Drew

.1.

Hey, before we start, if you haven't read Owen and Mina you should go do that at least. But really I'd suggest reading Owen then Mina then Home then Safe then Drew.

Also, I always say I don't normally do this but now I've done it a couple times so I guess I do this now.

***TRIGGER WARNING***

This story deals with suicidal thoughts, tendencies and actions.

And now we get to start! Thanks for reading.

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Everything looks the same. But it feels foreign.

Maybe because it never was home. It's always been a house.

"Julia!" I yell, too lazy to go looking for her. "Julia!"

I stretch my arms over my head, my spine cracking from the hours spent driving in my car to get here.

"Drew?!" I hear footsteps pounding through the house above me. "What're you doing here?"

She nearly flips herself over the wrought iron bannister, neon green hair flying wildly about.

"Wasn't your hair purple?" I ask, craning my neck up to see her.

"Like a couple months ago, I was platinum before this." She informs me.

Well shit. That's what I get for deleting all my socials and avoiding this house like the plague it is.

"I know you didn't come back to talk about my hair so why're you here?"

Nothing's changed. Julia is still rude.

I shrug my shoulders because I don't really have a good answer. Not an acceptable one at least.

"Mom and dad know?"

"No."

She nods her head, bright blue claws tapping along the railing.

"Well I'm having friends over." She says. "So if you could like not be here, that'd be cool."

"Oh yeah, no." I stammer, not wanting her to realize just how lame I've become. "I'm meeting some people in town."

She smiles. "Perfect."

And just like that she disappears from the banister and the loneliness settles in my bones.

I hate this house.

I'm not even sure why I came back.

Heading to the kitchen, I drop my keys on the countertop, everything glistening because it's never used. My stomach rumbles and I yank open the fridge, staring at the contents. I wonder if Jill still works for my parents. If that's why the fridge is stocked to the brim. She always kept my favorites when I lived here.

I grab some strange looking container of leftovers, popping the lid and eating it cold. I wouldn't say it's good but I'm long past caring.

Settling back against the counter, I pull my phone out, lighting up the screen even though I know no one's bothering to reach me. The couple of friends I have probably haven't even noticed I'm gone yet. If they do, it won't be until later tonight when I don't show up at the bar to buy their drinks. I toss my phone on the counter.

Fucking freeloaders.

But at least it's company. Sort of.

I discard the empty contents of whatever I just ate in the sink, washing it down with a bottle of vodka I pluck from the liquor cabinet on my walk through the house.

Memories of my high school days fill my mind, trashing this house having parties, my parents crew of people always cleaning up after me. I loved those nights when the house was so full of people it was bursting at the seams. When everyone knew my name and anyone would kill themselves for my attention. I almost didn't feel alone.

But like all good things, eventually I fuck them up.

I open my throat, letting as much of the vodka run down it as I can, meandering my way through the living room, past the pool table that replaced the pool table I used to line up shots on. My body stops on its own accord when I reach the pool doors.

I take another long drink from the bottle, letting it rest against my leg before I push through the doors to the smell of chlorine. It burns my eyes and nostrils, so strong I'm not sure if I just drank vodka or straight pool chemicals.

This stupid pool, that everyone loved. I never got it. Why a pool? Why in the house? Because my parents could, that's why. I still don't think they've ever used it.

It looks like a stupid resort pool with its matching loungers and perfectly folded white towels piled neatly against the wall and the red lifeguard buoy, not that there's a lifeguard. This whole place just irritates me and I take another drink walking to the edge of the pool.

My reflection ripples up at me. A pathetic excuse of a person, with hollow eyes and a shriveled up raisin where I think my heart used to live. It's hard to say.

"Fuck you." I tell the person staring back at me. "You fuck everything up."

But they just say the words right back, mocking me.

I swallow down more vodka, the beginnings of warmth trickling through my extremities. Why did I come back to this place? What did I think I'd find here? I should have known.

Taking one last drink from the bottle I discard it on the edge of the pool, half full, before I plunge into the water fully clothed.

                             ————————

Thanks for the cover art Rensk3N !

Now that we've seen Drew from three different people's perspectives, we get to hear directly from the source. Thoughts and feelings?