I know. "Oh, Beau's back? But they had the last chapter!" Whatever, accept it.

Anyways, the next day at school I don't have many classes with Paul. We don't have lunch together either, so I just hang out with a few other semi-friends.

Thankfully, I don't have too many tough classes this semester. But the teachers are really starting to pile it on. It sucks, sure, but I know Paul's struggling pretty hard. She'll pull through it though. Just like she always has. I'm sure. Paul is the strongest person I know, and it's one of the reasons I love her.

So of course I'll be there for her when she's bursting into tears over her pen.

"It's out of ink," she sputters between sobs. "I can't use two different pens in the middle of my n-notes, it l-looks awful."

I cup her reddened face slick with tears in my hands, gently rubbing my thumbs over her cheeks. "Shh, babe, it's alright. We can get you new pens."

"By the time I get some from home, I'll be too far behind! I have so much work to do, I'll never catch up-" She cuts herself off, hyperventilating.

"Georgia. It's gonna be alright. You'll get caught up, it's only one lesson. If you need to, you can just rewrite the notes." Her breath slows. I smile steadily, grateful for the privacy of the small conference room.

"Ugh, this is humiliating."

"Don't worry about that."

"Easier said than done."

"I know." I let go of Paul's face, and she leans on my shoulder. To be honest, I'm starting to worry about her. She hasn't been sleeping or eating well, she's always so busy keeping up with school and home and odd jobs here and there. She's not giving herself any time at all to rest or even pause between point A and B, always going.

Ok, maybe I'm not just starting to worry.

"Ready to get back to class?"

"No." She hiccups. We wait a little longer. After a few minutes more, I stand up and offer my hand.

"Come on, Paulie. We can't hide in here forever, and it's almost time for seventh block."

"Fine." She rolls her eyes, and I pull her up.

"Woah, hey there bud." I must've pulled her a little too hard, since she stumbles forward into my chest, almost falling over. I steady her. I can feel my neck flushing. "Sorry, my bad."

"No, you're fine." Red tear tracks starkly contrast her sickly pale skin, eyes swollen with the same red pigment. "Is it that bad? You're staring, Beau."

I flush further. Fuck. "It-" I clear my throat and stare down at my shoes. Chucks-- dirty, high-topped, marked with pen. Comforting. "It's not, well, I mean it's kinda bad."

She swears and finally moves away from me. I let out a silent breath I hadn't known I was holding. You never think that would happen until it does. Like, who wouldn't notice that? Wouldn't you get light-headed?

"That barely helped." Paul shook her hands in the sink, water dripping off her chin. "You're kidding me, now it's all over my shirt." She gets that look about her again, like she's gonna start crying.

"Here, take my sweatshirt. It's just water, it'll dry." I strip out of my hoodie, feeling vulnerable but glad I actually wore a shirt underneath, handing it to her.

"You're a lifesaver, Beau."

"You know it, babe."

☆☆☆

I survive the rest of the day naked without my armor. Unfortunately, I have to go back home. I hate going back there, but it's still my house.

"Beau, where have you been?" My dad's hoarse voice grates my nerves. I dig into my not-so-deep reserves of patience.

"I was at Paul's place."

"Oh, that girl." I could hit him just for the disapproving lilt to his tone. There's no reason for him to hate her, but she takes up most of my life, so he does. I stand awkwardly just inside the living room. Dad doesn't even look at me, his rheumy, blank eyes staring at the TV. It's better this way, though. I'll take this over when he focuses on me.

As you can probably guess, my dad is a really shitty one. In some ways, I'm glad I don't have siblings-- less people for him to take it out on. But I gotta admit, shouldering this shit alone is rough.

"Where's Mom?"

"That whore?" I flinch inwardly and clench my jaw. "Who the hell knows. Not here." He picks up the bottle of bourbon beside his recliner. It's mostly gone.

I swear I'll never drink. I smoke, vape, whatever. I might even do LSD or some real crazy stuff. But I'll never drink more than a wine cooler.

I have a feeling he wants me to stay around. As much as I want to leave, to shrink into nothing in my room, I sit down on the couch, tense silence stretching between us. The racket of whatever he's got on TV only accentuates it.

It's driving me insane. I could tear off my skin, hit something, break shit. "What do you want," I snap.

Finally, his gaze finds me, and suddenly all the fire leaves me. I hate it when he looks at me, that slimy feeling, the way it slowly trails down, then up. I can't do it again, look at him-- I stare at his forehead instead.

"Some good fucking entertainment. I'm bored." Every muscle in my body tenses. I can feel my nerves freeze, the jolting of adrenaline coursing through me. I shouldn't have come home, I had a bad feeling about this, why didn't I just stay with Paul?

"Find it somewhere else." Everything else about me falters and trembles, but my voice is strong and cold. Dad's stare sharpens.

"I don't think I will, boy."

Well, that's my cue.

☆☆☆

Shuddering, I shut and lock my door. Tears don't come like they used to, but I almost wish they would. Instead I don't have an outlet. Except getting high and breaking shit, and I'd say those aren't the healthiest coping mechanisms. I don't really feel like dealing with the consequences of tearing up my room, so I guess it's door number one.

I turn on my fan to help with the smell. Usually I don't smoke at home, since Mom complains, but I couldn't care less right now. I flop on my bed, letting my spinning head wind itself down.

Music. Ohh, right. Almost forgot. I put in a pair of cheap earbuds-- listening to music is more intimate that way, almost like you can funnel it straight to your brain-- and blast some real good shit.

I find myself forgetting about everything outside of my room. With the help of the pot and the tunes, I forget about school. I forget about Dad, Mom, and even Paul. I forget until it's just me. Beau Torren. Me. So this is what it's like to exist as my own person.

My entire life has been defined by others. The idea bristles me. But don't you kind of like it? Having someone to depend on, to take the fall for you? Someone to depend on, and someone to depend on you. Because isn't feeling needed everything? Isn't it, isn't it?

"Shut up!" I scream into my pillow. But no amount of screaming, breaking shit, or weed would drown out that part of me.

I have another bowl anyway. I'm blasting through my supply, but it's fine. Not really, but maybe if I say it eniugh, it will be. Yeah, jack shit. Things don't fucking work like that, no matter how much you wish they did.

Damn, I'm high as shit now. I stop myself from calling Paul. She's dealing with enough right now, doesn't need me on top of that.

Paul. She's real pretty. Yeah, my best friend. My attention slides over to the bracelet on my left wrist. She's got a matching one on her right. My thoughts blank out after that, picking at the threads of the bracelet.

When I finally cone back into my own fucking brain again, I've torn the thing to shreds. Small threads are stuck beneath my fingernails and litter my shirt. I've also put down an entire family-sized bag of chips.

Dammit. I sigh and give in, calling Paul.

"Hey babe."

"What's up?"

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Not much, why?" She knows why. Well, she can probably take a guess at least.

"Can you come pick me up? I don't care where we go, just get me out."

"Be right there. Want me to stay?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind."

"Alright, Beau." We stay silent for the most part, but I feel tons better just having her on the phone. I get up and mill around my room, throwing some stuff in a bag.

"Okay, I'm almost there. Get out here, I'm not even gonna stop, just jump in the window." It's a joke, but I don't smile.

I cross my fingers and dart out of the house, dreading Dad's screaming from behind me, and maybe even the shatter of a bottle against the wall, but it doesn't come. Maybe he passed out. Maybe he died.

Good fucking riddance, douchebag.

"Thank the sweet baby Jesus," I say in a rush.

"Need to talk?"

"Probably."

"Where?"

"Park?"

"You got it, boss."

She's still wearing my sweatshirt. I smile a little. Paul always did love stealing my clothes. Just between us, I love it when she does. Call me possessive, but it's always comforting to see a physical reminder that she's mine.

Well I don't own her, so she's not, like, mine mine. She's not even mine at all. Which is why it's nice to actually see that she won't ditch me for someone else.

Which isn't a guarantee anyway.

I shake the thoughts from my head. Paul parks in the park's parking lot (haha, funny words) and we get out, racing each other down the trail to our tree. It's not technically our tree, but we like to think it is. When we were younger, we used to pretend that I was a goblin and she was a fairy; she lived high up in the tree and I kept the ground below it, fighting monsters valiantly while she climbed around in the branches.

Now we just sit up high and look down on the world below. There's a perfect spot for me, a V in a thick branch near the trunk. Paul always sat on the one above me, and the image of her swinging her feet near my face is one of the clearest I still have from back then.

Today, I lay with my back facing the ground and my legs pointed skyward, staring up through the wood and leaves and birds to the clouds above. I close my eyes and breathe the fresh air, musty with rotting wood and fallen leaves. Birds sing happily, squirrels chase each other on the ground below, and Paul hums softly just above me. I let myself feel safe here.

"Ready to talk?" she whispers. She knows me. I would say she knows me better than I know myself, but that wouldn't be true in numerous different ways.

"In a minute." I don't want to think about that damned house, not when my body just relaxed. The weed helped, but my muscles were sore from being so tense. Especially when he touched me. I don't think I've ever tensed so hard so fast before. I mean, he's done it before-- small gestures, his hands lingering on my back, on my waist, my arm, my neck. But something was different this time.

"It's okay, Beau. Soon we'll get out of here, and he won't even look at you ever again."

I hadn't even realized my thoughts had been spilling over. "Thanks, Paul. But the damage has already been done. I'll never scrub him out of my mind."

She quiets. I feel her searching for words, which she eventually gives up on. We sit in silence a little longer, the gentle ambiance of the park much more soothing than that of my house.

"I can smell the weed on you."

"Sorry if it's in your car now."

"It has been for a while because of you." Whoops.

"Sorry." Am I though?

"You should be," Paul snorts.

"Brat," I fire back.

"Bitch."

"Whatever."