shit

Chapter 4 has a shitty problem

"Stan, you need to get your mind off Wendy and your parents and anything else that could put you in a bad mood. Wanna play video games?." Kyle asked.

I nodded as I took a few sips from my water bottle. I'm starting to feel better already.
He handed me a controller. I was a little unstable at this point and nearly fell over while making my way to the couch. Kyle looked at me a little weird, like he was putting pieces together.

"Okay Stan," Kyle began talking again. "First you bring water bottles that you say have soda in them, even though they look and smell absolutely nothing like soda. That was a little sketchy from the start. Now you're stumbling around garbling and looking sick. You've been drinking."

"No I haven't." I lied.

"Dude you totally have been. I have too much evidence to be convinced otherwise. I'm not dumb, Stan."

My spine stiffened. "Don't tell anyone."

"Look at yourself! You're drunk right now. Stan you're ten years old. Give me one reason why I shouldn't get you help."

I'm explaining to Kyle what I explained to my mom and dad; telling him my parents knew, my dad was okay with it and my mom never technically said I couldn't. It's my only way. I know I'm going to regret this.

He's hesitating to speak. I know what he's thinking.
"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" He asked.

I'm choking up. "Because I didn't want to lose you. I wanted you to think that whole shit thing was just a phase. It isn't. I had to make it seem like I was perfectly normal so you guys wouldn't want to run away from me. You have no idea what it's like to not be able to enjoy anything and be sober. If I want to have fun with you guys anymore, I have to take a few shots. The doctor says I can't be cured. This really is my only way. My brain is fucked ninety percent of the time. The other ten percent I'm depressed and needing another drink. Kyle you have to promise you won't tell anyone. Keep this between us. If anyone else finds out I might as well be dead."

He's starting to tear up with me. "Stan I'm so sorry. I didn't know and I really shouldn't have been a jackass back when you were diagnosed with a permanent mental disease. I wasn't there for you. I will be now. I don't like that you have to drink, but I need to be here for you all the way through it."

We're crying together. I wish he didn't have to find out this way. It's too late now. At least he can understand. Only now, every time he sees me take a drink, he knows. He frowns but he knows my reasons. Today was a rough day. I take one last big drink before bed. I've been told the risk, but I've done it so many times before.
~
I'm choking.

"Stan? Stan!"

I hear screaming but I can barely find out where it's coming from or what else is happening. Am I dying?
Someone picked me up and I can feel myself being placed on the bathroom floor.

"Throw up. Right now." I hear

I feel around for the toilet and let my body throw up.
Finally I'm done. I'm not feeling to great. My brain is shutting down.

"Are you okay now?"

I can't answer. I can't control my body anymore. I collapse into someone's arms.

"Mom! Dad! Please come help!"

"No, Kyle you promised me." I can barely get the words out before I'm unconscious.