Karen was not pleased with their treatment of her. Davyn was sure she'd be even less pleased if she figured out it was them who stole her pot and threw her booze out. Even so, she still screeched at him and threatened to call the receptionist as he walked towards the door. He ignored her, hoping he'd never have to see her again. A small part of him also hoped that Millie would be able to handle the onslaught.

The consequences of his incursion into Millie's room was, however, somewhere at the back of his mind, because that evening had exhausted him more than any in which he'd strained himself to breaking point on the basketball court. He'd gone in and faced what he'd been trying to avoid for weeks: someone else's pain.

He hadn't been there for Ron, as he tried his best to act as if everything was normal. And yet, he'd rushed to Millie's aid when he'd thought she'd gone over the edge.

It would've been my fault, though. And he couldn't face it, couldn't have more people dying. It was enough.

His head spun as he finally pulled the car in front of the house. He needed sleep. Maybe it was time to see a doctor about that, pump himself full of pills and numb himself out. His entire being bristled at the idea. It would be cheating. Somehow, he wa sure he'd lose a little piece of himself.

This was better. At least that's what he tried to tell himself as he headed for the front door and inside his house.

"You're home early."

Davyn jumped. For some reason, he'd forgotten why he usually stayed in school later than this. Freider sat on the couch, facing the TV which was turned off. It was obvious he'd been waiting for him to get home.

"Yeah, I feel a bit tired," he answered, making his way towards the stairs.

"Have you seen Ron?"

Davyn froze with his foot on the bottom step. The exhaustion morphed into dread. Even if he was home earlier, it was still almost eleven p.m. "You mean he hasn't come in?" They'd had this conversation before. Freider had no excuse to be so careless again.

"I was sure he was home," he said, sounding a bit worried. "I mean I heard him stomping around upstairs when I got in. But when I called him down for dinner, he didn't show up. Then I tried knocking on his door, but he wouldn't answer and his door is locked."

Davyn angled his entire body towards his older brother's. "His door is locked?"

Fredier nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do we do that? Put locks on the door? I don't remember it being a thing when I was a kid."

Davyn didn't care. He whipped around and stalked up the stairs. No, it wasn't a thing, because he'd never felt the need to hide from his family. He also seriously doubted that Ron had had a deadbolt on his door before their parents died.

He reached his brother's door and banged his fist against it. "Ron! Ron, come out of there!"

Maybe he really wasn't in. There was no way he could've climbed out the window, though. His room was nowhere near anything that he could grab onto to climb down. And he also seriously doubted the door could be locked from the outside.

"I tried that, too." Freider had skulked his way up the stairs and stopped, leaning his back against the railing.

Cursing under his breath, Davyn pulled back, raised his leg and kicked the door down. There was a mumbled protest from Freider, but Davyn didn't care. He charged inside Ron's dark room and turned on the light.

Ron was there. He lay on the floor, apparently unconscious, a puddle of white sick a few inches from his face.

"Oh, God," Freider breathed.

Davyn rushed to Ron and turned him on his front to make sure the rest of any potential sick would flow out. His fingers darted to his brother's neck, feverishly searching for a pulse. It was there, steady and strong enough. His breathing seemed fine, too, so there was a chance he'd just thrown up and passed out.

"Is he okay?" Freider asked, hovering over Davyn's shoulder.

Yes, he was, which was why every bit of worry that had driven Davyn to kick the door down morphed into a blinding rage. For a few seconds, his eyes lingered on the puddle of sick. Then, it was like something broke inside him. He left Ron's side and tossed the cover off the bed. There was a small zip bag filled with tiny white pills. There was more, there had to be more.

As Freider knelt next to Ron and turned him over, Davyn ransacked the room. Of course there was more. Weed, more pills, this time blue, cigarettes. He gathered them all in a pile on the bed while Fredier just watched, confusion and disgust battling on his face. And yet, he stayed by Ron's side, his hand on their brother's back, as if somehow trying to protect him from all this.

From their neglect and the drama in their lives.

Dumb, stupid kid! Davyn had asked. He'd told him his friends were trouble. He'd warned him against all this garbage.

Garbage.

He grabbed the bin next to Ron's desk and swept his arm across the bed to dump all the drugs and cigarettes inside it. Then, he strode out. There was only one way to deal with this shit. He rushed down the stairs, digging inside the bin and taking out Ron's lighter.

The cold spring air cut into his face as he dropped the bin in the middle of their front yard. With a flick, he lit the lighter and let it drop inside, over Ron's mess. It took a few moments, but flames rose into the night, devouring the vice. A sickly sweet smell rose into the night, together with the dancing flames.

Davyn glanced at them, taking in every change of shade, every flicker of light leaving the bonfire and rising into the night. Such power to end it all, to conceal and purify.

The dance of flames was hypnotizing.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Freider charged out of the house. "You can't just burn drugs in the middle of our front yard!" He looked left and right but there was nothing he could use to put out the flames. Finally, he just settled on watching the fire.

Much too soon, the flames died down, out of evil to burn. Davyn's heart seemed to beat harder the lower the flames got. In a minute, the fire sunk under the rim of the bin. Another moment later, everything was dark. Again. He and Freider both sat in silence, watching the putrid smoke rising in the air.

"Did you leave Ron alone?"

Freider seemed to snap out of his reverie. "I wasn't planning on it. I was just out here to tell you to come back inside." His voice was subdued, his gaze still fixed on the bin.

"We should go back inside." Before Freider could answer, he kicked the bin towards the corner of the steps leading to their front door, momentarily hiding it in the shadow.

Freider was right. They shouldn't be having drugs in their front yard. Still without a word, the two of them headed back inside and stopped in the doorway to Ron's room. Freider had put him on the bed, still on his front.

"I've been thinking," Freider said, "if we should take him to the hospital. I mean, they'd probably just pump his stomach anyway and he seems to have done that himself."

Davyn wanted to rage, claim that of course they should take him to the hospital since neither of them had any medical training, but he could see beyond the question. He too was worried the doctors would find illegal drugs in his system.

"Maybe we should just keep an eye on him for the night," he said.

Freider nodded, apparently relieved that they agreed on this. "You should take first watch. It would be good for you to get some sleep before school."

Davyn raised his eyebrows, but he was too tired to figure out if there was something behind that seemingly kind offer. So he just nodded and was glad when Freider left him to it. He took Ron's pulse and checked his breathing, but he did seem to just be sleeping. Maybe they were insane, maybe they should take him to the hospital, but Davyn really didn't want to get into the whole thing with the police and drugs.

As he waited, he cleaned off Ron's sick off the rug and then began arranging his shit, on the watch for potential other drugs. There was nothing he'd missed the first time though, which he found satisfying. Next, he sat at the foot of his brother's bed, resting his back against it, and focused on the sound of Ron's breathing.

It seemed fine. Too fine to distract him, so his mind started spinning. Where did Ron get the drugs? His friends or Nicholas Harkin? And what could he do about it? Just the thought of getting into this exhausted him. Why couldn't Ron just mind his shit? Or find a different way to cope? He couldn't pretend he didn't understand where this was coming from, but there had to be another way to handle it.

The thoughts jumbled inside his head as his ass became steadily number. And yet, he didn't have the energy to move even an inch and relieve himself, nor could he truly concentrate on finding a solution for their baby brother. Instead, he tried his damn best to empty his mind and not think about anything. By the time Freider came into the room, Davyn's entire body felt as if it was filled with wet cotton.

"Oh, you cleaned up," he said, glancing around the room.

"Did a second sweep for drugs." Davyn pushed himself up. His kneed buckled, but he managed to steady himself before he plummeted at Freider's feet. "Plus, it stank."

Freider just nodded, his gaze falling on Ron. "How is he?"

"Breathing's steady, pulse normal. He really seems to be sleeping."

"You should go sleep as well."

He knew he should. He was beyond exhausted, and his thoughts were more erratic than ever as he tried to keep his mind blank. He headed for the doorway, but stopped before he cleared it. He turned back just as Freider pulled the desk chair over and started his silent vigil.

"When he wakes up..." Davyn hesitated, very aware that Ron deserved a huge lecture for this, even from Freider. "Try to keep in mind why this happened. We're not all as good at coping as you are."

Freider huffed. "You think I'm good at coping?" He nodded towards Ron. "Doesn't look that way to me."

Huh, Freider maybe had a chance not to burn in hell after all. The thought was too incredible so it was maybe wrong.

"Just don't bust his balls too badly. He might still need them later."

The corner of Freider's mouth lifted for a moment. This was turning out to be one weird night. Davyn closed the door behind him and headed for his room. His head pounded. It was true that he hadn't slept well in what felt like forever, but staying up on purpose was completely different. He should've grabbed a Jolt or something, even if he hated supposed energy drinks.

As his head finally hit the pillow, he concluded that maybe it was for the best and he'd finally get some deep sleep. But as his mind was finally defenseless, it refuses to rest. His thoughts kept focusing on Ron, crumpled on the floor next to a puddle of his own sick. His tiny body morphed into that of his father, stiff and battered in the morgue, and suddenly, it was Ron dying, except he was further and further away, at the bottom of a building, draped in white, his limbs contorted, his hair golden.

Davyn blinked. He was on top of the dorms for some reason, and the body he was staring at was not Ron's or his father's. It was Millie. His stomach jumped into his throat. This couldn't be happening. But it was all so vivid, from the shade of her hair to the curve of her cheek and the paleness of her skin.

Maybe I need someone in my corner, too.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware he couldn't see her this well from that distance, which meant that this couldn't be real. But it felt real. The dread, the tightness in his chest, the way he couldn't force himself to just breathe. And just like with his father, just like with Ron, he somehow felt like this was his fault. He could've stopped it if he'd just been a tiny bit less selfish.

As he glanced down at her twisted body, his heart running a marathon, one thing became obvious.

He couldn't take this.

He couldn't take losing more, couldn't handle more people he knew dying or spiraling into nothingness.

The realization had him sitting up. He was in his bed, not on top of the dorms. Cold sweat drenched him and his breathing was labored. It was just a nightmare, as always. Nothing more. And yet... What if it wasn't? He could remember Millie standing on the edge of the roof. That hadn't been a hallucination, it had really happened. And she had mentioned being alone. What if...?

His heart hammering in his chest, he rolled out of bed and headed down the stairs. The house was silent and the weak light of dawn made his vision grainy. He reached the hall and pulled out the phone book. He sat cross-legged next to the telephone and placed it on his lap, searching frantically until he found the number for the Saint Agnes dorm rooms. He dialed and waited, his ears ringing just like the phone.

Nothing was happening. No one was picking up. He couldn't check if she was okay. A vice squeezed his heart as he gave up on the telephone.

"This doesn't mean anything. I'm sure she's fine," he whispered into the empty house.

And yet, he dialed again. No one picked up. The image of her body at the foot of the building seemed to be tattooed on his retina. He couldn't sleep, couldn't get it out of his head.

He dropped the phone, pulled his sneakers on and headed out into the early April morning. To his car, out of the driveway and towards school. The parking lot was nearly empty. As he pulled his keys out of the ignition, his stomach was in his throat. He could just go around the building and if there was no one dead there, he could go home. But he couldn't. If he came across her dead body, he'd lose it, just like his mother.

Instead, he headed for the door. Of course it was locked, and no one answered when he knocked. A brief spell of panic came and went as he rationalized that a locked door wouldn't stand in his way. Ron's hadn't and neither would this one. So he pulled back and kicked it open.

The reception hall seemed empty, but the receptionist scurried up from behind the desk, obviously awakened by the noise.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled.

Davyn ignored him and headed up the stairs. His mind took him back to earlier that night when he'd done the same, when he'd found her on the edge.

Why do you care?

She said she needed someone and you just left her there, you asshole.

Why should it be you? She should make some damn friends, she has a brother.

He had brothers, too, and no friends. He had no one and didn't deserve anyone and yet she'd declared herself ready to be there.

I just feel like you need someone in your corner.

He did. And he hadn't realized just how much until he was about to lose it.

He reached her door and slammed his fist against it. There was a bustle from inside and he knocked louder, more insistent. Much too slowly, the door opened and Karen's wide face appeared in the crack.

"What the fuck do you want?" she growled.

He pushed past her without a word. His eyes took in the room, his heart pounding in his throat. In the bed next to the window, Millie sat up, her hair frizzy and tangled, her light blue eyes groggy with sleep.

"Davyn?" she asked.

The sound of her voice finally managed to end the turmoil inside him. She was still alive and well. He hadn't fucked up beyond belief, hadn't pushed her over the edge. He could still fix this. The relief inside him almost had hysterical laughter bubbling out of his chest. Biting it back, he headed for her bed, sat on the edge and took her face in her hands. Yes, she was warm and real. He wasn't imagining her.

"You're okay," he breathed.

"Well, yes. What did you think...?"

He shook his head and leaned his forehead against hers. He didn't need her to speak. Just be there, exist. And maybe making sure it stayed that way was in his power.

"I'm in your corner, too," he whispered.

"What?" She pulled away from him, her eyes wide with wonder. It felt cold without her. "Davyn, are you okay? You look awful."

"Gee, thanks." He tried to laugh it off, but his voice shook. He felt awful.

"What happened?"

"Did something have to happen?"

"Karen, will you shut up already?" Millie snapped.

It made him jump because he hadn't even computed the other voices around him. He was really out of it and maybe this was a horrible idea.

"He shouldn't be in here, Millie," another girl's voice said.

"I know, but just give us a minute, okay?" She returned her attention to him and this time she was the one who took his face in her hands. "Seriously, what happened?"

It was on the tip of his tongue, everything. Ron, his confusion about Freider, his lack of purpose and his fear that more people would die. But he couldn't say it, not then, not with her roommates listening in.

"I just realized that having someone in my corner is something I want. And I'm willing to return the favor to get it."

She narrowed her eyes, watching him shrewdly. "Just returning the favor, eh? A transaction."

"Wouldn't a transaction work for you?"

She pondered on this, dropping her hands from his face. It was cold again.

"Yes, I think it would," she said and smiled.

There was something different about it. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smiling, not honestly, not at him. It lit her up in a way drugs and alcohol never could. She wasn't ugly at all, quite the contrary, at least to his sleep deprived brain.

"You look exhausted," she said. "Maybe you should go get some sleep."

His eyes drifted to the window. It was almost full light outside. "I think it's a little late for that."

She considered this for a moment. "Want to go out and take a walk instead, then?"

That sounded nice. Doable. Maybe it would clear his head. So he nodded. Her smile widened and the world was warm again.

"Then give me a minute to get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs."

"Finally," Karen said.

"Shut up, Karen," one of the other girls said.

It made Millie giggle. Davyn liked the sound. For once, it wasn't doom and gloom. It was light, it was friendly.

It was hope.

So he let himself out and hurried down the stairs. For some reason, everything felt lighter.

♣️♣️♣️

Well, that took a nasty turn, but at least someone is now less motivated to be a jerk. Maybe Davyn really needs a friend and Millie proved she can take his punches.

And Freider is actually a human being? 😱 The horror of that.

All thoughts are appreciated. Not much longer until the end of the first part of the story!