Young Writers Society

CHAPTER ONE

Rhys opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling and focusing all of his sleep-laden energy into listening to his dads and his brother talking downstairs.

"Are you sure you and your sister will be okay while we're gone?" Pop didn't bother to keep his voice low, the word 'sister' seeming to ring out across the entire household.

"Brother," Ethan corrected automatically, eliciting a drawn out sigh from his Pop. There was the sound of the kitchen sink running for just a moment before the tap was turned off again.

"Rhys and I will be fine," Ethan said, in the same voice he always used to convince their dads to let him go out to a party or pick up an extra shift at the diner. "You guys go have fun in New Zealand."

"It's not just fun," his Dad reminded him, and Rhys heard the unmistakable sound of Dad's work boots stepping heavily across kitchen tile. "We're actually going to be working too, you know."

"The super gay film directors," Ethan conceded. "I know."

Pop sighed. "Just make sure your sister - "

"Brother," Ethan corrected.

"Brother," Pop's wince was evident in his voice, "stays out of trouble."

Not much noise after that, until with a rush of relief Rhys heard the front door open and close. He climbed out of bed as noiselessly as he could, making his way downstairs.

"About damn time," Ethan shot him a glance as he shuffled into the kitchen, then let out a snort. "Nice PJ's."

Rhys frowned and glanced downward; he was wearing one of Ethan's old shirts and a pair of Nike sweatpants with the legs cuffed, one sock. "Yeah."

"You could have at least said goodbye to them you know," Ethan told him as Rhys got his favorite cereal down from its place on top of the fridge. Rhys moved around him, pulling a bowl down from the cabinet and pouring himself a bowl of Lucky Charms.

"They'll be back in six months anyway," he muttered in reply to his brother. "It's not like they're gonna be gone forever."

"Still."

"Maybe if they tried a little harder on pronouns I'd actually want to be around them," Rhys said dryly, adding milk to his marshmallow concoction and carrying his bowl to the table. He sat down and put his spoon in, swirling the cereal around as he stared at it. He sighed, feeling Ethan staring at him, from the purple bags under his eyes to the green and blue bruise blooming across the back of Rhys' left hand. Rhys flexed the same hand with a slight wince, trying not remember the drunken rage Robbie had been in last night.

"They're trying, Rhys. Nobody's going to be perfect about it right away."

"It's been a year," Rhys said, and what was supposed to come out as a snap just came out exhausted sounding instead. He dropped his spoon, letting it clatter against the edge of his bowl as he buried his face in his hands.

"Rough night?" Ethan asked, leaning with his back against the counter and nursing his glass of water in one hand. "Notice you didn't come in until late."

"What are you, a fuggin' cop?" Rhys mumbled into his hands, swiping them up to push his hair out of his face before finally taking his first bite of his breakfast.

"Just someone concerned about his little brother," Ethan corrected, watching Rhys shovel Lucky Charms into his mouth. Rhys only chewed and swallowed in reply.

"I'm just saying, Rhys, staying out at all hours of the night, on a school night - "

"I'm up in time, aren't I?" Rhys snapped. "Besides, I'm eighteen soon. It's not like I need a curfew," he stood, carrying his unfinished bowl to the garbage can and scraping the remains of his cereal into it. "Or a babysitter, for that matter."

He poured the remaining milk into the sink and set the bowl down on the counter, stomping past Ethan and upstairs to his room to get ready for school.

Roseman High was a block cube, square in perimeter and three stories tall. Normal looking high school, all things considered, but to Rhys the place was nothing more than Hell.

It had been getting more and more unbearable since he came out around Halloween of last year. Before that, he could slip through the crowd unnoticed. Now, however, he couldn't go anywhere without being shoved, called a dyke or tranny, catcalled with vulgarity or grabbed in places he really shouldn't be.

Thankfully he had managed today to get into the building and to his locker without any incident, where he stood now in front of his open locker door and tried to fight his nausea. He was wearing his usual three layers - binder, t-shirt and hoodie - and had even used a packer today, anything to alleviate his overwhelming dysphoria. Still, he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, dissociating so hard it was like his mind was eight blocks away while his prison of flesh wandered Roseman High's halls.

He began to rifle through the books in his locker, his hands shaking hard with need. If he didn't get a hit soon, withdrawals were going to start. Muttering an expletive under his breath, he zipped up his backpack and shouldered it, taking a moment to look himself over in the mirror hanging on the inside of his locker door. He looked more like shit than usual, his lightning grey eyes empty. His jet black hair was tucked away neatly beneath a beanie, the tips of his ears still pink from the chilly October morning. He saw Ethan approaching him from behind via the mirror's reflection and sighed, closing his locker as his brother got closer.

"What were you out doing last night?"

"What?" Rhys replied, unwrapping a granola bar and taking a bite out of it. He avoided his brother's gaze.

"Chad was telling Robbie about how a t-word gave him head for dope last night. Was that you?"

Ethan's eyes bored into Rhys' skull. Rhys shifted from one foot to the other and busied himself with eating his granola bar to avoid replying.

"Dammit Rhys," Ethan muttered, slapping the locker next to him in his frustration so hard Rhys flinched despite himself.

"You can't prove I did anything," Rhys muttered, swallowing. Ethan growled and grabbed him by the arm, ignoring Rhys' protests as he shoved the sleeve of Rhys' hoodie up and pointed at the fresh track mark in the crook of Rhys' elbow.

"Looks like proof right there," Ethan snapped, dropping Rhys' arm. Rhys let it hang at his side, staring at the floor and not saying anything. The overhead bell rang, signaling five minutes until classes started. Ethan sighed.

"We're not done talking about this."

"I have to go," Rhys muttered, stuffing the wrapper in his pocket. The hallway was beginning to come alive with students moving to class. Someone shoved Rhys as they passed, the word 'dyke' tumbling into the space between the two brothers. Ethan growled again and lunged as if to go after the kid, stopped only by Rhys holding his elder brother back with all of his weight.

"Don't, Ethan, don't make a scene."

"They have no right," Ethan muttered, relaxing only slightly and staring down at Rhys. "No right to call you any of those slurs, Rhys."

"I have to get to class," Rhys muttered, pushing past Ethan and making his way down the hall. The bruise on the back of his hand ached.

Even after a year of being out, Rhys still wasn’t used to the stares. He felt as though every eye were on him, watching him pretend to read his book during the twenty minutes of silent reading. Every gaze devouring his appearance, gauging whether or not he passed, whether or not he was worthy of his pronouns. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to make his mind focus on the words in front of him, praying that the last few minutes of silent reading would pass by already. When Mr. Black turned on the overhead lights – they usually spent the twenty minutes of silence reading by fairy lights, one of Rhys' favorite things about Mr. Black’s class – he sighed inwardly in relief, slumping back in his seat as the overhead projector whirred to life.

They were covering Hamlet, one of Rhys' favorites. They were about halfway through it; he tuned it out, having read the book in its entirety about a year ago (right around the time he had decided to come out, actually; the book, in fact, was a huge contributor to that decision. To be, or not to be, in regard to your true self?). He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift away.

“Kaiander,” the voice sounded distant, as though coming from the opposite end of a very long tunnel. “Mr. Kaiander?”

Rhys' eyes snapped open to find Mr. Black staring at him intently. He blinked and sat up straight, clearing his throat.

“Yeah?”

“Class was dismissed a few minutes ago.”

Rhys sat up a little more and looked around; true to Mr. Black’s word, the seats around him were empty, chatter drifting in from the crowded hallway. He must’ve fallen asleep or something. Mr. Black arched an eyebrow at him.

“Oh,” Rhys muttered, his cheeks beginning to burn. “Right. Sorry.”

“Is everything okay, Rhys?” Mr. Black’s olive-brown face was etched with concern, his gaze lingering. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes.

“It’s fine," he managed to mutter, staring at the floor.

“That’s about the fifth time you’ve fallen asleep in class in the last few months, Rhys.” Mr. Black sighed heavily. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Black.”

Mr. Black nodded slowly. Rhys scanned the room. The hallway was mostly empty now, the previous class having been the last one of the day. He swallowed.

“I appreciate the concern, Mr. Black.” His phone chose that opportune moment to ring, and Rhys let out a silent thank you to whatever god might be out there. He fished it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen: it was Ethan. Shit. Rhysstood hurriedly, grabbing for his backpack. “I’ve gotta go. See you later, Mr. Black.”

He rushed out of the room before Mr. Black could stop him, his half-run turning into a sprint down the hallway towards the student parking lot exit. He was panting by the time he yanked open the door of Ethan’s orange Camaro.

“Where the hell have you been?” Ethan frowned as he pulled out of the parking spot.

“Fell asleep in Mr. Black’s again.” Rhys muttered, pulling off the beanie to rake a hand through his hair. “He held me back for a ‘talk’.”

Ethan’s frown deepened. “You fell asleep again?”

Rhys shrugged as they pulled out of the school and into the main road. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Okay, you’ve really got to stop saying that.” Ethan sighed. “You can’t keep falling asleep in class, man. They’ll hold you back.”

“I’ve just been tired lately,” he replied.

Ethan glanced at him. “Still not sleeping well?”

Rhys lit a cigarette from the pack he kept in Ethan’s car and stared out the window.

“You can talk about these things, Rhys.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he snapped. “Just because I can doesn’t mean I fucking want to.”

The two sat in silence for several minutes. Rhys cracked the window to let the smoke out, flicking his ashes.

“Maybe the rest of us want to talk about it,” Ethan said quietly. “This has been hard on us too, you know.”

Rhys snorted. “How? How has it been harder on any of you than it has been on me? I’m the one that has to deal with the dysphoria, with the misgendering, with the hate – “

He suddenly went quiet, feeling as though he had said too much and becoming ashamed of his outburst. Ethan stared at him, until the light turned green and the car behind them honked at them to go.

"You deserve better than to let them walk all over you, Rhys."

Rhys took a draw off his cigarette and exhaled the smoke slowly, staring out of his window as the car began to move again. Ethan sighed deeply, taking a sudden turn left. Rhys turned his head to look at him.

"This isn't the way home."

"You're not going home," Ethan replied. "I'm taking you to a meeting."

"I don't need a meeting," Rhys snapped, sticking his cigarette out of the window and flicking the ashes. "I've got it under control."

"Meeting," Ethan told him. "No argument."

"Ethan - "

"You're sucking dick for drugs Rhys, you don't think that's a fucking problem?" Ethan snapped as they pulled into the church parking lot. "Maybe you can get some Jesus, too. You fucking need it."

"Fuck off," Rhys told him, getting out of the Camaro and slamming the car door shut behind him. He shouldered his backpack and flicked off the Camaro as it pulled away, turning with a huff to slip underneath the church's awning. It was beginning to rain, and the meeting didn't start for another half hour. Rhys lit a cigarette and got out his phone to pass the time.

"Hey.”

Rhys looked up from his phone. A girl, maybe only a year or two older than him, was getting closer. Her hair was dreaded, several of the locs dyed electric blue, and each of the them was decorated with a large bead. She wore combat boots, acid-washed jeans with the knees torn, and a long-sleeved crop top. Her necklace was a wooden circle emblazoned with the trans symbol, making Rhys smile; she was like him, then.

"Can I bum a cigarette? Left mine in the car and don't want to walk back in the rain."

He nodded, pulling a menthol free from the pack in his pocket and handing it to her. She took it and lit it with a grateful nod.

"First time I've seen you here," he noted. Most of the people that came to the church's NA meetings were older addicts, those who got hooked on painkillers or drank too much. This girl was the first person he had seen at a meeting that was even close to his age.

"I'm Leah," she told him, exhaling smoke. "I just moved here about two weeks ago. Haven't seen you around, either."

"I don't come to a lot of meetings," he admitted, inhaling off his cigarette. "I'm Rhys."

They shook hands. Leah joined him in leaning against the church's brick wall as they smoked. Rhys shivered a bit as a cold breeze swept by them, rustling the autumn leaves against the ground as it passed. He was shaking anyway, his entire body trembling with need and desire. It had been twelve hours since he last shot up, and dope-sickness was starting to catch up to him. He swayed a bit. All he had to do was last through this meeting...

He paused. Why in the hell was he staying for this meeting, anyway? He could be scoring right now. With another huff, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it, turning to walk away.

"Your brother's gonna be pissed," Leah said, grabbing his arm to stop him. He blinked at her.

"What?"

"If you go score," she clarified, clearing her throat. "The least you could do is stay through the meeting, man."

"What's it to you?"

"Ethan asked me to look after you."

Rhys let out a hysterical chuckle, re-adjusting his beanie. "Ethan, right. Are you even an addict, then? Or is he just paying you to stick around and keep an eye on me?"

"I'm three years sober," she snapped. "I met your brother last week when he was scoping out local meetings for you. He asked me to keep an eye on you whenever you're around here."

"Great," Rhys muttered, lighting another cigarette. "Another babysitter."

"Don't have to be such a dick about it," Leah muttered, exhaling smoke. "He's just worried about you."

"Whatever."

"You know, some people would kill to have someone like your brother in their corner."

Other people were starting to trickle in, shaking out umbrellas as they came under the awning. A few of them nodded to Leah and Rhys as they walked into the church. Leah put out her cigarette, gesturing for Rhys to follow as she, too, went into the church. With a drawn out sigh, Rhys followed.

Rhys loitered near the table in the back of the church gymnasium, fixing himself a cup of coffee - a splash of cream and seven sugar packets - before sauntering over and slumping into one of the metal chairs in the back. Every meeting he had been to over the past several months - each time forced by Ethan to go - had been the same, with one of the more frequent members chosen to go to the podium and speak as the rest of them listened - or in Rhys' case, tried not to die of boredom. Today, however, he was too distracted to be bored, his mind preoccupied with the anticipation of scoring right after he got out of the church.

Leah took the seat next to him, stirring a coffee of her own as she glanced him up and down. He shifted in his seat under her gaze as more people trickled in, pulling his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it with one hand to stare at just so he had something to do. Leah cleared her throat pointedly. He sighed.

"Yeah?"

"You should pay attention at these things, you know. You might actually learn something."

"Why?" he muttered, keeping his voice low so that only she could hear him. "You and I both know I'm not sober nor planning on being sober any time soon."

"If you listened to these guys, that might change."

"Doubt it," Rhys muttered, but put his phone away anyway and drank some of his coffee. He relished in the way it burned, everything from his lips to his mouth to his throat. He loved when things were so extreme he could feel them.

Everybody finished fixing their coffee and took their seats as the meeting began to start. It began the exact same way every time: Rhys closed his eyes, mouthing silently as the rest of the attendees chanted the Serenity Prayer.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. Just for today."

Rhys kept his eyes closed, drifting into his mind for a bit until the movement of Leah getting up from her chair next to him made his eyes fly open. He took a quick drink of his coffee, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as Leah took the podium.

"Hi, my name is Leah, and I'm an addict."

"Hi Leah," the crowd murmured in return. Leah smiled a bit, cleared her throat against the podium microphone.

“As most of you know, I'm new to this town. I just moved here two weeks ago, but I've been sober for a whopping three years. I've fought tooth and nail to be here, where I am today. And I think I'm ready to move onto the next part of my own journey - being a sponsor for someone else."

The crowd murmured for a moment before settling down again. Leah smiled widely.

"I just wanted to let everyone here know. If anyone's looking for a sponsor, I might be your gal. If not, I just wanted to say that I'm good, and I'm in a good place. Thank you."

The crowd snapped their applause as she stepped away from the podium and rejoined Rhys in the back. Rhys slumped back in his seat, taking another drink of his coffee as she took her seat beside him.

"Sponsoring, huh?"

"In case you change your mind," she grinned at him, taking a drink of her own coffee.

"You'll be the first to know," he promised her dryly, the inside of his skin itching with need. He checked his watch - only thirty minutes left in the meeting. He was dying for a cigarette.

Several elder addicts took the podium, one after the other, all talking about how drugs almost ruined their lives until they picked themselves up by the bootstraps and turned it around for themselves. Rhys let himself tune out after the second one, sipping his coffee absently until the meeting was adjourned and he joined the crowd in standing. He took out his phone, shooting off a text to his brother to tell him that he found a ride and the Camaro wouldn't be needed.

"Where are you going?" Leah asked, following him as he sauntered out of the church. He threw his styrofoam cup into the trashcan by the door on his way out.

"Out of your jurisdiction," he retorted, putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it the second his boot hit pavement. He took off his beanie with his right hand, holding it and the cigarette together as his left hand raked through his hair. He replaced the beanie, put the cigarette to his lips and took a hard draw, walking away from the church and sighing when Leah continued to follow him.

"You're going to go score."

"Not that it's any of your business," Rhys reminded her, pulling his arm out of her grip and walking faster. She only quickened her pace as well, falling into step beside him.

"We're out of the meeting. You don't have to babysit me anymore."

"I promised him I'd look after you."

"I'm seventeen. I don't need looking after."

"You do if you're doing dumb shit like getting high."

Rhys could recognize a fight he wasn't going to win when he saw one and sighed in response, dragging off his cigarette and exhaling the smoke as they turned left. Their feet hit the grass at the edge of the church parking lot, carrying them swiftly across the lawn and into a trail within the woods. They walked together in silence, accompanied only by the sound of their own breathing.

It was fifteen or minutes or so before they hit open land again, striding across the dew-ridden grass until they came upon a lone red pickup truck in the elementary school parking lot. Rhys dropped his cigarette butt onto the asphalt and crushed it with the heel of his boot before walking up to the passenger side window, Leah close behind him.

"Hey," Robbie nodded, taking the fifteen dollars Rhys handed him through the open passenger window in exchange for a baggie of light brown powder and a pencil case. Rhys pocketed the baggie and lit another cigarette.

"I'll see you tonight then, yeah?" Robbie asked, watching Rhys expectantly. Rhys nodded.

"Good. Don't be too fucked up or else you're gonna lose it," and without saying anymore, Robbie started the pickup and pulled away. Rhys turned, walking back to the grass and up the hill until they were at the back of the school. He sat on the ground with his back against the brick wall, opening the pencil case to reveal a kit inside - spoon, needle, cheap rubber tourniquet. Leah took the seat beside him, pointedly looking the other direction. Rhys sighed loudly.

"Are you going to sit there and watch me shoot up, then?"

She said nothing, only glancing at him in response. He sighed again, louder this time.

"Don't risk your sobriety," he muttered, pulling the baggie out of his pocket. "Seriously."

"I can control myself," she assured him, staring at her converse as he poured some of the dope into the warped belly of the spoon and began to melt it with his lighter. Her shoes matched her hair, a startingly electric blue that made her green eyes brighter.

"So," Rhys said, desperate to fill the silence as he prepared his dope for shooting up. "You're uh, trans, right?"

She glanced at him again, a smirk playing on her lips. "Takes one to know one."

"Yeah," he conceded, setting the spoon with the melted heroin down carefully and rolling up his right sleeve. He tied the tourniquet clumsily with his left, tightening it by pulling on the end with his teeth until his arm began to feel tingly. His skin practically wriggled with anticipation, and when he finally slid the needle into his bulging vein, he let out a sharp sigh of relief, tilting his head back against the brick and closing his eyes. His vibrating body finally came to a standstill, the fried electricity of his brain dying down as the heroin overtook him. He opened his eyes slowly, pulling the world back into focus. Everything seemed brighter, more absolute. Leah was watching him.

"What?"

"Just waiting to see if you're going to vomit or something," she replied, her voice soft. "That was a big ass hit."

"I'm fine," he told her, leaning his head back again. He lit another cigarette, dragging off it and exhaling the smoke upwards slowly, watching it disperse. He knew it was too soon to stand - not unless he wanted to fall over - and so he focused on packing away the kit, sealing the baggie and putting it back in his pocket. Leah reached for the cigarette; he handed it over, happy to share. They sat there and smoked together in semi-comfortable silence.

It wasn't too long before Rhys heard the all too familiar rumble of the Camaro. He cursed under his breath quietly, watching the bright orange muscle car pull into the closest parking space. He turned to Leah as Ethan got out and began to approach them.

"Seriously? You texted him?"

"He needed to know," she shrugged as Ethan got closer. He stood above Rhys, arms crossed over his chest. Rhys prepared himself to be shouted at, but Ethan only sighed.

"Come on, Rhys."

He bent over and grabbed Rhys by the arm, pulling his younger brother to his feet and catching him when the latter stumbled. Rhys' mind was too hazy for him to really protest, and instead he allowed himself to be frog-marched to the Camaro. He half-climbed, half-fell ungracefully into the front seat, forcing his unproportionately long limbs to fold before Ethan shut the door for him. The window was cracked, letting Rhys hear the other two's conversation, although it sounded muffled and slow.

"Thanks for texting me," Ethan was saying. Rhys flicked his gaze to the window to examine his older brother, whose arms were once again crossed, a small blush creeping up the back of his neck as he talked to Leah.

"No problem," Leah replied. "I figured it was best if he wasn't just wondering around high off his - "

She paused, seeming to reconsider her words. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah," Rhys watched Ethan blush, if possible, even redder, looking down as he scuffed the ground with the toe of his shoe. "Thanks again."

"Any time."

They stood there for a moment, something unspoken passing between them. Ethan shuffled over to the driver's seat, raising a hand to her.

"See you later, yeah?"

She raised her hand, waving back with a big smile. "Later."

Ethan started the Camaro and pulled forward, taking them out of the school parking lot. He glanced at Rhys as they entered onto a neighborhood street.

"The whole point of the meeting was so that you wouldn't get high."

Rhys stared out of his window, watching the world pass by in a blur. The blurriness was exactly how he was beginning to feel inside. His brain felt like a microwave.

"Answer me, Rhys. Jesus, how much dope did you take?"

"You know I don't do the whole NA thing," Rhys muttered, his voice cold and foreign to his own ears. "You should know by now that it's pointless to make me go. And sending your girlfriend to spy on me? I'm not fucking twelve, Ethan."

"Maybe if you were twelve you wouldn't be shooting up drugs like the ultimate dumbass."

Not the best comeback, but the disappointment and quiet anger in Ethan's voice made Rhys' chest balloon with shame. He pulled his knees to his chest and slumped into his seat, staring resolutely at the dashboard.

"Sorry."

"It's yourself you're destroying, Rhys. I just want you to understand why I'm angry that you do this."

Rhys kept his mouth shut and bit his lip, his mind too muddled with dope to articulate a response. Why did it matter so much to Ethan what Rhys did with his body? It was just transportation. Just a sack of flesh, a car with all the wrong parts.

"Whatever," Rhys muttered eventually, licking at the spot on his lip where he had bit it so hard it bled. The blood was faintly metallic, and he lit a cigarette just to distract himself from the taste. His high was starting to pitch south, and even though he knew he was going to get chewed out later, he was grateful that they rode the rest of the way home in silence.