My Drug, Intoxicated

Danny's P.O.V.

Somehow I wasn't surprised that this boy found his way back into my life. Divine intervention people would call it. This is the third time it's happened to me.

The first was when I was six years old. That was the year I met Blake Williams. It was such an ordinary name for such an extraordinary boy. We had lived in the same apartment building, just four doors down from each other. My father, an alcoholic, was leaving my mother. She was crying hysterically, practically begging him not to go. He was getting angrier and angrier, and my mom pushed me out the front door, telling me to go next door for a little while, and she'd come get me when everything calmed down. Later, I learned he wasn't even my father.

Mrs. Pokrovsky had been our neighbor since I was born. She was a Russian immigrant, and loved to watch me whenever I needed a place to go. She made the best food. I knocked on her door that day but she never answered. I learned she had had a heart attack that morning and had been taken to the hospital. She died there. Instead, I sat in the hall, crying, until Blake heard me and came out into the hall. He took my hand and led me away. I never looked back.

The second time was when Blake found me in the alley. When I woke up from the coma, the Doctor's told me if I had been out there another hour I would have died from bloodloss.

Now, I was rich, famous, and utterly and completely alone, and here he was, standing in front of me, a drunken, crying, rambling mess.

Divine intervention.

I put my arms around Blake's shoulders, leading him over to the couch. He kept mumbling to himself, "He's dead, he's dead" over and over.

"Blake. Look at me." He kept his face in his hands, so I put my hand under and his chin, and forced his golden tear-stained eyes to look at me. "Look at me Blake, you know who I am. I'm not dead. Okay? I'm not dead." I let go of his chin, and he kept his head up of his own accord. He sighed, no longer crying, and ran his hands through his hair.

"How are you here? I've spent three years of my life, convinced of your death. Knowing you died. Why, how are you here?" I smiled cynically.

"Divine intervention." He snorted.

"Danny. Seriously. You're supposed to be dead. When I last saw you, you were in a coma being taken off of life support. I just, I don't understand." He was looking at me, waiting for an explanation.

"I woke up," I said, offering no further explanation. He looked hurt.

"Conveniently right after I left you. They say you can hear everything going on around you Danny. Why did you wake up after I left? Why did you make me feel like it was my fault? Why didn't you hear me?" I snarled at him.

"Well i'm sorry Blake, maybe I was too fucking busy recovering from the fact that I was almost beaten to death, and the fact that the boy I told that I loved, had rejected me. Same old Blake. Everything has to fucking be about you, now doesn't it?" I stood up, brushing off my clothes. Blake still sat there, looking helpless and pathetic on the couch. "It's funny how the only hope I had left in me when I woke up was that I knew you were out there, somewhere, and maybe someday i'd get to see you again. It's really been nice seeing you again Blake, but I think our time here is expired." I turned around and started to walk toward the door but a small voice interrupted me.

"I love you." I turned around, looking toward Blake, who was now standing up. He smiled at me sardonically. "I know i'm a mess, and i'm usually the one who picks you up off the ground and shakes you off, but I think the roles are a little switched right now. You know, all I could think sitting next to you on that hospital bed, was how much I really did love you, and how stupid of me it really was to push you away." He ran his fingers through his hair, sighing.

"I was a shitty friend. I was a shitty first love. Right now, I'm basically just shitty in general. But I really do love you," he said as he stepped closer towards me. "I know you heard that song I wrote, I saw you on the balcony. Every single word was for you. Do you think you could handle shitty old me, because I don't know what i'd do if you left me again." He was standing directly in front of me, and now it was my turn to avert my eyes. "Danny," he put his hand underneath my chin, as I had done to him earlier. "Do you still love me?"

He stood there, waiting for my answer.

"Blake, I haven't thought about any other guy except you since I was six years old." He smiled. "I don't think I could stop loving you."