Suffocation.

When Graham and I got back to the hotel, we ended up back in my room with the twelve pack of beer and pizza that we had picked up on the way home. We agreed that we would spend the night watching bad Lifetime movies, and criticizing their horrible acting.

I slipped into the bathroom and changed out of Daphne's cashmere cardigan and out of my jeans to put on the blue plaid pajamas that were still lying on the bathroom floor from this morning. Graham had taken off his old tennis shoes and was putting the beer into the fridge with a slice of pizza in his hand when I opened the door.

On the small little table that sat by the window that out looked parts of the city, is two beers along with the open pizza with one piece already missing.

I made my way to one of the two chairs at the table. I had gotten good at not putting too much weight on my bad leg while walking short distances, but I wasn't going to lie, I missed my higher dose to pain medication.

Graham twists the lid off my beer then his own. "Cheers," Graham smiled.

"What are we cheering on?" I ask, clinking our bottles together before pressing it up against my lips. I cringed as the liquid went down my throat, I've never been a beer person, but I've never really been an alcohol person to begin with.

"To you and how brave you are. I seriously don't know how you are doing it."

"If you knew what I really thought most of the time, you wouldn't be saying that."

Graham takes a large gulp of the amber liquid. "Fake it till you make it right?"

"I'll probably have some big freak out, Chris and Denise will have me committed then maybe I might make it."

Graham smiled but he didn't say anything. I took a bite of the greasy pepperoni pizza then took another swig from the bottle. I follow him, taking a slice of pizza from the box, take a bite, chew and swallow then wash it all down with a warming beer, which is starting to taste a lot like piss water.

In our silence I begin to think about Graham and what I know about him, which turns out isn't much. I know just slightly more than I knew about him when I had my first melt down. His name is Graham Rhodes, he and my step brother are best friends. He lives on the outskirts of town, drives an old pickup truck and is the new gym teacher at my school, but right now he isn't Mr. Rhodes, he's just Graham. He played baseball and is now the baseball coach. Denise doesn't approve of him because of the trouble he and Bobby have gotten into over the years. I know that Graham is selfless and kind and is a good kisser.

I stare into his chocolate brown eyes, they are just shades lighter than is brown hair and the scruff forming on his chin, cheeks, and going down his neck. The five o'clock shadow makes him look older but his goofy, lopsided smile makes him seem like a foolish kid.

"What?" he asked me before putting the last bottle of beer up to his lips and finishing it off.

I shake my head and finish the last of my drink with him. We sat in silence as we ate an entire pizza and drank twelve amber bottles of alcoholic liquids. It didn't seem like hours had pasted but the analog clock said that it did. The moon had replaced the sun without either of us knowing, and the television is now playing infomercials, begging either of us to call within the next sixty seconds so we can receive two Magic Bullets for the price of one.

"It's late," I state, not really saying it to anyone.

"Want me to leave?" Graham asks but he doesn't move from his seat. I shake my head; no I didn't want him to leave. "You tired?" Again I shake my head no. I'm not tired at all. Even though I feel like I haven't slept in decades, I'm sure if I close my eyes I'll hear the man on the police tape, then I'll match his voice with a face of a monster and he'll haunt me and I'll be trapped. No, I want be awake, I want to be with Graham.

I twirl my mom's ring around my ring finger. "Tell me about yourself."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Graham snorts a bit of air out of his nose, finding me funny. I bring my good leg up and wrap my arms around it so I can use my knee as a headrest. Graham leans forward; putting his elbows on his knees and twirls the empty bottle in between his hands.

"Well, my birthday is December fifth, so that makes me a Sagittarius, if you're into the astrological signs and what not. I just turned twenty-five. I'm an only child so I spent a lot of at Bobby's because it gave me the large family I never got. My dad is only home like three days out of the year; he travels a lot and is having an affair with his assistant. My mom just drinks. When I was in high school I experimented with drugs and when your dad found out he threatened to send me to a military school. I quit with everything, but I knew that he couldn't actually send me away. It was just nice to know someone cares. I was accepted into Yale, which surprised a lot of people, but I got kicked out in the first semester, which surprised no one. I went to a community college, decided to get my head out of my ass and get a teaching degree. I flew threw that, the job at the school fell into my lap and I took it. Now I'm here."

I take in what he says. "What were you like in high school? It sounds like you and Bobby were real butt-buddies."

Graham laughs loudly and leans back in his seat. "Some might think that but after Frankie and I broke up, it's been her and Bobby that have been butt-buddies."

"You and Frankie dated?"

"We did more than just date," he laughs.

"Isn't that weird? Bobby is marrying one of your ex-girlfriends."

"Nah, she wasn't a serious relationship."

"Have you had a serious relationship?"

Graham shakes his head no, but it isn't surprising. Something about him screams one night stands and random hook ups. "What about you?"

"Have I been in a serious relationship? I can't say it was too serious but it lasted my entire freshman year and off and on the sophomore year until we called it quits all together."

"What was he like?"

I shrug my shoulders, "He's average."

"Was he a good kisser?" Graham asks suddenly.

I should have been shocked, or a little thrown back by the sudden question but I'm not. Again I shrug my shoulders, "I've kissed better."

"How many people have you kissed?" Graham grins.

"Less than you," I smart. Drinking always brought the cocky-ness out in me, and that is never a good thing.

"Who was the best kisser you've ever kissed?" Graham smile grows wider.

"I don't know, none of the people I've ever kissed stand out, they're all average."

"Liar," he says simply.

"Want to prove me wrong?" I joke.

In a flash Graham sets his beer bottle on the table and his my face in between his hands and our lips mold together for the third time. I wrap my hands around the nape of Graham's neck, my fingers work through his short hair.

Graham wastes no time slipping his tongue into my mouth, fighting with my own for dominance, but I am stubborn and I wasn't going to let him win. Graham moves so his hands go from my face to around my waist and suddenly picks me up, only to sweep the empty bottles and pizza box onto the floor to set me on the table. He grips my sides and pulls me close to him as he slides in between my legs.

Graham drags his lips from mine only to connect them to sensitive flesh, leaving goose bumps as he travels down my neck. I drop my hands to Graham's waist, to toy with the hem on his shirt. With my fingers I can feel the denim of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers and his hot skin.

One of Graham's hands finds its way into my hair and pulls down so my chin tilts to the ceiling and gives him an easier access to the rest of my neck. I give an animalistic moan as Graham bites lightly on my inflamed flesh. He bites harder, I'm sure hard enough to leave a mark, and I give a satisfying sigh, almost begging him to go further, but he doesn't.

Graham pulls his faces only inches from my own and for a minute I thought we were going to kiss again but we don't. "Was that average?" he asked.

"I'll tell you in a minute," I say as I crash our lips together, kissing him hot and hungrily.

Graham gives a laugh between our powerful kisses. It's like we're both trying to prove something, but I don't know what I'm trying to prove. Graham's hands slip underneath my thin tank top and his fingers work their way up and down and to the side until he finds the fresh scar that was made from the doctors to insert the tube to go into my small intestine. He stops suddenly kissing me suddenly and pulls away to lift my tank top until it reaches my bust line. I watch a he traces the small scar with his fingers.

"Is this where the bullet went in?" he murmurs.

I shake my head no even though he is still looking at the scar. "No, that's where the colostomy bag was," I laugh lightly.

He touches the longer scar beside it, the one that runs up to my belly button. "What's this one?"

"They had to open my up to cut my intestines and clamp part of it off, so the waste goes into the bag. It's really gross."

"I think it's kind of cool. Can I see the rest of the scars?"

I took it that our heated make out session was officially over; the mood was ruined by the talk to colostomy. I point at my collarbone; the scar is barely noticeable in the dark so Graham goes to turn on the lights. The scar in the front is small almost symmetrical. I wait until Graham is finished running his finger over it before scooting off the table and turning around. I gather all my red hair to the side and allow Graham to see the exit hole. It's jagged and big, and unsightly.

"I don't know how it missed my scapula but it did. Broke my collarbone clean through, it didn't shatter which was good and the bullet only got some of the muscle, the doctor said it was a good shot for me but bad for him."

I turn back around and without thinking I pull my tank top all the way off, Graham is taken back at first but I show him the sight where the second bullet hit, just below the bridge of my bra and a little to the right.

"This one did some damage, broke a lot of ribs and collapsed my right lung. The doctor said that if it was on my left side it would have been the kill shot."

"You're lucky," he says as he brushes his fingers against my skin.

I turn again to show him the scar that was left by the doctors that had to fix my lung and fish out the bullet. They never got the bullet; it is still implanted in its final resting spot in my diaphragm. The doctor said that I would live. His fingers brush up against this scar as well, leaving small goose bumps in its wake.

I pull my pajama leg up until it's bunched up around my hip to show Graham my final scar. "The bullet completely shattered my femur so they had to go in and pet a steel rod inside my bone then secure it by drilling holes and putting pins in."

"Did it hurt?" he asks, bending on his knees to see the scar up close.

"Afterwards it did, it hurt like hell. Still hurts. Sometimes I wonder if the pain is worth it."

"It's worth it, Lennon."

I shrug my shoulders. "Sometimes I think that it would have been easier if I died."

"How would it be easier? Toby already lost his mom; he didn't need to lose you as well."

"If I died, he wouldn't have anything to remind him of the life he had. He's still young and he can grow up to fit in with Chris and Denise and the rest of them, like he actually belongs."

"You don't think you belong?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm not Daphne; I'm not smart or as well rounded as she is. I'm not obedient like Melanie. I'm not even like Bobby. Everyone is being nice to me know but when is that going to stop. When are they going to realize that they actually hate who I am and there isn't any hope? I'll be the literal red headed step child."

"No one expects you to be like Daphne, or Melanie, or Bobby. They expect you to be Lennon."

"What if that's not what they want?"

"It's what I want."

I let my pant leg fall as I wrap my arms around Graham's torso. He runs his fingertips up and down my spine, and for a while we stand there, comforting each other. Or him comforting me. Either way, it's nice. It's nice to know that no matter what happens and I end up shunned, I'll be wanted by someone.