I remember this one!!!! I started to draft it halfway through writing Bad Luck! Because I was sadistic and wanted to make another wack book. I remember this one because I hate it. This is the oldest draft I have from way early 2017 and I'm not a fan. However, I do think it's cool at this is one of the first stories that I tanked. I didn't scrap anything when I first started. Cringeworthy 2017 writing:

———

1

I sat in the middle of the nearly vacant church with my ears ringing.

No, no. They were buzzing. Buzzing sounded like the better word. Maybe even screaming like tiny sirens blaring in my eardrums.

Strangely enough, I wasn't even high, or even coming down from one, unless the one from two days ago was still dying out. But Josh had said it was like he was looking at a whole new Brendon - slightly less drugged up and out functioning in the real world without a cigarette in my hand. He claimed it was a significant difference from the usual hoodie and no pants with an obnoxious amount of woman's perfume and sunglasses.

I would've laughed, because I found it to be humorously true, but I was mad at Josh for the time being. He was the reason I was being silently judged by a giant wooden Jesus. He was also the reason I'd been kept off drugs and everything else we did together, for two whole days straight. It was a record, but a very shitty one, and I didn't intend to continue it.

For the past week or so (I couldn't remember, and I frankly didn't give a shit either), Josh had been trying to reinvent himself. He swore off drugs, tossed out the booze, and flicked his cigarettes into the fireplace. Those were a birthday gift from me, so to say I was offended was an understatement. I was pissed, and not just because he burnt perfectly good cigarettes to a crisp.

He'd done it all for some guy he'd been dating for a long ass time. When Josh had first met this guy, he took it easy, didn't touch a thing a day or two in advance, even suffered for a week before even laying a finger on another cigarette. Then this jerk he'd slowly fallen in love with had found out and got really upset, Josh fell into a depressive state without aforementioned guy by his side, and we ended up sitting in a church while he attended his first ever confession. A year and ten months of hiding everything really screwed with him.

He was going to turn to the Jesus side so this guy he'd fallen head over heels for would actually kiss him again instead of turning away in blatant disgust. It'd only been like a week and he'd already been subjected to sobriety due to lack of smooching.

So to summarize, Josh sucked, my druggie buddy was going clean, and I didn't plan on following in his footsteps or joining him in the harrowing search for faith like it was suggested for me to do.

"Do you think they're gonna say I'm definitely going to hell?"

"Josh, I don't think they're allowed to say that." Honestly I wasn't exactly sure what would happen. Maybe the priest guy would reject him - we'd done some bad things together. Not as far as murder, neither of us wanted to be involved in that, but the amount of drugs we'd both used had to count for at least two murders each, maybe even three.

He shuddered. Even he was weirded out by the huge carving of Jesus mounted on the wall so every pew circled around it. "Dude, I'm freaking out-"

"There's nothing to freak out about-"

"What if I can't fix myself? What if I'm... what if I'm the embodiment of sin and there's no hope for me? Maybe I'm destined for an eternity in hell, and-"

I grabbed on to his shoulders and rattled him back and forth, lowering my voice because every sound would echo in the building. "You know I don't believe in this bullshit, stop asking me! Either way, your man is gonna be proud of you for trying whatever this is."

"Confession, Brendon, it's called confession-"

"Last time I checked, I don't give a shit!" I hissed and Josh whined, clamping his hands around my wrists and tightening his grip. "Just promise me you won't become a bible thumper!"

"I like guys! You like guys! Bible thumper my ass, to hell if I stop liking guys-"

"That's the spirit!" I let go and shoved him off the edge of the pew, pointing behind me towards the set up the church had temporarily constructed for whatever the hell Josh was insisting on doing. "Now go confess your sins to some priest guy you might never talk to again. No judgement, man."

Josh frowned, worry etched to his expression. His fingers twiddled together for a moment before he pulled me to my feet and wrapped a hand around my arm. "C-can you go with me?"

"Stop being a wuss and just-"

"I'm fucking terrified, Brendon! Just please go with me? I'll buy you a pack afterwards."

If he'd led the argument with that, I would've given in quicker. Not that I planned on giving in in the first place. I hadn't thought about it.

Nevertheless I still followed a couple steps behind him down the aisle, around the corner of the tiny wall that was only there for the sole purpose of hiding from the other three people in the church so they wouldn't have to hear the dreadful amounts of drugs we'd shared on a daily basis.

On the way there, this guy walked out of what I deemed to be the 'Confession Cubicle'. He was tall, really tall, dark blue eyes gleaming with tears through thick frames holding thin glass. What got me though was the fact that it was summer, a whopping ninety degrees outside, and he was wearing a sweater. Not one that was made poorly and was so fine it would crumble if someone put it on wrong, but a heavy sweater I wouldn't even wear in the winter because then I'd sweat to death and probably die.

Mystery dude bumped into my shoulder and barely even turned around to mutter a quiet apology. He just kept walking, hands stuffed in his pockets.

I almost ran after him and decked him. If it weren't for Josh begging me not to and punching me in the arm so hard I'd have a bruise, I totally would've. Even if I knew perfectly well violence and anger slowly overruled my personality when I wasn't high, I still would've done it, no balls.

Now, the priest was not as old as I expected. I had prepared myself for someone that was probably going to have a heart attack hearing the things we'd done, not someone young enough to be doing the things with us.

He nodded once and let Josh start, the room falling dead quiet while we waited for him to start with the whole speech he'd been practicing for weeks. His hold on my hand tightened with each passing second.

His fingers grazed his forehead, moving across his shoulders and to his chest. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was, well, never."

I didn't pay attention for a couple minutes after that. Hearing some passage from a raggedy old book was less interesting than the nearly unseen patterns on the ceiling. I tried searching for one that looked like a dick until blood flow ceased to my hand and Josh got down to the nitty gritty sin.

All I heard was drugs for the first few sentences. Then the alcohol, then the cigarettes. After that he talked about the bursts of anger he'd experience and then practically beg for forgiveness, going down a list of things to say he'd found online. He didn't bring up the whole sexuality bit, not because he was afraid of being told he was going to hell, but because the church was known as being an accepting place that cared more about your faith than who you chose to love.

In my mind, that was the only good part about going to church. Everything else was boring, and I didn't believe a word of anything.

•••

"C'mon. One cigarette."

"I told you," Josh pushed away the cigarette for the eighth time, shaking his head and frowning, "I'm quitting. No more smoking."

For a while, I had respected his decision. I was also fed up with his decision. "Puh-lease? Just one, I'll stop bothering you. I won't tell anyone? Nobody has to know."

He rejected the offer again. "I don't want lung cancer. I'd like to keep my internal organs intact too. I'm quitting."

"Fine. Your loss." I said and lit the cigarette, watching wisps of smoke spiral into the shitty Californian air. Beach air too, so it dissolved in a mess of sea breeze and cold - the worst way to go.

I finally gave up halfway through. Josh was stubborn, there was no way blowing smoke into his face would make him want to join me. Besides, his coughing was pathetic. "Go home. You're depressing."

Josh sighed loudly with a pout, obnoxiously clambering to his feet. It was like he was pretending ditching me for his bed wasn't the best thing he'd done all day. Liar. "If you say so. I'll talk to you tomorrow, yeah? I recorded a new horror movie the other day - you should come over. I'll make popcorn and get the good soda."

At least he was still the same horror flick junkie I remembered. "Will do. It'd better be a good one though, I am not sitting through another mass murder spree with killer clowns."

He laughed and waved a final goodbye before choking on thin air again. He looked stupid, walking down the street in a button down and wrinkled dress pants - it was like asking for someone to mow you down with their car. I would've done it if I could afford a car and some gas in the first place.

Maybe I could just run him over with my bicycle. That seemed like adequate revenge for leaving his spot as druggie buddy in the dust.

———

2

I had become an expert at concealing common symptoms from coming down from a high. The red eyes would be gone, I'd chew through an entire package of gum, half of the vanilla-y and cinnamon-y scented woman's perfume I'd bought would have been wasted, and most importantly I would actually comprehend words instead of asking someone to repeat a sentence six times. Apparently that was bad for business because at that point everyone knew you were high and ninety percent dead to the world during recovery.

But I was fresh out of vanilla-y and cinnamon-y perfume, and surprisingly I wasn't high for once. Besides, I'd used it all when I was really wasted a couple days ago and needed to take over an emergency shift at the stupid cafe because Jimmy's cat had some nasty unforgivable bowel movement, god forbid he actually head in for work instead of taking his cat to the hospital for what felt like the twentieth time that month.

It was only the twenty first of July, too. So Jimmy had only gone to half of his stupid shifts for the month, I had been left alone with Pete for half of the shifts that were supposed to be his, and I concluded his cat was either dying or was not real. Unless he had a whole bunch of cats and he was the lovechild of a crazy cat lady and some vagabond hippie that didn't believe in vaccinations.

On another note, I was also out of gum. And I needed to wash my shirt for work, which I had yet to do because Josh had stolen all of my fabric softener and half the other products I owned trying to get ready for another date with the love of his life. God, they were perfect for each other, but at what cost? Fun? My laundry detergent? My sanity and patience? All of the above?

I rolled out of bed anyways, at about nine instead of two in the afternoon like usual. I was supposed to have to go in for a shift at ten so I'd gotten up at seven because I usually took eight years to get dressed, only to have Pete call me and say Jimmy was stealing my shift otherwise he'd be fired, and he desperately needed to pay his cat's hospital bills.

And after that I hung up, switched my phone to do not disturb, and sat in bed for two hours. I didn't even do anything, I barely moved, didn't touch a cigarette or anything else of that nature, I just laid there and questioned everything because my druggie buddy was going clean and I hated him for it.

Also that guy with the sweater yesterday was bugging me. Not because his voice didn't reach above a whisper when apologizing for bumping into me, but because it was a heavy sweater in the middle of summer, when people died from heatstroke and slept in their underwear with a single sheet instead of twelve blankets like usual.

He was also pretty cute too, not gonna lie.

I told myself I refused to go for him though. I didn't want to risk another situation like Josh had gotten himself sucked into like a tiny boat into a raging whirlpool the size of Manhattan. His boyfriend was the whirlpool of sobriety. I did not want that guy in the sweater to join forces with Josh's boyfriend and become the ultimate whirlpool of anti-drug, anti-booze, and anti-smoking attitudes.

To hell if I changed, nobody was gonna stop me from high-ness.

Then my cellphone rang again, with Pete's face smushed up against the screen. Just as I expected.

"Jimmy can't make it?"

"Jimmy can't make it," he confirmed, just to my delight, "wait, how'd you know?"

I shrugged even though I knew he couldn't see me doing it. "I just had the feeling. I'll be there in a little bit."

•••

A little bit ended up being an hour. Even though the cafe was only a five minute walk away - hell, everywhere I needed to go was a couple minutes away walking distance -, I took my sweet ass time eating breakfast and getting dressed. I took as long as I wanted because I was the only other employee that was up to cover Jimmy's shifts since nobody else had signed up for that time in the mornings.

I left the apartment with a pack and by the time I'd walked down there I was two down with a stick of gum I'd found in the pocket to my pants. It was my lucky day, apparently.

"You look like shit."

Pete was standing behind the counter, playfully glaring. He was right though, I did look like shit. I hadn't slept very well. "Go to church and tell me if we look the same."

Pete was what I liked to call a nosy jerk with too much free time, a lot to say, and dedication. He was a nice guy, but he was never too enthusiastic regarding the whole druggie thing. He always claimed it was bad for business, that customers didn't want to be breathing in the scent of weed, cigarettes, and daddy issues. "It's not daddy issues," I'd tell him, "stop making me sound like a hoe." And then he'd correct himself by labeling it as family issues and I'd throw a sandwich at him, and our love-hate friendship would remain intact.

"Oh my god," Pete gasped, holding a hand to his chest, "you went to church!"

"For Josh! I went to church with Josh because he's gotten it stuck in his head that he's gonna reinvent himself, quit smoking and drinking and - well, everything! We went to confession yesterday, the fucker repented having the time of his life in the anti-sin cubicle!"

"Is this for that guy he's practically in love with-"

"You bet your ass it is. He's giving up having the time of his life for this dude - we've been friends since first grade! He just ditches me like we hate each other!"

Pete rolled his eyes, tapping his fingers against the countertop. "I'm sure he'll give in every once in a while. You just gotta give it time."

As if. Josh returning to his 'normal' self would've been like a coffee shop refusing to serve coffee for eternity - unlikely, stupid, pointless, and bound to never ever happen. "Yeah, right. When I stop smoking."

Pete cocked his head to the side like a puppy dog that was still trying to comprehend the fact it had its own name. "I think the phrase, 'when pigs fly', would work bet-"

"I should get paid double for putting up with you."

•••

I got back to my apartment to find all the lights on, the door unlocked, and Josh sitting in the living room. Kitchen. Front room? It was all one big room, honestly. Except for the three bedrooms in a single hallway, one of which used to be his until he ditched me to live with his boyfriend ten months ago, a whole year into their relationship.

Usually whenever Josh was sitting crisscross on the couch, he had some new crazy ass drug or some funky cigarettes, some news and a glass ready to go. He didn't wear a dress shirt to do that, and he'd never set the table either. Most of the time it was "see this? Take it." or I'd get a long winding story regarding how he got the stuff before I even got the opportunity to lay a finger on it.

For a second I was a little excited. Maybe it was some fancy dinner as repayment for going with him to confession and not fully pressuring him into smoking (I wasn't about that whole extreme peer pressure thing - I'd try a few times and if he still refused, I'd quit it and give him a high five or something. I wasn't that mean).

And then Tyler Joseph popped out from behind the countertop.

Tyler was a nice guy. I didn't hate him in any other aspect other than the whole 'my druggie buddy' had demoted to just 'my buddy'. The lack of drug in the title was depressing. But I'd talked to him a little bit, we'd gone on double dates with my ex. Josh forced me along to the beach with them once and I took pictures while rolling joints simultaneously.

I'd made Tyler out to be an asshole. The jerk just wanted the best for everyone. He reluctantly made us cookies with half the amount of drugs we usually used and replaced them with chocolate chips (because we were both stressed over something and he finally gave in to the begging), which actually made it taste better and the high last longer somehow. As far as I knew, he'd never received detention, never dropped to a grade lower than a B+, had never gotten a speeding ticket, and never ever even touched a cigarette, let alone the mess Josh and I had jumped face first into.

Damn it, he was a blessing. And I hated him for that. But I still loved him.

His eyes lit up and in record time I was lifted off the ground in a bone crushing hug only Tyler could deliver. "It's been so long, B, I missed you! I saw you like three months ago, have you grown?"

"Smoking stunts your growth."

"Believe me, honey, I know," he said and set me down before rushing back to my kitchen and pulling a full on cooked chicken from my single oven, "I've read a couple papers on that. They destroy your body from the inside out, and lemme tell you it's not pretty."

"I know, you've told both of us a thousand times." I turned to Josh, who nodded in agreement. He'd been witness and subject to the constant stories and warnings.

I said Tyler was a jerk that wanted the best for everyone, he was a naturally caring and protective person, which was just who Josh needed considering he still burned chicken nuggets and experienced frequent nightmares. So naturally, he chose to fall in love with one of the youngest and most skilled gastroenterologists in the country, also known as Tyler.

[so you don't have to look it up, gastroenterologists specialize with the digestive tract, organs like the esophagus and stomach, liver, pancreas, the intestinal tract, etc. They're pretty cool and they probably don't get as much credit as they should because some of the stuff involves tiny children with digestive tract issues. Tiny tiny children.]

"I'm just trying to look out for you guys, okay? I worry about the two of you sometimes." He mumbled, carefully slicing off pieces of the main course and plopping them on to plates that would probably go on other plates beside fancy silverware and delicate wine glasses that would shatter if you held them wrong.

Josh slowly wandered to the kitchen-ish part of the main room, hugging Tyler from behind and staring down the food like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Really, he just loved whatever Tyler made. The jerk was also an amazing chef, the full package complete with a great sense of humor. So really he was like an overflowing package. Josh was the unluckiest luckiest man alive. 

So I took a seat and grabbed the biggest chunk of chicken I could cut (because I was starving) and scarfed it down before the whole intervention thing would happen. That was why they were invading my apartment, because then I was cornered and Josh knew where I stashed a buttload of cigarettes so if I stormed out he'd steal them all and hold them for ransom.

I didn't finish fast enough.

"So, Josh told me about confession yesterday," Tyler began, and from that point on I knew there wasn't going to be an easy way out, "and you didn't participate too?"

I shrugged. Religion wasn't my thing. I didn't disrespect anyone's, they could believe and worship whoever they wanted just as long as I wasn't being forced into a religion. "I'm not religious. I didn't see a point."

The main focus of Tyler's plan to make sure Josh didn't kill himself was slowly introducing the topic of religion. He'd created a wheel from a game show and stuck plastic cards with different religions and had Josh spin. I didn't care as to which one he'd chosen, and I frankly didn't want to find out or associate myself with it.

So naturally Tyler was disappointed his protectiveness wasn't going to work on me. "The point is to find salvation in a higher power and believe life has a purpose, to find yourself, meet others like you along the way. It's a rewarding experience on its own, let alone the aftermath."

Tyler wasn't a full on bible thumper, hell he barely had enough time to devote his life to whatever religion he'd been caught up in. But he was still invested enough to try and drag people like me into the whirlpool of goody-two-shoes idiots.

"I don't need salvation-"

"Everybody does eventually, Brendon!" he snapped, slamming his hands on the table. Josh was frozen in a combination of surprise and fear of a legitimate fight breaking out, staring with wide eyes. "Everybody has their flaws, everybody needs to find an answer to their problems, and one of those people is you, there isn't any way to avoid-"

I could feel the lack of drugs rushing through my system. No cigarettes, no booze, nothing. And boy, was I mad. Not even for a reason other than the fact I didn't believe in any religion and nobody could ever convince me otherwise. I was never going to change.

Tyler sat down after I mimicked his actions, twice as pissed as he was over something to stupid and simple. Josh looked terrified too - he'd never really seen me as angry as I was at that exact moment.

"I tried to find the answer to my problems. I asked everyone. I looked for everyone. I prayed and did everything possible to make sure that night didn't end up the way it did. And we all know the story after that, huh?"

They both knew what I was talking about. God, did I hope they felt awful.

I didn't need to find salvation in a higher power. I didn't need to find myself or meet others like me because I doubted anyone else was anywhere close to who I was.

I didn't need anybody. I didn't need to change. There was nobody to change for.

———

3

I was probably dying. Not by a literal death when you get stabbed by your nemesis in the gut twelve times before your rookie police officer partner rushes to your side and sobs over your dead body, screaming incoherently about revenge best served cold. Not when you're on a secret agent mission to prevent an evil super villain from blowing up the entire planet and as soon as you step into their lair, the earth explodes.

No, no. It was more like when your chest hurts and you're probably not breathing for an extensive period of time because then it becomes a game to beat the record for holding your breath in. Or when you play the game where you think about every stupid thing you've ever done wrong, like say something wrong or pronounce it weird and then next thing you know you haven't moved in seven hours and you're waiting for death to swallow you whole and personally escort you to hell.

[I'Ve made him too relatable Jesus crhRIST]

It was the same feeling cooling off after flinging a chair across the room and going off about the insignificance of religion in a hopeless druggie's life. But what was new? Absolutely nothing.

I was at my usual spot at the very top of the Hendrick's real estate building, if that was even their area in business, nestled in the corner with a sleeping bag and a package of cigarettes I hid up there. It was nice. I knew the owner of whatever business Aaron Hendrick ran, we used to play football together on the weekends for the city's team. We sucked, but everyone always said building relationships was more beneficial than winning. So we won two games the entire season, I found a place to hide out whenever I was upset, and Aaron received copious amounts of dirt on his employees whenever I was listening to their problems, which was pretty often. They tended to yell and argue at full volume.

For example, the receptionist lady was having an affair with the window washing guy even though she was engaged to one of the dudes upstairs that was trapped doing whatever bullshit they'd actually do instead of sleeping all day. And then the window washer had a crush on Aaron too, which made the gossip twenty times juicer. Also the copy machine was out of ink and someone had important papers due in a couple hours. They were fucked.

And then I was fucked because the door leading to the roof swung open.

For a second I thought it was Aaron, which would've made sense because every now and then he would sit on the roof with me and we'd chill together for a while until he got cold and went back in to do his whole running-a-business thing. Maybe it was the girl trapped in a love triangle with a possibly gay man, maybe the person unable to make copies screaming their anxiety out on the roof.

But no. And I swear to god, it was heavy sweater guy. That dude that had bumped into me at church the other day with a really quiet voice and huge glasses.

So naturally, instead of confrontation, I snuggled into the sleeping bag and watched like the asshole I undoubtedly was instead of saying something.

He was mumbling to himself under his breath, taking caution to lock the door from the outside (a stupid decision on Aaron's part) before sliding down the frame and hugging his knees to his chest.

I'd been holding my breath the entire time. I didn't even know this guy - I didn't know whether or not I should be over there comforting him, if I should've just let him cry it out, or something else. Like I'd said, I was in the dark.

He looked exactly like he had the other day. His sweater was the same, but stained and dirty, and his casual jeans had turned to pressed dress pants covering the heels of dusty sneakers. Honestly, he looked like a mess.

"C'mon, Dallon," he - Dallon, I guessed - propped himself back up against the door, staring straight ahead at the building across the street, "don't be such a wuss."

Dallon slowly wandered to the edge of the roof, hands in his pockets again, visibly shaking under the shitty lighting.

Now, I'd only ever seen dead bodies on television. Crime shows, horror movies, the whole shebang - they were fun to watch when you were high and everything was hilarious. So I'd ever only seen mannequins with no heads and ketchup covering the rusty joints. And I wasn't too enthusiastic about seeing heavy sweater guy jump off the ledge he'd climbed up on to. Because then I'd really have to see a dead body. I didn't want to cross that off the bucket list of things I hadn't deemed necessary.

He didn't even turn his head to see me, scrambling out of my sleeping bag and crushing my cigarette under the toes of my sneakers. But he definitely noticed me step up there with him.

"You and I both know this isn't gonna solve anything."

He let out a deep sigh and clenched his hands into fists, slipping them into the front pocket of his pants. "Everyone I talk to says that. I don't listen. You're no different."

I was slightly offended, but I did understand where he was coming from. People always told me to put out the cigarettes, stop with the drugs, quit drinking the few times I did. I never listened and I never planned on it. Hence the whole miniature fight with Tyler.

Dallon barely glanced at me out of the corner of his eyes. I wasn't sure if he remembered me or not. "Why're you here?"

I shrugged, stalling to think up a story on the spot. "Same as you."

"So you're jumping too?"

"Guess so." I definitely wasn't jumping. I was making sure he wasn't so I didn't have to be interrogated by police and then they'd find out the illegal drugs and the drinking thing and I would be fucked. And if I did jump, my apartment would be cleared out and my dead body would be arrested for the things I hid under the stack of old stuffed animals in my closet.

He paused and sucked in a breath, leaning over in the slightest to stare at the road below us. It was silent, the occasional car speeding past. Given it was about midnight and not very many people in the tiny town were up past eleven, it was still unusual. "Weren't you the guy I bumped into at the church the other day?"

Damn. He did recognize me. "Yep. I was there with my friend Josh. It was his first confession and he was absolutely terrified, so he dragged me along." I said and he smiled softly.

"I was a little scared too. It was my first confession and I knew the priest and I was afraid he was going to point out the one thing I hadn't confessed."

"Which is...?"

He pursed his lips together and twisted his whole body to look at me. I could've sworn I saw faint tear streaks running down his cheeks. "Suicide isn't exactly in God's book of best things to do while you're alive."

Well he wasn't wrong. "Yeah, but you don't have to like... yknow. You don't have to kill yourself."

Wow. Good going. I wasn't making sense and I hadn't even gotten high.

"There's nothing left for me to do, my friend. My own mind is killing myself from the inside, I'm one attempt away from a mental hospital, and I was laid off last week. It didn't matter though because I was going to be fired anyways, apparently. I was too depressing and it upset the customers."

"What makes you think it'll happen this time? You said one attempt away, what if you live?"

"I'm twenty something stories off the ground. That's not going to happen. It's not an overdose or anything like that."

Then I had an idea. It was a stupid one, and it probably wasn't going to work, and he'd most likely reject the offer, but it was an idea. It was certainly better than jumping twenty six stories to the pavement. "If you need a place to stay, my roommate moved out a while ago. A-and we're gonna be hiring soon down at the cafe at the corner. The owner is my best friend, he'll hire you if I put in a good word." Honestly Pete would give a dog an apron and pen if I said it was a determined employee. Dallon didn't have to know that though. He'd definitely be a better waiter than a dog.

He shook his head, crossing his arms and leaning over the edge a little bit further than before. "You shouldn't go out of your way for me. I'm like... a walking disappointment that can't even jump off a building right."

"What a coincidence," I said proudly, even if I was far from proud of admitting who I was, "I'm a druggie that smokes too many cigarettes with no regards for my personal wellbeing and the opinions of everyone around me no matter how right they probably are because I just don't give a shit anymore. I think we'd go well together."

I held out my hand and stepped down from the edge, smiling as reassuringly as I could. Dallon squinted at me like I was insane, which it probably sounded like to him, but that was alright. In a way, I wasn't completely ashamed of myself. "So whaddya say? Fuck ups together?"

He hesitated. He looked down at the empty street again, back at me, and then to the ground again before blindly grabbing my hand and allowing me to pull him down while he remained transfixed to where he thought he was going to end up a few minutes prior. "Yeah, sure, I mean, I guess. I can't promise anything good will come out of this though."

"Neither can I." I led him to the door and unlocked it, following him down past a couple people taking a nap at their desks and all the way to the elevator.

"I'm Dallon, by the way."

"Brendon. Nice to meet you."

———

4

If I'd known I was having a guest I would've at least kicked Tyler and Josh out. I got back to my apartment in record time (because Dallon owned a little yellow Volkswagen bug and even though it smelled like pizza and grossly stale breadsticks, it was still a nice car) and they were cuddling on my damn couch.

"I... I thought you said you didn't have roommates?" He whispered, trying his best to quit gagging on the whole cigarette smoke scent I didn't realize existed.

"I don't have roommates."

"Then why are they-"

I cut him off mid sentence by grabbing a cooking pot and frying pan off the kitchen table and slamming them together as hard as I possibly could. Tyler and Josh scrambled to the floor immediately, and I laughed. "Wake up! I've got a guest and you guys aren't allowed to meet him! Get out of my house because neither of you were invited over here in the first place!" Strangely enough, I was pretty happy using utensils like cymbals to drive my normal buddy and his lovable jerk boyfriend from my home. Good riddance.

Tyler was up on his feet in seconds, leaving Josh to collect himself on the floor while he smacked my kitchen appliances to the floor. "God, we were trying to help you, Brendon-"

"I don't need any help, especially not yours," I growled, slamming my hand to his chest, "I'm fine the way I am, and I'm not changing."

"You'll wish you had changed when you're denied at the gates of heaven and-"

"We're all going to hell whether it exists or not because apparently wearing two different materials for one outfit is a sin! Get out of my apartment!"

Tyler ran back and pulled Josh to his feet, still dazed from the sudden awakening. They burst through the door and right before it slammed shut, Josh flipped me off. Not because I was being a dick, which I totally was, but whenever he woke up too fast he'd get dizzy and throw up. In a way, he deserved it.

Dallon frowned, scanning the mess of an apartment. "You really need to clean this place."

Wow, okay. We'd genuinely met a couple minutes ago and he was already criticizing my living space. "If I had known I was having guests I would've at least tried to disguise the weed smell. You get used to it though."

Honestly I wouldn't have cleaned even if someone told me my life depended on it. I didn't want to organize the books on the wall, I didn't care the table was cluttered with clean dishes, or that the sink on the right hand side was filled with also spotless plates and cups. I liked my stuff where it was even if it did look like a mess sometimes.

Dallon gagged again, picking up one of my work shirts with two fingers, pinching his nose with the other hand. "Do you just have dirty clothes lying around?"

"No. That's clean. I leave clean clothes around the apartment." I snatched the shirt and tossed it across the room to the couch so maybe he'd quit acting like I was a complete slob, even if I kinda was which was definitely not the point. "Do you leave your dirty clothes around? Do you even have an apartment or a house or do you just live in your car?"

He shot me a dirty look and pulled out a plastic chair set up around the coffee table I usually stacked full of junk mail I didn't care about. "After I got laid off, I paid my rent and moved the two boxes full of things I owned into my car. I sold my mattress and the larger things I couldn't take with me and used that money to do laundry and buy food. Does that answer your question?"

Well yeah. That was basically like half of his life story. "No. I want the rest of the story. Where did you work?"

Dallon sighed loudly, dragging his hand down his face and muttering something under his breath. Damn it I'd just met him and literally saved his life and he was already done with it again.

"What was that, grumpy cat? I couldn't hear you because you fucking mumble when you speak, apparently-"

"The stupid supermarket, okay?" He snapped and slammed his hand down on the glass of the table. He didn't look happy to admit it. I kinda felt bad for pushing him to admit it. "Can we just - let's just stop talking about it. I don't want to right now."

So I sat down on the floor beside him and stared at the stain on the carpet from the time I'd returned home completely wasted at three in the morning with coffee in my hand. I was so confused and startled by Josh turning on the lamp, I dropped the coffee and didn't even bother to clean it up. "If it makes you feel any better, I work at a cafe with a semi friend and another guy named Jimmy who skips every shift to take his cat to the doctors office. I'm pretty sure he's allergic to cats too, and I have to cover his shifts because nobody else will and I need the money."

He smiled for a second before returning to staring at the wall and letting his eyes glaze over. Dallon was either extremely deep in thought or he was slowly becoming high from low tolerance to the slightly overwhelming drug stench wafting through the apartment. "Have you ever tried reaching the top shelf with bandages on your arms? It hurts like hell. Especially when you have to restock the cans of soup and there's a whole cart full of them and you're the only one on the midnight shift."

"Once I'd gotten so high I couldn't function and I went in for work the next day and I puked on twelve different people, passed out on the floor twice, and drooled over six plates of food in the back room."

"Once I overdosed on antidepressants and I woke up in a hospital completely alone with like twelve machines hooked up to me and no shirt. It turned out they tore it open and it was gone beyond repair. I never saw it again."

I understood what he meant by one attempt away from a mental hospital.

•••

Instead of kindly giving Dallon the spare room we used as a guest bedroom, I told him it didn't exist and he took Josh's.

Also the spare room was where I kept a stash of pretzels that weren't being produced anymore. It was an impulse buy a couple months back when I'd gotten high again but nobody needed to know that. The only person that did was Josh, who'd been the one to help me carry twenty eight boxes of pretzels out of sight and out of mind.

But apparently Dallon found it to be hilarious when he picked up three bags of those goddamn pretzels Josh had hidden under his bed and hadn't bothered to tell me about.

"So let me get this straight," he smiled, the first time I'd seen him do it since I'd seen him a couple days prior, "your best druggie friend, turned religious from his gastroenterologist boyfriend, hid pretzels under his bed and you never bothered to clean out his room?"

I shrugged and snatched one of the bags away. "I kept hoping he'd come back, okay?"

"Did he?"

The last time he'd slept over was seven months ago, when he was changing out his mattress and Tyler's tiny twin bed couldn't fit them both. "I'm hopeful."

"What would you do if he did come back?" He mumbled, glancing at the posters tacked to the wall and the mess of frames holding old Polaroids above the empty dresser.

"I would get my single friend back." I left it at that. He didn't need to know about the whole drama involving Josh being my druggie buddy turned good.

"Do you think he'll come back?"

"No."

———

5

We'd found a suit jacket in the back of Dallon's car where he kept his two whole boxes of belongings. We also found a radio, a tiny container of Christmas lights, and a bunch of prescription pills. The last item worried me the most.

"The jacket has stains," Dallon held it up towards the windshield, squinting at the exterior fabric, "is that okay? Does that make me look bad?"

"No. It'll make Pete feel extra sympathetic and he'll definitely give you the job." Either way, he'd get the job. There wasn't any way he wouldn't.

"I feel like this is cheating. Some people work hard to get jobs, y'know? What if somebody needs this more than I do?"

I stared at him for a second in the hopes he'd realize how badly he needed a job. For one, if he really was as ready to die as I'd seen, having a stable job might convince him to not stand on tall buildings too late at night. And if he wanted to get back on his feet and regain his apartment and whatnot, he'd need a job to do that. For money. Because you can't do anything without money. "You're basically fucking homeless right now."

"Yeah, but I don't have kids, I don't have an entire family to provide for. It's just me, myself, and the overwhelming fact I want to die."

I patted his shoulder and shoved open the passenger door. "Now it's you, yourself, and your awesome waiter skills."

•••

He got the job, just like I said he would. Pete had fallen in love with him almost instantly, and I could've sworn he was inclined to give Dallon the position the second they shook hands. I was happy for him, and also slightly worried. He didn't seem as excited as I thought he would be. Instead he smiled like kids do for forced pictures and nodded along to whatever Pete said.

"Hey Dallon?" I nudged his side on the walk up the steps to my apartment.

He let out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes for a moment as if he was tired of me. He probably was, which was far from the point. "What?"

"Are you okay? You don't seem very happy."

He stopped a few steps away from the top of the staircase, crossing his arms and glaring at me with an exhausted gleam in his eyes. Maybe he wasn't tired of only me. "Just last night I almost killed myself. This morning I woke up to the smell of mixed drugs and cigarette smoke, and now having a job might just stress me out more."

There was no way I was in the wrong for forcing him into employment. It wasn't even a harsh job, like three people ate at that stupid cafe. "This is the least stressful job you will ever have, I swear on it. If you want, I can take the tables and send out the food."

He stared at me like I'd spoken another language and had grown horns out of the blue. "The only reason I agreed to this was because it would take my mind away from the topic of jumping off tall buildings and doing whatever I can to make sure I don't wake up tomorrow. I'll be doing more than my fair share to this job."

I wasn't high for once, so it was his own funky emotions and personality swirling together in one bipolar mass. He was his own whirlpool. Not a good white suburban Christian mom whirlpool like Tyler, no no. He wanted to die, and he didn't. He refused to take the job, and he agreed to it to stop himself from wanting to die, which he wanted anyways. Damn, was he making my head spin.

"Dallon, you're one of the strangest people I have ever met."

He smiled softly and shook his head. "I could say the same about you, Brendon."

"That I'm strange? We just met, whenever you meet someone for the first time they're automatically strange."

He pinched his nose the second the door to my apartment swung open, heading in first and fanning the air as he walked. "Yes, that's true. But you're a druggie that no longer does drugs because your friend quit for someone you seem to despise. Why would that stop you?"

I didn't like that question. "Well, why haven't you tried to set your life back on track?"

He didn't like that question either. "What makes you think I haven't been trying?"

"You don't do anything. You live in your car. You tried to jump off a building the other day. It doesn't sound like you're trying to get better."

For a second, a snide smile tugged at the corners of his lips before returning to the usual slight frown I'd almost grown used to seeing. "I call it, 'not dying for the time being so I can die later on like I'm supposed to, which will be extremely soon because I have nothing going for me other than the fact that my death will be nothing special or out of the ordinary, which is unlike everyone else's selfish passing'."

That didn't even make sense. "That didn't even make sense," I called after him, and he stopped with his hand on the doorknob to Josh's old bedroom.

"Sleep on it, druggie."

———

6

"So he's your new roommate?" Pete gestured to Dallon from across the room. He was talking to some couple about what dish was the best and decent places worth seeing in the area.

"That's what I said, Pete. Firmly grasp the concept with your tiny hands. He is the roommate I found on the side of the street like a tiny lost puppy."

He shoved my shoulder, leaning over the counter to reach. His efforts didn't do much but throw him off balance instead of me. "How'd you meet him? He's cute. Do you like him?"

Typical. "I stopped him from jumping off a building, he is cute, and I don't know yet. He's strange. He called me strange."

Pete frowned. It usually took him a second to comprehend a string of disjointed statements. "Okay... what else do you know about him? What's his favorite color?"

I'd met him less than a week ago, I hadn't asked any of those questions. He barely left Josh's old room, let alone retreated from the newly discovered safe haven to socialize with me. It was like I was keeping an animal in my absent friend's bedroom. "Why should I know? I'm keeping him in my apartment until he gets back on his feet."

Pete wasn't letting the topic go that easily, no matter how many hints I dropped that I wanted to quit talking about Dallon. Again, typical. "You said you stopped him from jumping off a building - surely you sharing an apartment with him is more than just making sure he gets back on his feet."

I shot Pete a glare that could kill, one I saved specifically for people that would insist I could change. He backed away a step with his hands raised defensively. "I'm trying to be a nice person, okay? That's it. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure! I've never been so sure about something in my entire life."

He smirked, letting the grin fade to a slight pout before patting my shoulder and passing me a small envelope with black letters finely printed in his handwriting. "You aren't even on a high."

•••

"You want to know my favorite color?"

I'd taken Pete's semi-advice. It turned out to be a bad idea, more difficult than anything. Dallon was very suspicious. "I just thought if you're staying in my place, we should know a little about each other."

The despise burning in his eyes faded to an odd mixture of confusion, concern, and intrigue. "Blue."

"Light blue?"

He shook his head and crossed his arms, the rhythmic tap of his shoes against the tile echoing throughout the apartment kitchen. "The blue in the sky when there's a storm rolling in."

I bit my lip to hold back a comment about how depressing that was. I didn't feel like being chastised by someone else. "Cool. I like red. Firetruck red."

"That's cliche," Dallon muttered, "if I asked any child to name something red, I bet over half of them would say firetruck."

"Well, sorry for picking the first thing that came to mind, princess," he rolled his eyes at the name, "what do you want me to describe the color red as? The ass of a baboon? The fire that burns in my soul and fuels my hatred for people thinking they know what's best for me? What about the cover to my middle school yearbook?"

He snapped his fingers with a grin, leaning back further in the chair, more relaxed. I'd expected a different reaction, honestly. "There you go. That's how you learn things about someone."

I was getting mad. It seemed like he knew everything when he knew too little, like he was one of those people that wanted to be better than everyone because there was nothing else they could do but fail at life. That was Tyler, in a way, but he really was better than everybody else. "What'd you learn, then? That I'm a jerk?"

He smiled for a second, finding humor in my words. "I learned that you speak with comedy first instead of showing off the angry part of yourself, insecurity, maybe."

I glared at him for a second. Even if it was probably true, I wasn't about to admit it. That was a sign of weakness. Probably. "And I've learned that you think you know everything."

I regretted the words I'd stupidly and impulsively said. The gleam in his eyes faltered, just for a moment, but nevertheless it fell and shattered like glass. "I'm sorry."

"What're you apologizing for? I'm making a joke, Dallon. It's an insult that I don't mean." Maybe he couldn't detect when someone was kidding. That would suck - half my humor would be flushed down the drain. I'd never be able to joke again in fear he'd get upset. He seemed like the guy that would morph into the hulk when he got upset. Maybe that wasn't totally correct. I wasn't ready to find out, though.

He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, lip out in a pout. "Sorry for taking your joke literally?"

"Stop apologizing!"

"I'm sorry!"

That's when I learned something about Dallon, for once. Maybe it would've been the only thing I ever knew for sure, because he was as secretive as he was apologetic. "You have absolutely no reason to be insecure, stupid."

"Sorry."

•••

"Are you smoking?"

"No," I held up the cigarette burning holes between my fingers, extinguishing it on the couch before tossing it over my shoulder, "I was smoking."

Dallon didn't look happy. Well, he never did, but he seemed more angry than the usual miserableness I'd grown accustomed to in the fairly short amount of time I'd known him. "You're inside. And smoking."

"Okay. What're you gonna do about it?"