.23.

                                    

                                          
The elevator seems like it's purposefully taking forever. Doesn't it know I feel like I'm being crushed. I just want to make it to my room. 
                          
My head hangs, eyes closed as I stand in front of the doors, waiting. 
                          
"Drew, right?" A voice sounds beside me. 
                          
It startles me slightly as I raise my head, meeting dark eyes that are so much like her mother's for a moment I think it is Mrs. McDonald.
                          
"Yeah, Hey." I hold my hand out as I force a smile on my face, she shakes it.
                          
The doors ding open and I let Angela walk in first. 
                          
"How are you?" I ask once we're both inside. 
                          
She smiles but it's strained. "I'm okay, you?"
                          
"Yeah, I'm okay too." I laugh slightly as I lie.
                          
The elevator ticks up the floor, the silence a little tense but I'm too exhausted to do anything about it.
                          
"Thank you." Angela says suddenly. "I mean I'm assuming you're who she was talking about."
                          
Glancing over, she doesn't look back. Instead staring at the floor buttons on the wall. 
                          
"She called you Phil but that's her brother and he's been dead now for years." She goes on. 
                          
"I'm sorry." I mumble.
                          
Her shoulders shrug. "Vietnam, I never met him."
                          
The doors open on floor six, a dad and his kids standing there. "Going up?" He asks.
                          
We both nod, Angela smiling as she verbally confirms. 
                          
"We'll wait for it to come down then." 
                          
Angela hits the door button and once again we're sealed up in the elevator alone. 
                          
"She said you came over and had tea with her?" Angela asks.
                          
I nod my head, my hands shoved so deep in the pockets of my jeans they're threatening to slip off my hips but I can't help it. I just want to disappear right now. I feel beaten down and worn out after group and I didn't even share. 
                          
Clearing my throat I say, "she thought my place was hers again."
                          
Angela just bobs her head and this need to overstep fills me.
                          
"It doesn't bother me." I start. "That she knocks on my door but..." My mind plays out the tea kettle whistling on the stove and Mrs. McDonald not remembering how to shut it off. "Have you thought about having someone live with her or something?"
                          
Angela's dark eyes meet mine but I can't read her expression as she stares at me.
                          
"It's just, she was having trouble figuring out how to turn the stove off." I explain. 
                          
The elevator jerks to a stop, the doors sliding open on the tenth floor and once again I let Angela go first.
                          
"I know." She breathes defeatedly. "I've been trying to figure out what to do but I don't have room at my place for her and my brother lives out of state and neither of us can afford to put her somewhere."
                          
Her voice chokes with emotion, like the stress is getting her, threatening to break her. And even though I don't know her, I feel bad, searching my mind for a way to help.
                          
The first thing I think of is to call my dad. But I'm never asking him for help ever again. I think about just offering up money myself but I've got Alec to take care of first.
                          
"I'm sorry." Angela touches my arm as we both stop outside my apartment door. "The last thing you want to hear is my sob story. I just wanted to tell you thank you and I really appreciate you being so patient with my mom."
                          
I feel worthless not helping her. But I smile anyway and say "Yeah of course."
                          
                               ———————
                          
I went to a bar and ended up getting towed along with a group of people as they left and went to a club. They were alive and energetic and I couldn't keep up but for someone reason one of the guys had thrown his arm around my shoulders, told me I was "alright" and suddenly I was partying with them.
                          
The lights strobe, assaulting my drunk eyes as I push my way through the piles of sweaty bodies. The bass pounds through my body, my organs reverberating around with every beat. And I still feel dead inside. 
                          
When I finally reach the booth that everyone I came with is at, I feel like I just climbed Mount Everest. I sink into an open spot, the guy that said I was "alright" dropping beside me. 
                          
His arm stretches around my shoulders, pulling me a little closer as he hands me a cup of something. I drink it.
                          
"My friend has some H." He whispers in my ear, his lips so close that I can feel them graze my skin.
                          
I nod my head and he grins at me, his face still inches from mine. I'm drunk, my body weighted down by alcohol, eyes wanting to roll around. His face is still in mine but I'm already well enough gone that it doesn't seem weird as I watch his eyes shift to my lips.
                          
The next thing I know he's kissing me, lips against mine as his hand rests heavily on my leg. My body goes stiff as my inebriated mind tries to sort through what the hell is going on. 
                          
"It's okay." He whispers, his other hand wrapping around the back of my neck and he pulls me back to him. I sit there rigid, stunned, unable to process what's happening. "Just relax."
                          
"I-I'm not gay." I finally manage to say.
                          
"Yeah me neither." He smirks but I'm not sure what he means. "Here, give me your arm."
                          
He takes my hand, fingers trailing over the veins in my arm. "You're not a regular?"
                          
"I've done it on occasion." I offer up.
                          
His grin increases. "Let's get you having some fun then."
                          
Somewhere in my head I know this isn't a situation I should be in. I should have been smarter, more aware. I should have cared more about myself and my well being. 
                          
But I don't. 
                          
So I sit there quietly as he fills my veins with drugs.