All I could think about was Zypher that day at school.

What is there to do now? Help him, obviously. He's been a part of my life a lot longer than he knows, so I owe it to him, don't I?

"Hey."

Blinking out of my own daydream, I was met with vibrant green eyes and a heart melting giggle.

"H-Hey, um, Charlotte. D-Did you need something?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking down at my paper. "Did you get 7 for number one?"

"O-Oh," My nervous hands flipped over my paper, so I could see what she was talking about. It was that same question DB had helped me with. "Yeah, I got 7 too..." My voice was getting quieter and quieter with each word that slipped past my lips. I hope she heard me.

Charlotte checked my paper and smiled up at me. "Good! For a second there, I thought I was going crazy. Y'know, math brain and all. I'm not the best at it." she chuckled. We have something in common!

"Me too. I-It's horrible, really. I can never get anything right."

She turned around even further so that her elbows rested on my desk. Her elbows are on my desk. They're on my desk. Oh God, Oh God, Oh God...

"So are you more of a creative mind too?"

Too?

I tore my eyes away from her elbows, accidentally catching her gaze. Panicking, I shot my attention back down to my twiddling thumbs. "Oh, uh, I think so?" Gosh, I was actually talking to Charlotte right now. Talking. Jeez, something must be in the water today. "I-I mean, I'm just happier when I'm doing something that allows me to, um, express myself."

She was still looking at me with genuine interest, holding her head in her hands. She's really paying attention to me. I guess that means I should keep talking. She must wanna know what I do.

"I-I'm not good at a lot of stuff. Just mediocre. B-But I'm a music kinda guy." My cheeks just wouldn't stop smiling. She must think I look like a blushing idiot.

"Music, huh? That's so cool! I'm more of an actor myself. Taking my own life experiences and filtering them through characters in a fictional world. I'm not the best at what I do either. Well, not yet, at least," She was so humble. "What about you, though? Do you write, sing, dance?"

Not exactly a question I was prepared to answer. The answers were too embarrassing anyway. In all truth and honesty, I've been doing contemporary ballet since I was five. I'm not a words guy, so expressing myself through movement is one of my only outlets. I've been teaching myself how to play the piano and the guitar too. I don't think I've completely figured them out yet. The most I can do is replicate what I hear and even that doesn't go so well for me. And I've dabbled in singing and songwriting, but the only noises that come out of me are unsure squeaks and to top that all off, I can never finish writing a full song. So yeah, I'm a "creative mind," but not creative enough.

But Charlotte was waiting for an answer.

I opened my mouth several times to answer but her figuring out the truth was scarier than her getting a mediocre answer out of me, so I only shrugged in response.

"Well," she sighed. "whatever you plan on doing with your creativity, I hope you'll be the best at it." She beamed at me optimistically and patted my hand gently. Before I could say anything else, she was already turned back around in her seat, caught up in another conversation with the girl next to her. Why is she so nice to me? She has no reason to be. I mean, she's Charlotte. She's sweet to everyone, not just me.

My face had flushed red and the most I could do to hide was to use my fading hair. It's purple color was washing out day by day and with no professional help, I might've just damaged it for good. Truth is, I dyed it on a whim. See, I have a lot of highs and lows, mood wise. It's not rapid switches, but my mood changes drastically every other month, week, day even. Sometimes I could even go through a whole year or two at a constant high or low. But at one of my high points, I was so over the whole black hair thing. It was boring and bland and sad to look at. A little color never hurt anybody, right? Sure, I'm an easier target to find, but at least my hair's not such a sorry sight to see in the mirror every morning.

Mr. Davis was looking at me.

I guess that means I'm staying after class again...

The school day had passed by without any problems. Many problems, more so. The comments and the stares were still there, but at this point, everything's just background noise. Nothing new to add to the notebook and nothing important to tally. That means it was a good day, then. I had wanted to go back to DB's house, but I think he needs some alone time to figure his thoughts out and after what happened in the attic, I might need some space too. I worry about him a lot, but worrying won't do much good for either of us.

By the time I had gotten home, no one else was there except for the maids and my stuck up dog, Toots. He was nice when he wanted to be and an absolute asshole when he felt like it. If anything, he might as well be a cat. But today must've been a good day for him too since he took to following me around once I stepped inside. He was small and abnormally pudgy for a pug, so the stitches on his designer sweater looked like they were threatening to tear apart.

"Hiya, Tootsie," I bent down to scratch that space behind his ear that he could never reach. "Where is everybody?"

As if he could understand me, he tilted his head to the side.

"Yeah, I don't know either, pal. That just means it's you and me, right?"

"TOOTS!!!" one of the maids belted from the kitchen. "LUNCH IS READY!!!"

Without even thinking to look back, Toots darted off into the kitchen.

Of course.

Alone once again, I trudged my way up the rooftop. It's the only place I'm ever able to concentrate to stare at homework or just to think, in general. The air conditioner was running, so when I plopped down on top of it, it felt like a massaging chair. Just what I needed after a long day of hiding myself away from everyone else. Stashed behind another part of machinery was a box full of my "rooftop secrets," for lack of better term. My unfinished songs, piano music sheets, my "diary" that my therapist insists I keep with me (truth be told, I haven't written a single thing in it for about two years), and...um...

Weed.

That used to be my mom's rooftop secret until it became mine. I still remember what she said to me the day she handed it to me. She was on her bed, lying down face up, a joint between her red lips, and her blue shadowed eyelids closed in bliss. It was about three years ago, maybe. When I was twelve, I had a pretty nasty breakdown for the first time at home and the only way my parents thought to solve it was to send me to a psychiatric hospital for a few months. Everything was okay when I got back home until I fell right back to where I started. Word spread fast around school and when word spreads fast, rumors spread even faster. My mom had tried to be the most understanding, but her own closeted addiction kept her from being very present in my life. She always holed herself up in her room with pills and weed and did...I don't really know. Whatever she did in there helped her smile for Dad and the cameras when she came back out. But she was always distant and never genuine. Not until that day.

I had barged into her room, crying and crying about someone calling me a psychopath. That had been the first time I ever heard it. Since I was gone from school for so long and the only news the other students had to explain the situation was "psychiatric hospital," of course people's minds would wander. I didn't have it in me to clear the truth up, so I let the rumor wildfire continue to burn down my reputation. Even I don't know what people think I was in there for.

Toni was at practice and Dad was in a meeting that day. I wouldn't have trusted Dad with the information anyway. I would've just gotten the usual answer of: "Then don't be a (insert insult here) if you don't want them calling you that. Be something greater than that. Crying won't solve anything, Oliver." And so on, so forth. His advice wasn't always the most impactful. I don't know what I expected from Mom, though. Maybe it was a last resort.

She had turned to me, taking the joint out of her mouth between her polished fingers. She looked like Audrey Hepburn on the cover of Breakfast at Tiffany's.

"What is it, Oliver?" she breathed, the smell of pot floating through the air. I coughed. No matter how many times I've been around the smell, I've never gotten used to it. I barely remember what I had said to her. I only cried and cried and choked out an explanation between pitiful sobs. Mom sighed over me, putting an end to my whining.

Then she held out her joint.

"You need it more than I do, love."

That's all she said.

I could barely process it. I mean, I was twelve. My only relationship with drugs was whenever people dressed in red would come over to my school and make fools out of themselves as they tried their best to convince students to "not do drugs" because drugs are "so uncool" and "so totally lame." They'd sing songs, do backflips, give us stickers, and scare us away with stories of the most extreme cases of drug addiction. Drugs were bad. That's all there was to it.

But now my mom was holding her joint out to me.

Mom isn't a bad person. She's not. She just...has her own problems. I know she loves me. Even if she's not the greatest at showing it. She wanted to help and who was I to disobey my mother?

So I took it.

Puffing and coughing around the paper between my shaking fingers. I had wasted the hours away with Mom that day. Very few words were exchanged between us as we sat around doing nothing, staring up at the high ceiling in the darkness. That was the closest I've ever felt to her.

I always thought that weed would be a one-time thing. Something that I would only do when I was with Mom. But I found myself going out of my way to smoke on my own. It was better than therapy. Better than any of the pills that were forced on me. Being high...that finally stopped all of my worries. All of my overthinking would finally be put on pause. Nothing else would matter. And I guess...I guess that feeling of numbness was all I've ever wanted. I don't care about the hazy memories and the stomach pains and the cravings and the increase of my own jitteriness the day after. I don't care. All that mattered was the escape. Even just for those few moments, the escape is what made my life finally worth living.

Toni never smoked. He never drank as much as I did either. He knew about my habits. And he was okay with them. Sometimes we'd drink together if both of us were having pretty crappy days, but Toni was always more responsible than me. More well-kept. He's always there when I need him and even when he's overwhelmed by his own life, he still makes time for me.

He's a good brother.

He deserves a lot more than me, though. Every time I try to explain that to him, he shuts me down for it, telling me how much he loves me for who I am. And sometimes, I really do believe him. What did I ever do to deserve such a great brother?

Joint hanging loosely from my lips, I began to rummage through my box of rooftop secrets.

I wonder if Zypher smokes too...

Probably not.

Knowing him, he's probably high off of life. He doesn't need it like I do.

I don't think that I'll ever tell him. About my smoking, I mean. About everything. He can't know. It would ruin everything we have. Would he still see me the same way? He looks at me as if I'm something that needs to be protected at all costs. I'm precious to him and that's nice, but...

How can someone be precious to you if you don't know the first thing about them?

Sure, I told him about my family problems and sure, I think he's precious to me too. We understand each other and that's great, but as for what goes on in our minds when we're alone, we can never know that. There are secrets between us. And there always will be. Zypher will never know what I do when I get home and I'll never know what's going on with his whole monster situation.

He's losing it. I know he is. But to some degree...

I am too.

~~~

A/N: Just wanted to let y'all know that there are healthy alternatives to help cope with anything awful that you're dealing with. Personally, I like to watch K-Pop videos with my family, read funny fan fiction, or write to vent about my thoughts through characters. If there's anything y'all like to do to cope, let me know below <3