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“Why. Do. You. Have. These?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t use that line on me like I’m just some kid in your school. We’re friends, Patrick.” I was inches away from his face with my heart pounding. I gripped his sweatshirt tighter and tugged him closer.
“I need them.”
“Bullshit.”
“They help me.” Tears suddenly ran down his face. He closed his mouth tightly, and when his jaw and lips started to quiver, he dropped his head. “I need them so I don’t hurt all the time,” he whispered.
“Why are you hurting every day?”
His whole body shook, and I guided his head to my shoulder. With his forehead pressed against my shoulder, I let go of his sweatshirt and rubbed on his arm. He wouldn’t answer me.
“Patrick. Answer me. Why are you hurting? Please tell me what’s going on. I can help.”
“They help me.”
“Let me help you. We’ll figure it out. Please let me try.”
“I need the pills, Hollis. You don’t understand.”
“Make me understand. Let me in, and give me to chance to help.”
“Nothing else works. I’ve tried… and tried… and tried.”
“How did you get ahold of these? These aren’t good, Patrick.”
“My dad started giving them to me. He’d written a prescription for my stepmom after she had knee surgery. When my stepbrother and I get into fights and I complain, he gives me one of these. He says it’ll take the pain away.”
His fucking dad gave them to him? Was he purposely trying to get his kid addicted to painkillers?
“Patrick, no more of this shit. We can go to my house and talk to my parents—”
“No. It’ll only make this worse. Please believe me.”
“No. My parents will help. I promise.”
“You don’t get it. Not everyone has a family like you, Hollis. My dad is only concerned with his medical practice and keeping my stepmom happy. I’m a throwaway.”
“You are not.” I pulled him against me. “You’re not a throwaway. Not to me. Let me help you.”
He pulled away from me and bent down to get his books. He shoved them inside his backpack and then looked at me with sad eyes.
“You do help me. You’ve been my friend, and you’re helping me with self-defense.”
“I want to do more, but you have to tell me what’s going on. Why are you hurting?”
“I appreciate it, man, but all I need right now is a friend.” He looked down at the bottle of pills I clutched in my hand. “I need you to be my friend, Hollis,” he repeated, holding his hand out, hoping I’d give him the bottle.
I stared down at the bottle and looked at the dosage. I had no idea if these were really that bad or if I was overreacting, but I wasn’t going to take a chance. I took a deep breath and looked at him. I nodded and then walked toward the bathroom with him on my heels.
“Hollis.”
I ignored him as I pushed a stall door open. I stood over the toilet and poured the pills in.
“Hollis!”
