It should have been Heather's night.

Though nothing formal had ever been decided (for obvious reasons), Michael was doing a pretty good job of evenly splitting up his time between his... companions.

According to him, he'd gone on some sort of blocking spree of all his casual hookups, and no longer spent nights at the bar waiting for lonely college girls to show up.

Which actually worried me.

Because while it meant my competition had significantly narrowed, it also meant he was making his own royally-fucked version of effort at fidelity.

On Saturday Michael took Heather on some dumb hiking thing, while Sarah and I drove out to an apple orchard she'd found and walked around, took pictures, and illegally ate all the apples we could without having to buy a bag.

She was pretty stoked about Halloween in Indiana - hayrides, harvest festivals, Giant Pumpkin contests. I had no idea how to go about telling her that I wanted to spend it with Rhoda, who was texting me non-stop to go out and get a costume for her party.

I hadn't worn a Halloween costume since I was six. I was a robot with a cut-up cardboard box for a helmet.

During the evenings that Michael stayed home, he would make something with the oven Meg's grandma gave him and then force me to eat it as well. I never let him know how much I actually appreciated it, because it was really embarrassing, but my cold little dorm room was starting to feel more and more like home.

Now, he was busy brooding behind his MacBook, and I was trying my very best to make a dent in all the assignments I'd been ignoring. I really wanted him to hurry up and go away already. Then I could hug my pillows pathetically in peace.

I watched him walk back and forth, first to the kitchen, then to the bathroom, then to lean against his desk and swing his car keys around with one hand. "Aren't you leaving?" I snapped finally.

Michael stopped, letting the keyring slip down his finger, and looked at me as if noticing my presence for the first time. "Uh. Yeah."

"You're distracting me."

He made a snuffing noise and got back in bed to unlock his phone. His screen became the only source of light in the room, and I could see him chuckle a little at whatever he was looking at. I dropped my eyes.

"Goodnight," I said, trying to keep my tone smooth.

He gave me a small smile. "Give up on homework?"

I glanced at the stack of books and papers scattered around my feet. "Yeah, I probably should start counting my days here."

I wasn't sure what would happen if I flunked out. I guess I would have to move back in with my dad. Was that even possible? Technically, he no longer had any legal obligation to allow me into his apartment, so maybe I would just be straight-up homeless.

"Well." He moved for a second, then flicked on the light with no warning. "Maybe it would help if you could see."

I glowered up at him, one eye firmly wrinkled closed and the other squinting. "Doesn't matter. I can't do it. It's like, I can concentrate for two seconds and then my brain just shuts off."

"You can always become a ranch hand. My uncle needs ranch hands." He smiled. "Then again I can't picture you doing any job that actually requires work."

My first response was to get indignant, but I didn't exactly disagree with him.

"You could sleep in the loft above the barn. The cows moo a lot, but you get used to it." He looked wistful all of a sudden, as if picturing he was with the cows right now. "It's nice there."

"Don't you worry about them trampling you in the middle of the night?" I asked, hoping to keep him talking.

"They can't climb the ladder," he teased. I forced a smile. "Unless you somehow managed to, like, roll over the edge into the pen."

"They live in a pen?"

"More of a wide enclosure. My uncle has all these progressive-farmer opinions and he doesn't like the idea of locking them in stalls. Only problem is they end up shitting everywhere."

"Sounds-" I started before his phone dinged.

I waited as he reached over and looked down, then started typing something back. I chewed my inner cheek like a dog on a bone until finally turning to my own phone simply to save my dignity. I was greeted with the same text to Rhoda that'd been left on delivered for half an hour. Fuck, I seriously need a life.

"So, why'd you run off to the farm anyway?" I said in a restless inhale.

His gaze alternated between me and his screen. "What do you mean?"

"Like, why did you leave your... rich parents for a bunch of cows and shit-shoveling?"

That made him snicker slightly, which meant I probably wasn't making a total fool of myself. "Uncle Gio was the OG D'Angelo black sheep. Him and my dad were two of seven kids and he was always apart from the rest of them, out being one-with-nature or whatever spiritual crap he does tripping on DMT. The whole family basically thought he was a loser 'cuz he never went to college. Which, by the way: don't listen to that. You're staying in college."

I grinned.

"My brother's more like my dad. At least, in the sense of, he's smart. Thinks with logic, got a mind for business. I could see him running the farm someday." He stopped slowly, a frown glimpsing on his lips again. "Less like him in other aspects."

I said nothing for a long moment. I hated talking about family, especially my family, in fact I most likely hated my family more than anything else - but at least we were talking about something and I wasn't reading any more Orwell and he wasn't balls-deep in Heather.

"But anyway, me and the old man never got along that great," he said. "He was also the most devout member of our church and I'm, well, this." He gestured to himself.

"I've never been in a church," I said, then quickly regretted it. I'd learned my lesson early on about giving up personal information - especially to all those nosy teachers who were already aware my father didn't exactly meet the definition of an upstanding citizen.

By association or something, they never liked me either. Which I thought was stupid, because it wasn't my fault my dad never returned the forms he was supposed to sign and threatened the secretary that called to reschedule some conference he blew off.

He didn't like religious people, said they were stuffy and delusional, though he sure told me I was a sinner enough times. I tried not to think about hell much, because then I'd have to be scared of it, and I'd always had too much already to be scared of.

I didn't even know what sin was, really.

Bad things. Bad, immoral things that would warrant my hell sentence. But what? Disrespecting authority? Deviant thoughts? Bullying losers? Or was it how I acted around Michael - was that the sin?

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" I joked as he pulled on his jacket. "I could- it might... be... fun, um-"

"Not really," he said.

Oh great, now you're just like Meg and a failure at it too. I had to think of something else. Maybe I could just act all sad and he would feel sorry for me and stick around.

"Do you like her better than me?" I asked.

Michael closed his eyes. "Huh? What?"

It would make sense to pick Heather over me. She was the perfect girlfriend. The collective fantasy of every shitty male on the planet. I couldn't hold a candle to her. "What about Meg? Do you like me better than Meg?"

"I'm not doing this."

I bit my lip, then started chewing on it hard. Part of me wanted to state my case, list all the reasons he should be with me instead. But there weren't any. I'd always be screwed up in a way Heather wasn't. I'd always struggle to understand and accept how I felt for him, and as patient as he might be, the rest of the world wasn't. She was someone he could take out and get nods of congratulations for, someone he could show off to his parents and make them proud of. She could be his wife and have his children.

In front of me, Michael's expression morphed into concern, and as I tried to focus again he reached to touch the side of my mouth gently and I jumped.

The side of his finger was bloody.

Panicked, I raised my own hand to my face and pinched my lower lip, feeling a sharp prick as the pad of my thumb touched broken skin. I moved past him in a slow, dazed walk to the bathroom, turning on the light to reveal the edge of my left canine tooth painted red.

I leaned forward and spat the blood into the sink before looking back. "You okay?" he said.

I didn't answer.

He reached to his desk, pulled a single Kleenex from the square box that sat there, and folded it into fourths on his way to the doorway. "Here." I let him place the tissue between my lips, holding it there as the instability in my breathing grew.

"I do it a lot." My voice was muffled.

"Huh?"

"I bite, like, the whole inside of my mouth and stuff." I took the tissue out. "I don't realize when I do it."

"You need to relax," he said. "Stop worrying about shit." I shook my head. "I'm going to Rolph's. Wanna come?"

"I thought-"

Had he not been texting Heather, then? Maybe it was past her bedtime or something. Heather seemed like the kind of person to have a bedtime.

"Yes," I blurted, before I allowed myself the time to think further. Thinking meant doubting, doubting meant being careful, being careful meant missing out. "I want to."

"Hey, you feel alright?" His gaze zoned in to where I was still lightly blotting my lip with the tissue.

"I'm okay," I lied. "Sit down, I wanna ask you something."

He hesitantly sank onto his bed and I sat next to him. I'd been thinking about this for a while, the whole week really, but we hadn't been talking that much and I didn't think I could take being rejected.

"Halloween. What are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Didn't really have plans. I don't know if I'll do much this year."

"So, like, you wouldn't want to go to a party?" I said hesitantly. Michael probably had twenty events to choose from, all with Meg or Chelsea or someone like that. "Like kind of a smaller one?"

"Is that what you're gonna do 'cuz I knew you had that whole party planning thing with your gir-"

"Jus-" I cut him off. "I'm trying to ask... if... you'll go with me."

"Wait, like together, then?" One of his eyebrows arched higher. "Like a date?"

My tongue flicked to the top of my gums. A date, a date, a date, what even qualified as a date? "Maybe," I allowed stiffly.

"Hmm." He smirked fully now and worked his hand through my rigid fingers. "Okay. Will we hold hands?"

"Maybe."

With a smooth tug he pulled me forward, his other hand reaching to my neck to splay across my jaw. I thought he would kiss me, my lips or my cheek, yet he leaned down, turning my face so his mouth touched my ear. "Make up your mind."

"I think I have," I said. "I'm just too scared to say it."

╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮

╰-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╯

Rolph's cartel operated out of his late aunt's abandoned mobile home, which sat a short distance outside of town in an overgrown plot of land that, according to him, his family had owned since 1842.

Apparently they all lived there together, but most nights all the men were out attending parties or trying to make deals for the odd concoctions their boss created.

You see, Mr. Rolph Frederick Richter considered himself to be something of a scientist. He crushed up old pills and mixed them with other pills, he added a pinch of several herbs into a pipe. His favorite customers were young, inexperienced people such as myself, who didn't know what the fuck they were buying or how much they should be paying for it.

Drugs, even Rolph's sketchy version of them, were one of the things Andrea had warned Sarah and me over and over again to look out for when going to college. Drugs fucked up your life.

But he was Michael's best friend, and I really, really liked Michael, so I went along with it.

The two of them greeted each other at the door with their signature bro handshake, which I was careful to memorize the choreography of for when it came time for Rolph to turn to me. "What's up, man?" he said.

I noticed Michael's slight nod of approval. Maybe I could be initiated into the gang.

"Hey, Buck," I said as we passed the mute man standing by the window. He didn't move. "What's he doing?"

"Always need a lookout." Rolph skipped over to a faded, ripped couch pressed against one wall and flung aside a Good Housekeeping magazine that was lying there. "Make yourselves comfortable."

"That's alright," said Michael. "We're not staying long."

I sat down, trying to avoid the cigarette burns everywhere, and squinted at Rolph's choice of reading material.

"What can I do for you tonight?" Rolph asked.

I turned his way and leaned forward. "We wanna get fucked up," I said. I was wearing a black baseball cap that said You're Too Close on backward, thinking it would make me look cool and edgy. Michael said I looked like a gerbil.

"Ignore him, he's not the brightest," he said now.

"Could we actually, though?" I asked, switching my wide eyes between Rolph and Michael.

Rolph licked his lips, sniffing a little. Then his whole face perked up in excitement. "Y'all want some of that ADHD shit? Oh man, I got way too much of that."

"No, no," Michael said before I had the chance to speak. "Nothing weird, just weed."

"Pardon me," said Rolph. "It is quite legitimately medication, my friend."

"I want some," I announced.

"No," Michael snapped. "Don't start messing with shit you need a prescription for, you have no idea how your system's gonna react."

"Shut up, you literally snort coke." I looked at Rolph eagerly.

The man shrugged with one shoulder and curled his fingers loosely in the air. "Who am I to deny the boy his wishes, Mikey?" he asked, clasping his hand over his heart.

He sighed hopelessly.

"I'll go get it," said Rolph.

I tried not to meet Michael's eyes as we waited, because I knew he was mad, and I knew he was staring right at me. I didn't think whatever Rolph gave me would have much of an effect, but the idea of it was fun and maybe thinking I was high would make me feel high.

The old couch creaked a little as he sat next to me, and I turned away. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," I returned slowly, noting both his sudden closeness to me and the presence of that familiar half-smile he always had when he wanted something.

He looked down, touching only his fingertip to the waist of my pants. "Nice sweats."

I chewed on the forever-mutilated pocket of skin inside my cheek. "They're yours."

His brow furrowed, and he seemed to study the material as his hand moved down the shape of my leg. "Yeah?"

"You gave them to me when I lost my jeans," I said, all in one breath, "and I never wore them, I guess 'cuz that's weird, righ-"

I broke off into a light inhale as he squeezed my thigh. "I guess I recognize them." His left hand had gotten underneath me, pinching friskily. "You're right. This is definitely mine." My eyes widened. "I mean, these," he smirked. "The pants."

Buck stood at the window, either completely oblivious to me getting groped three feet from him or completely aware and uncaring.

A door creaked and Rolph appeared, well, the side of his head anyway. "C'mere," he hissed. When I sat still he pointed at me and made a harsh beckoning motion.

I hopped forward, awkwardly disentangling myself from Michael, and made it about one step before I felt his palm connect with my ass.

I froze, glanced at Buck's staunch form, then continued down the long hallway to the room Rolph had stuck his head out of.

"Look-y here," he grinned as I stuffed one hand into the back of my underwear and rubbed.

He was crouched on the floor, his elbow pressed against a thick black box about the height of a nightstand. "What is that thing?" I asked.

"This here is the master safe," he said, then gave the top of it a fond pat. "I keep all the goodies locked up in here."

I narrowed my eyes as he began carefully turning the dial. The safe looked two hundred years old. Like something from old western bank robber movies. Maybe it had been around since the time Rolph's family moved onto the land.

He reached into it, and I watched him remove a plastic baggie of circular white pills. Then another containing a mix, some oblong and multi-colored. The bag he chose for me was full to the seal of small round ones with a slit down the center.

"How many do I get?" I asked, digging my hand into the bag.

Rolph screeched loudly and tore it away.

"What?" I said.

"Your severe ignorance of the time and effort required to collect these amazes me. Here." He handed me two of the small pills. "Take with-" he began as I sucked them into my mouth. "Water."

Michael was still in the living room when we returned, busy getting his weed from one of Rolph's buddies.

I bounced over to him, and Rolph followed, squinting as he observed the way his friend immediately wrapped me under one arm, almost protectively. I just hoped he wasn't planning on slapping my ass in front of the whole group of them.

"You, eh... got somethin' going on with this boy, Mikey?" asked Rolph.

I giggled while Michael said, "Something like that."

"Well goddamn, congratulations," he said, adjusting his cowboy hat. "Thought you'd never be happy again after... erm..."

"After what?" I said.

He wet his lips with his tongue and took a step back, preparing himself, then raised one curved hand like a paw and made a high yowling noise.

"Oh. Kitty."

"Don't get me wrong, she was a nice gal," he told me. "Crazy as an outhouse fly, but nice."

"She wasn't very nice when she decided to slash my tires and carve slurs into my car," Michael said.

"You make too big a fuss," Rolph dismissed. "That's just how lady-folks take their anger out sometimes."

Michael cleared his throat. "Anyway, we really need to get going, but it was, uh... great to stop by..." He looked at me and nodded subtly at the exit.

Before I could even touch the door handle, Buck lurched from the window in a jarring pivot and clutched my forearm, squishing the muscles inside.

"Where you think you're goin'?" Rolph's voice came from behind me, far more menacing now. "Pay up."

I grimaced pointedly at Michael.

He frowned and straightened his posture. "What d'ya say, Rolph?" he implored. "In the name of love?"

"Ain't no such thing, motherfucker."

Michael huffed a sigh and dug into his pocket, pulling out an old-fashioned leather wallet, and held out a twenty-dollar bill.

"Plus tax," said Rolph.

Michael's face was looking paler by the second. "I'm- dude, come on."

"Rolph, you work at Walmart, right?" I asked.

He smiled brightly. "You remembered."

"Do you guys have Halloween costumes?"

"It's Walmart," Rolph said. "Walmart has everything."

"Well, I have to buy a costume for this party I'm going to," I told him. Buck's grasp on me loosened. "Maybe I can go to Walmart and, like, give you a good review or something since you're such a good friend and aren't gonna kill us right now?"

He leaned back, eyes half-closed, considering. "You come to Walmart," he said finally. "My shift is 4 AM to 1 PM. I'll be there. I'll help you find what you need."

I sighed faintly as Buck released me.

"Go," said Rolph. "I'm expectin' you."