Just a tip, You're what I need [2/?]
You know that selling yourself isn't the smartest thing to do, but you and Brendon need the money. You need drugs and you need booze, and well, you kind of need food. Though, you pretty much think you could have whatever money you make selling yourself direct deposited into your drug dealer's checking account, but you keep that to yourself.
The wife is coming home, so you quickly get the fuck out of there. You don't know their name, only that he had the smallest dick alive. You laugh quietly, thinking about it and count the $350.00 you made and divvy it up between food, drugs, and booze. You guess that $100.00, okay well maybe $120.00 can go to food. $170.00 will to go to any drugs you might be longing for, and the rest will go to booze.
Brendon is sitting on the shitty couch the two of you have, drinking a beer. You can't help but stare at him because he's just so gorgeous. You can see a lone tear fall down his face. You hate it when he cries because you don't handle emotion well. You know as the best friend you're obligated to go and see what is wrong, but you already know what's wrong; it's always the same.
"Dude, you okay?"
Brendon sniffles and looks up at you, "Yeah man, I- I'm fine."
You sit down on the couch and cuddle up next to him. You might not be able to handle emotion well, but you love physical contact in anyway. "I know you Bren, you suck as a liar."
"Mmm that's what you think. You remember last week when you asked me if I smoked your last cigarette? Yeah, well, I did."
You smile into his shoulder, "Tell me what's wrong?"
You hear Brendon sigh and he shifts so the two of you are more comfortable. "My parents and I got in another fight."
"Surprise, surprise! I don't know why you let them get to you.
"I don't either."
A heavy silence is in the room. You're letting Brendon think, just in case there is anything he needs to talk about. You know him well by now, he talks a lot. People think you're the bigger mess, but that's debatable, he's almost 16 and still getting beaten by his dad. He still gets told by his mother he is a mistake. Yeah, you may be fucked up, but so is he.
"Want to make me happy, Ry?" He asks you.
"Of course."
"I know where you just were, so give me the money and stop getting paid for sex."
You bite your bottom lip, and mentally slap yourself. You know Brendon hates it how you have been getting money, so you have been lying and telling him you have been going to a friends house. You reach into your pocket and hand him the $350.00. "There."
"Who the fuck paid you three hundred and fifty dollars?"
"I think he was compensating for his small dick."
You can tell he is trying not to laugh. "What did you plan on spending this money on?"
"Well you know, food and stuff," You mumble.
"By stuff you mean. . ."
You can't answer him. You know he hates how much drugs you use. The light mood in the room has significantly shifted.
"Jesus Christ Ryan. You're 16 and seriously addicted to four different drugs, not including weed."
You get off of him and stand up. You hate this talk. "I don't want to hear it. What about you? You're 16 in 10 days, Brendon! You drink just as much as I do and you're still getting your ass beat by your dad."
He is still sitting down, but looking at you with his burning brown eyes. "You're right I am, but if it really came down to it, I could call the police and haul his ass into jail, but I don't. Ask me why, Ryan."
"Why?" Your voice croaks and you didn't realize you were on the verge of crying.
"Where would you go? My mom would tell the police that she doesn't want me anymore, and they can send me to my aunts, where are you going? Off to another foster care? I'm not stupid Ryan, you would leave and you would die out on the streets from a drug overdose. You only come back here because of me and don't even deny it; I mean what else could be holding you back from leaving?"
You won't bother answering him. He knows he already said the answer, so you just watch him stand up and walk over to where you keep your drugs.
"What are you doing?"
"Meth, PCP, Coke, and if I remember correctly this is Acid. You must have some pretty good trips. I understand weed Ryan, I understand drinking and smoking, but you are out of control."
"Oh don't tell me I'm out of control. Give me my drugs and get the fuck out of my face."
"Having withdrawal, baby?" He throws your drugs at you and shakes his head, "I hope you understand you're tearing me apart with this. You know I love you, and sure I fuck around, and you fuck around. . .excessively, but it's always going to be you."
If you were thinking straight right now you would have some snarky comment asking why they weren't dating, or some shit like that, but your not thinking all that straight. Brendon is, Brendon is amazing, you do love him. Whenever you're being fucked you think it's him. The two of you have only kissed a number of times and you drunkenly gave him a blow job once.
Brendon is staring at you, waiting for an answer. You don't have one, you're shit at emotions. What you should be telling him is that you love him too and want it too only be him. Instead of answering him you look all around the basement trying to think if this place is all worth it. Could you just pack up and leave? The possibility of surviving out on the streets is high. Street smart is something you excel at you. You know how to make money, and if you stay in the area you have friends that would take you in a minute and let you crash.
"I-I don't know what you want me to say Bren."
"My fucking god, I want you to tell me you love me."
"I can't." You take your drugs and you walk out the door.
+++
It's three days later and your trying to find a pay phone so you can call Brittanie. It's somewhere around 11 at night and you're so fucked up. You took a lot of meth tonight. More then anybody ever should at one time. You're dizzy and you probably look like a drunken fool. People are around you, and vaguely you hear someone ask if you're okay. You're not okay.