DC smirked, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror. He swallowed a blue pill, smiling in the process and left the house.
He'd go to his rooftop, leaning on the edge of the rails he tried to jump over millions of times, and laugh.
DC has done many crazy things in his life, talking to Willow was one of them.
He honestly thought she was just a joke, but he didn't know they'd be talking until now. Even though she seems like a good innocent distraction, the knife, pills, and cigarettes always seem to lure him.
He would scroll through his songs just to see sad songs and punk rock. What could he say? Happy songs are too annoying for him.
He felt bad acting like a saint to Willow, despite all the unnoticed crimes he had done. She was the only friend he could keep. And their friendship is living on a walkway of lies. Constant lies.
He doesn't seem to keep any enemies, considering they would buzz around for a moment, but they'd stop in a matter of weeks.
'Cause they have something better to do, that's DC's excuse. Or they'd just plain busy.
Busy being dead seems better than breathing to him anyways.
