

"Where are you going?" I ask when Marc walks over to my side, looking down at me. I feel like a lost puppy when I look up at him.

He reaches for my hand and his smile is still there. I wonder how you can smile this much.

He says: "To show you fun. Are you coming with me?"

O O O

I'm sitting hidden under my blankets in the night with dark surrounding me and writing this and the only thing I can do is to count the days until school starts again.
Please don't make me go back to that hell hole (ಠ ∩ಠ) (ಥ﹏ಥ)