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Marty's really going for it now. Tears are streaming down his face while he sobs and sniffs and whines.

I feel sorry for him.

But more than that, I'm in shock.

I was right.

I read him. I called him out. I revealed the truth.

But the truth isn't easy to reconcile.

He was lying all this time.

He never loved me, he never wanted me. All of it was just another performance to him. He wanted Ryan, but Ryan caught on and now I have too.

He's a manipulator. His actions have bordered on sociopathic.

How much of what he showed me was real? Was any of it? Has this all just been one long game for him? Who the fuck even is he? He's not the otter I thought I knew, that's for sure.

He was lying all this time.

And, still, with him crying there like that, his head in his paws, curled up, his whole presence emanating despair...

I feel sorry for him.

Adrian touches my shoulder, I turn to him. His expression is hard to read as full as it is with such mixed emotions. I squeeze his leg and his ears perk up a little.

I turn back to the otter.

"Marty..." I begin, the word feeling heavy on my tongue, my delivery lethargic and stilted. This whole situation has taken so much out of me, I need a damn nap. I need a damn cigarette. "What was the point of all this?" He sniffs and sobs and looks past his paws to see me. His sobs ebb and he takes in a few ragged breaths, but he says nothing. "All the lying and posturing and scheming; could anything possibly have been worth all that?"

"Ryan is," he says, and it's clear he believes it.

"But how could this have been the right way to go about it? Why not be honest and tell him he's the love of your life and that you would do just about anything to be with him?"

"He- he wouldn't have stayed with me, I'm sure of it," his voice cracks and quivers so violently that I doubt he has any confidence in his own words, but it barely matters.

"So he didn't want you then and he doesn't want you now. How did you think any of this was going to help? That- that's fucking crazy! You need to move on, no matter how much it hurts."

He shakes his head and his focus breaks, he retreats back into his paws and continues expelling muffled sobs.

"You created this whole tapestry of lies and illusions and to what end? How was it ever going to result in a happily ever after for you? Were you going to systematically remove every other person from Ryan's romantic radar, from his life, until the end of time?"

He shakes his head again. He mutters the word 'no' over and over under his breath.

"Where did the truth end and the lies begin? I don't know who you are anymore Marty, I don't even know if you care. I don't even know if you fucking like me in the slightest. I liked you, you know? Or at least I thought I did. Now I know better. That person you presented yourself as, the one I grew close to, was just a fucking character."

"It wasn't meant to be like this," he whines in a high-pitch. He's hysterical.

"I can tell. I was meant to be out of the picture. You were meant to end up with Ryan after his attempt at a relationship with me crashed and burned and you had wormed your way back onto his radar. You were playing with his life and emotions like they were nothing. You never cared about me or Adrian at all. The way you acted it's like you never cared about Ryan either. Oh you wanted him, that's for sure, but you didn't care for him. Not really."

"No!"

Suddenly he's leaning forward, paws gripping the arms of his chair.

"Oh?"

"Kale, it's clear you've changed a lot in the past few days. You aren't the same naive, blind wolf I first met, yet you're still seeing only part of the picture. You want to know where the truth ends and the lies begin? You should know by now, it's never that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"It's interwoven. The border between a truth and a lie can be thin, and it can be nonexistent. Sometimes all that separates the two is how you feel when you wake up in the morning."

"You're deflecting," Adrian states, deadpan.

Marty narrows his eyes at him, the fur around them wet and matted.

"I guess I deserved that," he says, all the conviction suddenly absent from his words. "I'm sorry, to both of you. I'm sorry I led you on Kale, but I like you, I really do. I like you a lot. And Adrian, I don't know you so well, but I have so much respect for you. Not least of all for how you're able to be so supportive of Kale when you love him so much and he doesn't love you back. I wish I was as strong as you, I wish I could have simply accepted the way things are with Ryan like you have with Kale. Then none of this would have happened."

Adrian averts his gaze upon hearing Marty's comments. It's clear they sting. My stomach turns. I hate it when he's hurting, and I hate hearing him talked about like that, as though he's some helpless sidekick.

"It's not the same situation at all."

"Oh?"

"Ryan doesn't love you, but I do love Adrian," I squeeze my fox's leg once more. "Just because we aren't a couple doesn't mean that counts for nothing."

Marty exhales and sniffs and shrugs.

"Okay, there are differences. My point was simply that you aren't in love with him."

Adrian's gaze finds its way back to me.

"Well, there's no point talking in circles. What I want to understand is why you still cling to your love for Ryan even now. I told you what he said about you. He knows you're a manipulator. You went out of your way to make his life worse and he knows that too. What the hell do you hope to salvage from this?"

"He wasn't right about everything. Yes I love him, yes I've been manipulative, yes I've been a bastard. But what he thought I might be, what you must be thinking of me, no, It's not like that. I didn't have this all planned out, I was just acting on instinct this whole time and, yeah, you figured out what I was after, but I'm not some master schemer. I'm a fucking idiot."

"Even if I were to believe you, what does that change?"

"It changes the basis of this whole thing. I've acted poorly, fuck it I've acted awfully, but I'm not evil. I'm not rotten. I'll explain it all to Ryan, and when he understands he'll-"

"He'll what? Fall back in love with you?" My questions come with a coat of poison. Marty goes silent and I wonder whether I went too far. He retreats back into his chair and into himself.

I'm not sure how hard I want to push, but Adrian is. He continues where I left off.

"Even if the details were wrong, even if you do care about us and you were acting out of instinct, not premeditated malice, even then Ryan was right about almost everything. When we tell him the truth he's not going to fucking 'understand' Marty, he's going to be horrified." Marty retreats even further, his face falling into his paws. He lets out a new set of sobs. "And, by the way, I still don't believe a fucking word you're saying."

I grit my teeth at Adrian's brutality, but quietly I'm thankful for it. The fox has made up his mind about Marty and he's not holding back on speaking it. I wouldn't have gone as far as he did, but now his words have been said I don't find myself disagreeing with him.

How are we supposed to trust a word Marty says at this point?

My head hurts. I need a smoke. I need to get out of here. I need to sleep. I need fucking something other than this.

"I get it," Marty chokes out through tears, voice strained and unstable. "I'm fucked up, but I'm not the only one. You can't seriously try and tell me that Ryan comes out smelling of roses after all this."

"No, he doesn't. He shouldn't have led you on so long. He shouldn't have used me to spite you in the first place. Both of you should have been more open and clear with your feelings. It's a messy situation. But Ryan came to me and admitted clearly the things he has done and the regrets he has. You, on the other paw, did everything in your power to deceive us." I breathe in deep, the impact of my words and the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on me. "Ryan's no saint, but equivocating what the two of you have done is ridiculous. It's not even close."

Marty focuses on his breathing. His sobs fade to nothing. He wipes his face.

"How can you say that? I lied and used you to get to him. He lied and used you to get to me."

"I'm sure if you strip enough context away you can make any two things with even a shred of similarity sound the same, yeah." Adrian retorts, not even attempting to conceal the disdain that drips from his every word.

"Your fox doesn't like me very much does he?" Marty asks rhetorically, his focus firmly on me. "You know what Ryan admitted to, yeah. You can see the flaws he's shown you, of course. But why do you believe he hasn't kept anything hidden? Did it ever cross your mind that he's still using you right now? He sent you on this little errand to expose me when he clearly could've done this himself. And while I didn't want to before, I'll say it now: what makes you so sure his interest in you was ever genuine? He could easily be doing the same shit I was."

I shake my head.

"What motive would he have?"

"He wants to hurt me. I can see that now. He wants to push me away so far I won't be able to to claw my way back. You would be a safety net for him. He's not cut out for the real world Kale, I'm sure you can see that. If he left me and had to work a full time job and give up acting he'd fucking kill himself. It stands to reason he'd only cut through the net I'm providing if he thought he had somewhere to fall."

"And how would I even qualify as somewhere to fall? I don't have a job and I'm not even his fucking boyfriend."

"With the gambit he set in motion yesterday, you will be. I'm not an option anymore, and it was clear you were smitten with him from the start. As for the job, I'm sure you'll find one soon, and he knows in the interim I'm such a fucking tool that I'll provide for him, even after all of this. Past that, he doesn't need to cling onto you for all too long, you're likely just a stepping stone on his way to making it big in theater or finding another rich queer idiot to beguile with his charms. And let me tell you, there are a lot of closeted, impressionable rich boys out there who would die to give a queen like Ryan everything he wants."

I find myself unable to speak. It feels like my mind is on the verge of splitting.

I've had enough of all this fucking drama. I want a break. I want to stop thinking. I want to stop feeling.

"Don't listen to a fucking word he says Kalie," Adrian snarls. "He's trying to get inside your head. He's a fucking sociopathic liar, we've already proven that."

"Oh Adrian, don't wear your jealousy so plainly. Just because Kale and Ryan are gonna-"

"Don't talk to me like that you little fucking runt, I've had enough of-"

"Little runt? Coming from your scrawny ass? Come on, how was Kale ever gonna love you with a butt that flat?"

"Shut up," I growl, standing, staring knives into the otter. He recedes into the armchair once again. I flick my tail. His curls up into his lap.

"Yeah you lying-"

"You too Adrian," I snap, though in a marginally softer tone. He huffs, flattens his ears, clamps his muzzle and avoids eye-contact. Frustrated, at Marty, clearly, but also at me or, perhaps, himself. I can't quite tell. "Marty, I'll talk to Ryan on my own time, and while I have doubts about your claims, if they happen to be true I'll deal with that when it comes up. However, none of that has anything to do with what you've done. Even on the off chance Ryan is another manipulator, even if your wrongdoings can be equivocated, it doesn't change anything. You've wronged me, you've wronged Adrian, but most of all you've wronged Ryan."

"We're messed up people," he mutters, all the energy he had a matter of seconds ago entirely drained.

"Who? You and Ryan?"

"Yeah. We're so similar, you know? That's part of why I fell for him in the first place. At our worst we grate each other, but when we work it's like nothing else."

"Marty, what are you getting at?"

"I fucked up - I know that - and he has too." He regains a sort of focus suddenly. He looks at me, wide eyed. "I'm sorry Kale, but I'm going to win him back."

"You're sorry? Are you fucking-?" I cut myself off and restart. "Marty, look, you need to realize that's not going to work. Chasing him now will only make things worse and worse until they're totally irreparable."

"No," he shakes his head. "You're wrong."

He wants to believe it.

"Maybe if you do what you can, if you're honest with him, if you give him the space and time he needs, he might be your friend again Marty. But he doesn't want you the way you want him. After this I don't see how you could believe he ever will."

"You don't understand," he gets up suddenly, twists away and paces. "He is everything to me. You're right about one thing: you don't know me. My life was empty. I searched for direction for a long time, and I found it. I found him. I need him."

"Then give him space. Be a friend to him and give him time, if you do that I'm sure he can find it inside himself to be your friend."

"No," he asserts illogically.

He seems on the verge of collapse. It's becoming more and more apparent that Ryan had become Marty's entire world. His wealth comes with a myriad of professional and personal opportunities, but in his head, without Ryan, he has nothing.

"Marty..."

"He'll take me back," he says, his words more pleading than stating.

I pause, take a deep breath, realizing the need to deliver my message with perfect clarity. I need him to snap out of this self-destructive, recursive mind-state that he's locked himself into.

"That's not happening, you've manipulated him and he knows it. Even before all this he was drifting away from you. He wanted to end things with you and he did just that. Things are not going to go back to how they were before."

His posture stiffens, he wraps his arms around himself and he shivers.

"You're wrong, Ryan will-"

"No, Marty. I know you don't want to hear this, but it's the truth." I stand and reach out to put a paw on his shoulder, he flinches and shrugs me off. Never mind. I have to put it plainly. "Ryan doesn't love you and he never will."

Stillness.

Silence.

It's uncanny.

Unnerving.

Marty paces again, putting distance between us. He doesn't look back.

Adrian joins me where I stand and tells me everything I need to know with his expression alone. He's saying Marty's not worth our time. He's saying we should leave.

"He never will?" Marty asks quietly, but there's a fragility to his words and posture that exposes the rhetorical nature of the question.

"After what you've done Marty? No, he never will"

He doesn't turn around but his head bobs and I can tell he's nodding.

He takes another step to the edge of the room then kneels slowly, opening up the bottom drawer of a bureau. He appears to take something out and clutch it to his chest. He breathes in deep and stands tall.

"Then my life is over," he says. There's no emotion in his voice, to him this is a mere statement of fact.

His fixation with Ryan runs deeper than I could have guessed. It's obvious now that he's truly obsessed.

Ryan should stay the hell away from him.

My head hurts. The buzz from the weed is all but gone, but now I'm sort of craving it. Anything to take the edge off. My mind is a fucking whirlwind.

I clear my throat and hesitate before responding. "What are you talking about Marty? I know this isn't what you wanted but-"

"Wait, wait, Kale." Adrian cuts me off, his tone unnerving. He's frantic. "What did he take- what is he holding? Marty, what are you holding?"

"Adrian you're s-"

"You two should leave," Marty says.

The way he's speaks, so blunt and deadpan; the way he's holding himself, so stock still and stiff...

Something is very wrong.

I take a half step toward him but Adrian shoves an arm out in front of me, physically stopping me.

"Kale. Let's go."

"What the hell is going on here?" I ask. It's like I went to the bathroom at the most important part of a movie and have come back to see something I lack the context for. I don't get this at all.

"Kale, he doesn't want us here. Let's go, we're going." He drags me along with him as he moves toward the apartment entrance. He's stressed, clearly. No, well, yes, but more precisely: he's scared.

"Wait, wait," I stand my ground a couple steps away from the door and focus on Marty. "If you want us gone that's fine, but I don't want to just leave like that. This is all so sudden. What's happening?"

"You should go."

That's all he says.

"Come on Kale." Adrian's at the door, clutching the handle, motioning urgently for me to join him.

I take another step toward him, uncertain, then turn back to Marty.

"Wait, Marty, what _are_you holding?"

Silence rings out loud. Adrian tugs at my shoulder. His eyes are wide, his ears alert, his tail bushed up. Fuck, he's even more stressed than I realized.

"Kale." He speaks in a harsh whisper. "He's got a gun."

...

What?

The world seems to freeze.

I replay the moments in my mind where Marty bent down and got something out of that drawer. Something. I couldn't see it. I didn't see it. I didn't know.

What the fuck? What the fuck is he going to use that for?

Idiot.

He said it himself: 'my life is over'.

No no no. No no no no no no no.

Not this.

Not this shit again.

Marty isn't Adrian. From what I can tell Marty isn't even a good person.

But, no, that doesn't fucking matter.

He's young, he's got so much going for him. He has so much to live for.

I'm not just going to fucking leave and let him shove that gun up his muzzle and splatter the walls with his fucking brains.

I'm not going to do that.

I can't

Not after...

"Adrian, I understand you're scared. You should go on and leave without me. I'll be okay."

He's about to protest but Marty gets in ahead of him.

"You won't want to see this Kale, trust me."

Adrian is hyperventilating. He looks at me, then Marty then the door in a trance-like state of utter fear and confusion. Me, Marty, the door. Me, Marty, the door.

"Kale," his voice is strained and breaking. Tears are welling up. "He's got a fucking gun," he speaks in a hissed whisper.

"I know. He doesn't mean to use it on us."

"And watching him blow a hole in his head is so much better? He's fucking crazy Kale." He struggles to keep up his speech, he's breathing so rapidly that he's running himself out of breath. "We don't know what he's capable of."

"I can't let him kill himself."

"Kale-"

"I can't. With what happened to you, and... I-"

"Kale he's-"

"He's not you, he might not even be sane, but he's alive. He has a life. He has feelings. He has a future."

"I'm serious," says Marty. "You should leave right now."

I do my best to ignore him for at least a few more seconds. I don't care that he's fucked up. I don't care that he's holding a gun. I need to talk to Adrian.

"Go Adrian, I'll be okay."

He's doubtful. He's terrified. He's doesn't know what to do.

"I can't just leave you I- I- I fucking love you!"

"What does it take to get people out of your goddamn apartment these days? Do you need to see the damn thing? Yes, I've got a fucking gun."

He turns in place.

Seeing it makes me shudder. He's holding the pistol up in his right paw, twisting it around slowly to give us a good look. It's black and sleek and modern looking, probably expensive. I'm no expert on weapons, but it looks fucking real to me.

Having a firearm out and in-paw so close to me is unnerving, scary. Having it so close to Adrian is fucking terrifying.

Oh god this is too fucking much. Oh god oh god oh god.

I force myself to breathe.

I force myself to think.

I'll take this risk, I'll do what I can to talk Marty down, but Adrian should have no part in this.

"Marty," my mouth feels dry. Talking is difficult. Nothing makes sense. "Please, can I have one minute to talk to Adrian?"

He stops, lowers the gun and shrugs.

"One minute," he says abruptly, then he turns away again.

Adrian's ears are at attention, his eyes are wide, his tail bushy. He's scared as hell.

There's a hint of twisted humor to it, how can he be so scared of death when he wanted to killed himself only a few days ago?

Don't think like that Kale.

"Adrian. I seriously want you to go."

"I can't leave you here Kale. Not with him."

"I'll talk him down."

"You don't know if-"

"I'll try."

"He's unstable. This, all of this, could be another performance. It could be fucking anything."

"Adrian, he isn't going to shoot me, and I won't let him shoot himself either, but you don't need to be here. I don't want you to be here. I want to know you're safe. That's what will help me."

He's quivering, paw clutched tight around the door handle, looking between me and Marty.

"I won't leave you here."

I take his free paw in mine and squeeze it.

"Hey, look at me." He does as I tell him and some of the tension leaves his body immediately. "I fucking love you too, and I'm telling you you should leave."

He swallows hard, then opens his mouth partway. His eyes get lost in mine.

"When you say it like that it makes my head hurt."

"Mine too."

"Kalie?"

I shake my head.

"Go."

I let go of his paw.

There's a moment where I wonder if I've misjudged him, if he'll tell me once again that he has to stay...

Then he nods.

"Text me, call me, stay in touch."

"Of course," I say. I take in a breath. "Just give me some time."

He nods again. "Okay."

"See you soon," I say.

He opens the door, steps out, looks at me, keeps on looking, closes the door.

I know if he's not crying yet he will be soon and it pulls on my heart strings.

"You're still here," Marty observes.

"And I'm not going Marty, not yet."

"So you want to watch me die?"

"No, I want to talk to you."

"I'm sick of talking."

"Please," I take a step toward him. "Hear me ou-"

It happens so fast I don't see the motion. All I see is the black pistol pointed straight at my face.

"Get out."

I can feel my heart thump, I can hear it beat. I can't move. I can't talk. I can't.

He lines up the gun with the middle of my forehead.

Maybe Adrian was right. Maybe Marty's fucking crazy and that's all there is to it. Maybe I should have left while I had the chance.

He takes a step toward me, then another. He's only a couple of paces away now.

"Marty." I breathe the word. It's not a question. It's not a statement. It's not really anything.

He smirks. He fucking smirks.

"You're determined aren't you?" He lets out a dismissive huff. "You can't fucking help me." He moves his arm suddenly. "I may as well be dead already." Before I know it he has the pistol's muzzle pressed against the side of his head. "Maybe I should just do it before you get any more bright ideas."

"No, Marty, stop!" I blurt out the words. He hesitates. I use that moment to come up with something more coherent. "No one person can be worth all this. You can't put all your self worth into how somebody else sees you, even if you love them. You are an individual with a life of your own to live. Sure you've made mistakes, sure your love for Ryan is unrequited, and that hurts. It fucking hurts. It's a constant searing pain and it feels like there's nothing you can to do to change that. I get it. It's plain to see how deeply all of this has cut you, how hard this is for you to live with, but the future isn't yet written Marty, you can shape it. You can live a full life, a better life. You can be happy without Ryan, hell, without anyone. You can find fulfillment and joy somewhere out there, I know you can, and if you'd give yourself some time to think you'd know that too."

He stares at me, silent. I think I see a slight slackness in his arm, but he quickly catches himself and holds the gun as rigidly as ever.

He exhales.

"Kale."

"Yes?"

"Why did you stay?"

"I'm not just going to let you kill yourself like this."

"Why not?"

"What the hell do you mean why not? It would be a tragic, awful waste of life."

"But it has nothing to do with caring about me personally, does it? You don't actually like me."

I open my mouth and hesitate, and in that hesitation I realize there's no point in lying. He already knows the truth.

I shake my head.

"No, I can't say I like you," I admit. His grip tightens on the pistol and I put my paws up. "Wait, please, listen. I don't hate you either Marty. The truth is I have no idea how to feel about you after everything that's gone down today, but there's no fucking way I think you deserve to die."

"Or maybe you're doing this out of pure self-interest."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying maybe the real reason you don't want me to do this is because you're scared walking away from me would affect your psyche, that it could hurt Ryan and, most important of all to you, that it could damage your precious Adrian."

"Of course it would affect us Marty, it might even fuck us up, but that isn't what this is about. This is about you. This is about your life. I care about life Marty, your life absolutely included," I nod at the handgun. "Now, please, would you put the gun down?" He tilts his head just a little and there's a small movement of his paw. For a moment I think he's going to shoot and my stomach lurches, but there's no bang, no blood splatter. He's still standing. "Put it down for just a few minutes at least, let's spend some time together. If you want to talk let's talk, if you want silent contemplation you've got it, but let's do it without the gun pointed at your head, okay?"

He stares at me, and stares, and I don't speak, I wait.

He keeps staring.

I keep thinking I'll hear that bang.

I keep thinking I'll be covered in his blood.

He keeps staring.

And then he stops staring.

And then he loosens his grip and drops his paws to his side.

And then I finally breathe again.

"Okay," he says. He turns slowly, walks to the couch in lazy, almost casual, strides and takes a seat.

After only a few thudding heartbeats of hesitation I join him, careful to leave some space between us as I sit. He's got the gun in his lap and his paws are beside it, but he's no longer holding it. I guess I'll call that progress.

My mind is fucking flooded with a barrage of impulses and emotions, but it all leads to me doing one thing: sitting extremely still.

My head doesn't hurt anymore it fucking aches. I need a painkiller, I need a smoke, I need something to numb this feeling. I need to be done with all this shit.

But those are all thoughts for another time. Right now I don't have options.

An uneasy silence settles on the room and it's one that I'm too terrified to even think of breaking.

Luckily, I don't have to.

Marty starts crying again, except somehow it's different this time.

There's no sobbing, no bawling, just tears and the occasional sniff. He doesn't hide his face in his paws, he wears his pain plainly and in doing so it becomes absolutely transparent how deep that pain runs. He's at the absolute edge of his rope.

For the first time in a long time I take his display at face value with complete sincerity. I'm utterly convinced he feels just as he looks.

The odd thing about sudden sincerity is that it shines a light on his past falsehoods. If this is him crying for real, showing his pain for real, what was he doing before? I'm sure he was hurt before, even to the point of tears, but it feels more and more to me that everything I knew of Marty until this very moment was a facade, an exaggeration or, at the very least, an alternate version of the truth.

Reflexively I put a paw on his shoulder, he looks at me with a brief wide-eyed expression of surprise, then scrunches his eyes shut and lets out a solitary sob. He leans into my touch and before I really know what's happening I have my arms wrapped around him.

I have a hyper-awareness of the gun sitting in his lap, but I do nothing to move it, mortified at the idea of even touching the thing. I've never handled a real gun before, I'm not going to start now.

"I'm a bad person," he whispers in a strained breath.

I squeeze him.

"I don't know if there really is such a thing as a bad person. All we are is the culmination of our actions and experiences and being self aware enough to say what you just said has to be a good sign. You can change. You can be different, make better decisions, avoid hurting people - including yourself - and you can live a good life."

He shifts in my arms, looks up at me, asks: "Do you really believe that?"

I don't hesitate.

"Yes, I do."

"Maybe," he says. "And maybe it's too late for some people to turn things around." I start to respond but he shakes his head, then sits up straight, breaking free from my embrace. "When did you become a philosopher anyway Kale?"

The image of Adrian laying in a pool of his own blood flashes before my eyes. Ever since I saw him like that I can't get it out of my head, at this point I'm convinced it will stay with me for the rest of my life.

"I'm no philosopher," I say. "But I know how hard the simple act of living can be for some people. I know how it can seem like oblivion is better than the agony of existence, but I think that's a tragedy. Life is unique. Life is beautiful. Life is infinite."

"Life is a succession of coincidences and mistakes."

I shake my head.

"It doesn't have to be. You can stop making mistakes, but that's not even the point really. We all make mistakes, we can't avoid that, not entirely. The point is to try. The point is to fail. The point is to try again, and fail again, and try again, and fail again, and never fucking stop trying no matter how how many times we fail because there's always hope, there's always something new to try, or a new way to try it. There's always something."

"What if all that failure leaves some of us damaged beyond repair? What if the weight of failure hurts more than hope could ever account for? What then?"

I clamp my muzzle shut and shift my jaw back and forth.

"Then you need to try something different," I say finally. "Whatever you've been trying clearly isn't working."

"And how should I know what to try?"

I shrug.

"That's the hardest part. You won't know until you try it. All you can do is listen to yourself, listen to others, and keep making your best guess."

He regards me, pauses, then turns his head sharply.

"Sounds like a lot of pseudo-mystical optimistic bullshit to me."

"There's nothing mystical about it," I say. "Think about it logically. There's too much to life - too many options, too many outcomes - for there to be absolutely no way that you could enjoy it. Marty, it's-"

My phone buzzes, breaking my concentration entirely.

"Was that your phone?"

"Uh, yeah. It's only a text, the sudden buzz just threw me off. It'll just be Adrian checking in to see if we're okay."

"To see if you're okay," Marty corrects me. My muzzle twists into an odd expression. Marty ignores it and nods toward my pocket. "It's okay, message him."

I pull out my phone, the cracked screen once again bringing unpleasant memories to the fore of my mind.

Sure enough Adrian's texted asking if I'm safe.

I text him back: I'm fine. He's put the gun down, we're just talking x

It's only seconds until he responds. Twice.

Great x

Then:Keep me updated! X

I frown. This is stressful enough without having to think about Adrian, but of course I understand where he's coming from. I would want to be updated too if I were in his position.

I will :)

Then I put my phone away.

"I wish I didn't invite him," Marty says.

"Adrian? Why?"

He tilts his head and gives me this 'really?' look that makes me feel stupid.

"He doesn't like me at all."

"Marty-"

"By now I'm sure you don't either."

"Marty-"

"Don't start. I don't blame you. I don't deserve friendship, let alone love, with all that I've done."

"Fuck that kind of thinking Marty. You know that's ridiculous. I don't know if anyone 'deserves' anything, but if you keep on living, trying to be a better you, of course you'll get those things. Of course I'll offer my friendship."

"What about Ryan?"

"That's up to how the two of you move forward, but I've already told you I'm sure you could be friends again."

"But like you said, he'll never love me."

I shift my jaw.

"I don't know the future Marty, I'm not psychic, but yeah, he'll never love you."

And then he's crying again.

And then he picks up the gun.

And then my heart stops.

"I'm an arrogant fool for ever thinking this would work. I'm a total cunt for thinking it was on okay thing to do in the fucking first place."

My heart starts again and now it's racing.

"Marty, listen, you don't need that gun."

"You don't get it Kale, I'm such a fucking psycho asshole I-"

I can't take it. I can't take this constant fear and stress and-

"Marty, put the fucking gun down!" I yell.

He goes still. He blinks repeatedly, dumbstruck.

There's a moment, then he slowly turns the gun in his paw, fingers away from the trigger, showing me he's not intending to fire it imminently.

"Kale," he maneuvers the pistol, presses something that must be the release and suddenly the magazine falls out into his free paw. He pulls the sliding section on top of the pistol all the way back and shows it to me from every angle, then he shows me the inside of the magazine. "It's empty." He puts the gun back together then stands and places it on a side-table. "I hate guns. I don't even own any fucking bullets. I only own the damn thing because I thought it might be useful to scare someone off one day." He shakes his head and the life seems to drain from his eyes.

I feel relieved, confused and angry all at once.

Some of the tension leaves my head only to be replaced by tension of an entirely different variety.

"Are you fucking kidding me Marty, I mean what the f-? " I catch myself, run a paw over my head and take in a deep breath. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm an awful manipulative bastard," he says, and once again I don't doubt him. "I'm hurting, I've lost fucking everything. I was in control for so long, I always was until I met Ryan, and then over the last week I thought I had control again. I thought my plan would work, that I'd get rid of you and get back with Ryan, but today I lost everything. I didn't know what to do. I lashed the fuck out. I wanted to scare you both. I wanted to hurt you. I wanted to be alone. I wanted you to leave. It worked on Adrian, but not on you. I keep on underestimating you it seems."

I'm silent for a long time. He stands there, still. An abundance of anguish and disappointment - both self and outwardly directed - paints his face.

"You're not seriously suicidal then?" I ask partly in hope, partly in fear.

"I... I feel like I have nothing left, like I fucked up so bad that I have no future, but," His tail twists tight around his legs and he shakes his head. "No, I'm not seriously suicidal, though maybe I fucking should be."

I sigh, utterly exasperated. I put my head in my paws and let out a deep growl of unresolved frustration.

Then I erupt.

"For fuck's sake Marty! What the fuck are you playing at? A fucking gun? Are you fucking insane?"

I think it again: maybe Adrian was right. Maybe Marty's crazy. Maybe there's no use reasoning with him. Maybe I should get the hell out of here right now and never look back.

I should. I definitely should. I know I should.

My head is fucking killing me. I don't even think I can trust myself anymore. My logic function has ceased operating.

I need to get out of my head. I need to stop fucking thinking.

"I don't know. I don't fucking know. Maybe the gun was some crazed cry for help, I-" He cuts himself off. Absolute, sudden, silence. He turns, steps forward then bangs his head hard against the wall. I shudder. I blink. He groans. He says: "I wish I did have fucking bullets."

He's fucking messed up.

Obviously.

He's all contradictions and irrational actions.

But is he a straight-up psycho? Or is he just another lost soul in this world, in desperate need of help?

I see Adrian lying in that pool of blood.

I think of Eve wishing she was dead for years without ever telling me. She had to live with that alone because I never reached out, because I never really tried to understand her. I was too ignorant, too stupid, too fucking self-centered.

I don't want to be that person any more.

I still haven't moved by the time Marty bangs his head against the wall again.

I know full well I could be making a mistake as I go to him and wrap my arms around him and pull him away from the wall.

I know full well there may be nothing I can do for him.

I know full well he could hurt me.

I know full well all of this could be more psychotic bullshit.

But I do it anyway.

And I don't regret it.

I'd rather be wrong, and have tried, than to stand by and do nothing.

I'd rather be wrong, and have tried, than to be that selfish, clueless person I used to be.

"Marty! Marty. Breathe. Breathe."

He's hyperventilating and physically struggling against my grip.

"Let go of me!"

"Only if you won't hurt yourself."

"Let the fuck go of me!"

"You said you weren't suicidal and then you- oh god, Marty, what the hell is going on?"

He stops moving, he goes limp in my arms. I hold him tight.

Would he have killed himself if I wasn't here?

Would Eve have killed herself if I was never around for her?

Adrian pretty much did kill himself. He would have died if I didn't get to him when I did. He would have fucking died all because I was a terrible friend.

I have to be better.

I need to be.

I start to cry.

Marty does too.

We stay like that for a while, until our tears run their course, and only then does he speak.

"I don't know Kale. I don't have a fucking clue anymore. That's what scares me more than anything."

He tries to break free of my grasp, calmly this time, I let him.

"Please Marty, don't hurt yourself."

"I- I'll try not to."

"I need better than try."

He shuts his muzzle tight and nods slow.

"Okay, okay. I... I just need something to take the edge off," he says, rubbing his temples.

You and me both.

I need to get out of my fucking head.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I need to get my mind off of all this for a minute. I need to feel alright again."

He wants to get high.

I empathize, but...

"Are you sure getting that's a good idea? Getting high might only make things worse."

"Well, it's either that or I go back to hitting my head against something until I can't think anymore."

I'm not sure what to say or do. I feel trapped, helpless. Do I even really have a choice?

Fuck.

"Marty..."

"Kale, I know it sounds bad, but I'm going to go fucking crazy if I don't do something. Look, I'm not exactly a newbie to the whole drug thing, this isn't gonna fuck me up. It'll help me relax and clear my mind."

It feels so wrong to even consider it, but maybe he's right. He knows himself and his highs better than I do, that's for sure.

Then again, letting a person on the edge of a breakdown find solace in drugs...

I want to be better. I want to do right by Marty, but this? It's fucked up.

Maybe I'm a prude. Maybe this will honestly help him.

Maybe.

Do I even have a choice?

Think Kale, think. Except... I can't. There's no thoughts left to think. I'm worn out. I'm beat down. I have no energy. I'm running off residual willpower and my willpower is telling me to keep Marty safe.

I can't exactly let him bash his head against the wall until he knocks himself the fuck out, or worse.

This is fucked up.

At least Adrian is long gone. But what about Ryan? I won't let Marty hurt himself, but part of me is scared he might hurt somebody else. Ryan, specifically. I want Ryan to steer the fuck clear of the otter for the near future. At the bare minimum he should be with me, or somebody else he can trust, whenever he's around Marty.

That said, I feel sorry for Marty. I hope his life will improve. I hope he will improve, but... I can't trust him.

For now I need to work towards the point where he won't turn around and bash his brains in if I walk out that door.

For now, for lack of better options, for lack of many working brain cells, I guess that means enabling his damn drug use.

Fuck.

"Okay Marty, if you really think it will help, and if you let me stay here with you, then you can use something to take the edge off."

Lucky bastard.

What the hell am I even thinking?

Ugh.

"Of course you can stay," he says. "In fact I'm glad you want to. You'll help ground me." He pauses and sways side to side a little. "Acid always make me feel so... different. So much better. It lets me think clearly."

Thinking clearly. Feeling different. Sounds perfect.

"Wait, acid?"

"LSD."

"Yeah, I know what it is, but isn't that stuff intense? Why not just spark up another joint?"

"I'm sad, weed will only make make me more mopey, lethargic and depressed than I already am."

I open my muzzle as if to argue, but no argument materializes.

"I guess I can see that," I admit begrudgingly. "But, acid?

"You've never had it?"

"Uh, well, no."

"Ah," He shrugs. "You're right, it's sort of intense I suppose. It's a psychedelic. It lets you see the world in a unique way. It lets you get out of your head, out of the mire of context, and look at the world from the outside. It lets you make judgments without prejudice." I nod along, I've vaguely heard such things about acid trips before, I've even heard them being likened to transcendental experiences. I've always been curious to try it. "And, well, that's exactly what I need right now. I won't have a massive dose anyway," he searches my eyes for a few moments then tilts his head. "Only a couple of tabs."

I meet his gaze and wonder what's going on inside his head. A couple of tabs. I have no idea if that's a small amount or a fuck load. I'm sure the answer hinges on tolerance to at least some extent though, and given Marty's history his tolerance is bound to be pretty fucking high. I shrug.

"Sure," I say, with only a hint of hesitance. "So it's a psychedelic. You're not gonna start hallucinating or some shit like that are you?"

He lets out the first laugh I've heard in a while and the sound restores some of the hope that had been draining from me. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm not impressionable enough for that, besides, I'm used to it. It enhances your senses, distorts them too, sure, but I won't do any straight-up hallucinating. I know the difference between drug distortions and reality; I'm not new to this and I'm not an unhinged addict either." A dark frown takes over his features. "Though I'm not so sure about that unhinged part anymore."

There's a pit in my stomach. Is this a bad idea?

"You really think this will help you?"

"It has to. Kale, if I don't do something to clear my head I'm gonna fucking explode," he sounds upset and desperate and I get the clear impression once again that if I wasn't here he'd be cracking his head open against the wall right now.

Even if I wanted to I couldn't stop him. This is his home. This is his life. I can advise, but that's about it and I've about run out of advice. I guess all I can do is...

Oh.

That's why there's a pit in my stomach.

That's why this feels so wrong.

I could leave, warn Ryan away and let Marty do what he will to himself. I could try not to think about him. But that would be cowardly and cruel, self-serving and selfish, surely? He needs my help.

To help him though, at least right now, is to trust him.

That's the problem.

Maybe I really should leave. Maybe all the shit he's done means he doesn't deserve the chance I'm giving him. Maybe. Part of me is convinced of it. Another part is convinced doing that would be the same as leaving Adrian to bleed out alone in his bed.

Awful. Unforgivable. Unforgettable in the worst of ways.

But trusting Marty?

It seems so wrong.

It hurts to fucking think.

I don't have the time or energy to ponder endlessly. I need to make a decision.

Do I leave an unstable, semi-suicidal, certainly self-destructive otter adrift without an anchor or do I offer my trust to that very same person?

I close my eyes and see all those cuts running up Adrian's arms. There were so many.

I see all that blood. I thought he was dead.

He almost was.

Whenever I think about walking away from Marty, in my mind's eye I see myself opening that door and seeing Adrian lying there, drenched in his own blood. I see myself walking away, just letting him die.

It's awful.

I never really had a choice.

"Okay," I say. "Sure."

Fuck me.

I want to stop thinking.

I rub my eyes and shake my head. He goes delving into a drawer.

"You sure you're happy to stay through this?" He asks, still rummaging. "It might be pretty boring for you."

"I'm not leaving until I'm convinced you won't hurt yourself."

"Have it your way," he says, pulling out a clear plastic bag. Inside I can only see tin foil. He opens it and from between sheets of foil he gingerly tugs out something that I'm not so sheltered as to mistake for anything other than a sheet of tabs on perforated blotter paper. The sheet is colorful and adorned with pictures of cartoon characters, it probably would have amused me in any other situation.

"I know you told me what it does to you, but what does it feel like? Taking acid, I mean." I ask the question automatically. It's not a decision. I don't make a choice. The words just come out. I just say it.

He looks at me, mouth parted, then closing, then closed, then twisting into a smile.

"You should try it," he says. "You won't be bored if you do."

I only hesitate for a moment before saying: "that's not an answer."

"It's like..." He trails off, stares into space, then finds focus again. "It's like all that bullshit in your mind, those constant nagging voices, those fears and anxieties, those pretensions and facades... they all just fall away. You can look at things, yourself, your entire life, or something else entirely, without self-delusion. You can be honest." It's like he's singing a damn siren song. What I need more than anything right now is to get out of the mess of contradictions and context clogging up my mind. I need clarity. I need space. I need peace. I need exactly what he's selling. "Some people see it as a spiritual experience - opening their third eye and all that jazz - when they take psychedelics and yeah, I get that. I wouldn't phrase it the same way, but the feelings they feel? They're real. How you internalize them all just depends on your perspective, you know?"

I don't know. I want to know. Oh god.

I need a smoke. I need a fucking-

Ugh.

"It's not just this enlightenment stuff, right? You said you don't hallucinate, but...?"

Considering replacing cigarettes with LSD: is that a step up or a step down? Either way it's clearly not a great idea.

I can't think straight. More accurately: I can't think.

"Sure, there are visual elements, physical elements. It can affect different people in different ways. I mean when you're on it you're not fucking sober, obviously, but unless you're super susceptible or you go super fucking hard or you're extremely paranoid, you're not gonna have a bad time, you're not gonna actively hallucinate. Your mind will exaggerate what you're seeing, it might take a real sound and twist it to mean something unreal, but you're not going to imagine up a giant talking pizza or some shit. All the hysteria around drugs like this, it's just that: hysteria. Taking LSD with a fr-" He looks to me and shakes his head. "With someone, is no more dangerous than getting drunk. And, in my opinion, it's way more enjoyable." He stops, runs a paw over his head and finds a half-smile. "You know, talking about this stuff helped put my mind off of Ryan for a couple of minutes, so thanks for that."

"No need to thank me. Sounds like he's on your mind again anyway."

"Yeah, he is, and it's fucking killing me." His muzzle sets back into a frown, then he says: "thank you Kale, for staying. I needed somebody to knock some sense back into me. I mean, I still need that, but I feel like this has been a good start." Our eyes meet and for just a second I feel like I made the right choice staying here, trusting him. I feel like everything might turn out just fine after all. Everybody makes mistakes, everybody deserves a second chance. Maybe not a third or fifth or whatever, but fuck if I know. "So, do you want to try acid with me?"

I want to, fuck I want to, but: "no. I can't."

"And why can't you exactly?"

"I'm here to support you Marty, not to get high."

"Taking a tab would be supporting me. I'd feel a lot better if we were tripping together than if you were just sat there, sober. It could be a sort of bonding experience. Besides, there's no way I'm gonna try and hurt myself while I'm tripping if that's what's worrying you. I'm more likely to try and find the key to the universe and all that good shit." He hazards a smile. "And if you join in we'll have that connection. I'm not going to force you, obviously. I mean if you don't want to, don't do it."

"It's not that I don't want to, I just..."

"I'm sure you'd enjoy it Kale, and if I could help spread a little joy after all the shit I've put you through that would make me feel at least a tiny bit better." His gaze drops to the floor. "Sorry, I'll shut up now."

My mind has been microwaved, beat up and set on fire over and over again today, all that's left is a maelstrom of charred debris. Escaping that sounds incredible.

I want to, so fucking badly.

He even makes it sound safe, reasonable. Kind.

He wants to get out of his head, so do I, and he wants to help me do that. He says he isn't going to hurt himself while high either, so what do I have to lose?

It's scary though, isn't it? Trusting Marty like this?

Of course it is.

But I'm only still here because I've decided to trust him. Whether that was the right decision or not, it's the one I made. If I wasn't going to trust him I should have left, I could leave right now, but I didn't and I'm not going to.

With that considered the decision stops being about trust and becomes about desire.

Thankfully, my desires are clear.

"Fuck it. Okay. I'll give it a go." I say, shrugging. Marty's face lights up. One of the myriad voices fighting for attention inside my head asks me what the hell I think I'm doing? Another tells that voice to calm the fuck down. Marty grins. "Just a small dose though."

"Of course," Marty nods. "I'll just give you one tab, and have two for myself."

"Sure," I say, a distinct surge of anticipation rising through me. I pull out my phone. "I'm just gonna text Adrian and let him know I'll be here for a while."

"Yeah, I mean the effects of this will last a good few hours," Marty says as he very carefully, and with minimum paw-to-paper contact, tears off a strip of three tabs. "But you can leave whenever you want, of course."

I'll likely be here until late at this point. I text Adrian to say that things are improving, that neither Marty or I am in any danger, but that I'll be here for a while longer to help calm him down and make sure he won't hurt himself as soon as I leave. I don't tell him about the acid, it would only make him worry.

He responds quickly, as I knew he would, acknowledging what I've said and saying he'll come back if I need him, that he feels bad for leaving in the first place.

I assure him it's fine, that I'm glad he's safe and that I'll call him when I leave.

He responds with a smiley face and a love heart.

Marty tears a tab off for me and passes it over as I put my phone away.

I take it gingerly between my fingertips.

"So I just put this on my tongue right?"

"Almost right. Put it under your tongue and just sort of leave it there. It won't kick in for a few minutes anyway."

I nod. He offers a demonstration by putting his own hit under his tongue. I lift my tab, then hesitate.

"I know you don't want to think about this right now, but when are you expecting Ryan to get back?"

He winces at the sound of the husky's name as he repacks and seals the acid. He doesn't say a word until his drugs are safely back in the drawer where they belong.

"In about three hours." He sniffs, looks down, then looks right at me. "Though I'm guessing he won't be coming here at all."

My muzzle opens instinctively. Then I close it.

My head hasn't stopped aching.

I open up again, put the tab under my tongue, and shut it. It tastes like nothing, like paper. I was expecting it to taste, well, acidic.

"You thought I was going to warn him away?"

"Yes," he says, plainly. "And I thought that would be the case whether I got high or not. Was I wrong?"

"I, uh," I stumble on my words.

"Of course I wasn't."

"No, I guess you weren't."

"I'm not angry," he says.

He's not angry. He's sad.

I don't say anything straight away.

He returns to the sofa for more comfortable lounging.

I pull out my phone and write to Ryan. I should definitely get this out of the way before the high hits. Fuck, I should've done it before I put the tab in my mouth, but my mind is so fried and I'm so damn worn out by now that I can't even find the strength to scald myself for the misstep.

Y_ou were right about Marty. Now he knows we know about him. He's not dealing with it so well. I'm staying with him to work things through and keep him calm, but you should stay out for the night. I'll meet you tomorrow and we can decide how to move forward. I'll go with you to see Marty if you want to confront him or collect your stuff or whatever, but today isn't the right day. Stay strong <3_

I read over the text a few times in hesitation. I suppose it's about as good as I can offer. I send it.

I join Marty on the sofa.

"I'm guessing that wasn't Adrian you were texting."

"It was Ryan."

He nods, sighs, sniffs, rubs his eyes. He's in a bad way and he's not trying to hide it. I hope the trip will help him. Fuck it, my head is flooded with a million doubts and fears, I hope the trip will help me too.

I hope I'm doing the right thing.

I hope this isn't some huge mistake.

"I wanted to ask you something Kale."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Is Adrian doing okay?" I freeze, saying nothing. "It's probably because of all the drama, but he was acting real different today than when I last saw him. And I heard he was all bandaged up the other day."

That one little razor blade.

"He was."

"What happened?"

All that blood.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He tenses up.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course. I shouldn't pry."

A silence blossoms and blooms between us over the course of a few minutes while a question of my own manifests and starts to scrape at the corners of my mind.

I can't keep it inside.

"Marty?"

"Yeah?"

"When I came over on the weekend, Adrian called me, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"And I didn't answer, and I gave you the phone and you placed it on the side table."

He hesitates before answering.

"Yeah, I remember."

"When I left, I didn't take my phone. I could swear I looked around, but I didn't see it so I didn't pick it up and I wasn't thinking hard enough about it to realize what I'd done until I was home."

"Yeah."

"Did you hide my phone?"

The moments seem to take minutes.

My phone buzzes. It's a text. It must be Ryan. This isn't the right time.

"I put it in the drawer."

I blink. I breathe in. I breathe out. I blink.

"Why?"

He makes a sound that seems to be the start of a word but he cant get the rest out.

"I'm starting to feel it," he says.

"What?"

"The acid."

This isn't the right time.

"Please, answer my question."

He looks at me, wide eyed and slowly shakes his head.

"Because I thought you might miss it, and if you missed it I thought you'd come back and spend more time with me. Away from Ryan."

I blink. I breathe in. I breathe out. I blink.

I shouldn't have trusted him.

"You fucking wretch." I spit out the words. "You could have killed Adrian."

Something in my psyche clicks back into place, my logic function restarts, and suddenly I can see the awful mistake I've just made in perfect terrifying clarity.

What the fuck was I thinking? Getting high with Marty?

I shouldn't have trusted him.

That's when I notice that the world is wobbling.

Marty's fur is reorganizing itself to form different patterns. Zigzags, waves, little circles...

Oh fuck.

Marty's mouth is open, his eyes wide.

"I would never- I mean how did that even- oh god. I'm sorry!"

"You, you-" I struggle to form a sentence.

"The acid's hitting isn't it?"

He's right, of course.

"I said you...

fuck

he could've

could've-"

I'm crying

"...

Adrian

he could've died!"

Marty stands up. A halo of light surrounds him.

"Easy," he says. "You don't want to have a bad trip."