"I think I found him…" his friend whispered, staring at the half-open bathroom door in the middle of the hallway. As soon as Jacob reached them, he caught a glimpse of  a body on the floor and a phone vibrating on the tiles.

Jacob ran into the room and shut the door behind him, slamming it. He didn't want them to see.

The sour smell of vomit hit his face like a slap. Evan was lying on the floor, cheek pressed to the tiles, one arm bent in a grotesque unnatural angle. His breathing  came out in  slow rattles. Jacob turned on the tap , hoping the water would drown out any other sound. His own breathing was out of control, and he was terrified he might burst into tears at any moment. He bent down to check on his father closely, shaking him a couple of times.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" Dodger asked from behind the door, their voice tense.

"No," Jacob snapped, panic choking him. He cleaned up what he could with toilet paper and flushed. "No, he... it's just his illness. He blacks out sometimes." Everything was fine.

Dodger didn't insist, remaining silent. They came in shortly after without asking permission. Jacob had the impulse to yell at them to get out, to throw something at them, or...

They just looked at each other.

And without adding any word, they found themselves trying to figure out the best way to lift the man up. Evan was a tall,  heavy man. His shoulders and neck were completely limp and drenched in sweat. Jacob's arms trembled under that familiar, humiliating strain. Jacob held him by the armpits, Dodger by the legs. They didn’t really have enough strength to lift him off the ground, so they simply dragged him down the hallway, step by small step. In the process, Jacob bumped into a piece of furniture behind him, and before he realized it, an empty picture frame fell from somewhere, hitting his father's forehead. The thud scared the cats so much they bolted downstairs.

A drop of blood trickled down his father’s face, and for a moment he mumbled something, but didn't wake up.

Dodger hissed nervously through clenched teeth. Sighing, Jacob went to dig through a box labeled "bathroom" with black marker, while Dodger dabbed the wound with toilet paper grabbed nearby. He found a pack of band-aids and placed two over the small cut to form an X. 

Dodger's light eyes were searching his. "He'll be fine," Jacob said, escaping that pitying gaze. He felt deeply embarrassed.

Then a noise at the front door made them jump. They looked at each other, eyes wide.

Kathleen.

Before they could react, from the entryway overlooking the stairs, the young girl spotted Dodger. She took off her earbuds, as if to help her process the scene better. They exchanged a greeting, then she raised an eyebrow when Jacob appeared at the top of the stairs. "Wait, don't - don't take off your shoes. Since you're still dressed, could you throw away some boxes in the paper bins outside?"

Kathleen looked around, sighing. She petted Ginger, who was rubbing against her ankle boots. "Which boxes?"

Jacob flew into his room, bumping his shoulder against the doorframe. A chaotic noise followed, which Jacob tried to conceal by coughing. He came back with two empty cardboard boxes, letting them roll down the stairs.

"These ones. Thanks."

Kathleen stared at him for two seconds, then looked at Dodger, and back at Jacob. She was fourteen, with dark circles under her eyes covered with concealer and short bangs cut with kitchen scissors.

Both Jacob and his friend put on a forced smile, knees trembling from the effort of trying to look normal. Kathleen rolled her eyes and left the house, huffing, dragging those boxes half her size behind her.

As soon as the door shut with a thud sound, the two hurried to lift Evan and carry him to bed with one last big effort. Jacob struggled to slip off the sweater his dad was wearing, as it was stained with vomit and sweat, feeling his throat burning as he tried not to cry. I hate you, he thought, and felt guilty almost as if he had spoken it aloud.

He threw the clothes into the washing machine, along with the bathroom mat and towel, and rushed to tidy up and clean the floor and toilet as best he could. It wasn't the first time he had to clean up his father's mess, but he couldn't - and didn't want to - get used to it.

Without needing to be asked, Dodger quietly closed the door of Evan’s room and went to wait for Jacob in his bedroom.

Jacob turned the tap on and let cold water run over his hands, scrubbing until his skin turned red. Watching the soap slide down the drain, he held back a sob. He covered his mouth with one hand, tears falling on his fingers.

He inhaled sharply through his nose and stared at his reflection.

For no reason, Asa Raven's eyes returned to his thoughts. He was sizing you up, Dodger had said.

Jacob turned off the water, wiped away his tears, and dried his hands on his jeans. He exhaled.

A guy like him had no idea what it meant to live a life like Jacob’s, with a sick father. He wrinkled his nose at the thought that, if he knew about his situation at home, he probably would have never  spoken to him.

And yet... no. He couldn't and shouldn't allow himself to hope someone might like him. He felt too dirty and useless to hope for that. Dirty and terribly useless.

His thoughts returned to his father, lying unconscious in the next room. Every now and then, he could hear him snoring in the silence.

He sighed, brushing away  those glimpses of green eyes, piercings, and freckles on that guy’s face. They didn't matter. Fuck Asa Raven and fuck the party.

When he stepped out, he ran into Kathleen coming up the last few steps. She eyed him up and down, and for a moment Jacob was afraid  he had forgotten something - as if Kathleen could read what had happened right off him.

"Why were you cleaning the bathroom?" she inquired.

"My fault," Dodger interjected, peeking out from Jacob’s bedroom. "I always forget I'm lactose intolerant."

"Ew, gross..." the girl exclaimed. Then she stared at Jacob, suspiciously. "Dad?"

"Asleep." It was 6:30 p.m. on a Friday evening. Please don't ask questions.

Kathleen nodded and shrugged, simply accepting that answer.

"So...  everything alright? Were you with your French tutor?"

"Yeah." She looked down at her feet. She opened her mouth as if to add more, but instead turned and walked down the opposite side of the hallway. She locked herself in her bedroom, comforted by  her earbuds, followed by Ginger and Paprika. He sighed, relieved that she didn't care to investigate further.

When he entered his room - a true mess of cardboard boxes - he found Dodger focused on organizing the bookshelf beside the bed, apparently storing the books by color. Every now and then they paused to read  a back cover.

Jacob closed the door behind him quietly, leaning against it. He slid down to the floor, surrounded by boxes. Among the items he had spilled onto the floor a few minutes earlier, he caught a framed photo of Evan holding his hand at the amusement park. He turned it face down.

Dodger sat cross-legged next to him, leaving some space between them.

"This is why I don't wanna go out. What am I supposed to do, leave her here alone with my dad who can't even stand up and passes out on the toilet during the fucking day?" I wonder how long it’s been since he fainted, he thought.

What if, instead of collapsing on the floor, he had hit his head? What if he got really hurt? What if he...?

Dodger said nothing, shifting uncomfortably. Jacob read in their eyes - which now seemed to avoid his - that there was something they weren't saying. His mood darkened.

"I'm sorry," Jacob added. "I'm so sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" Dodger smiled. "For having to rescue your dad? I have been my mother’s personal nurse for half my teen years."

"And how is she now?" he asked. "If I…may ask."

Dodger nodded. "Oh, fine. Cancer didn’t come back, she's in remission, I think that’s what they call it. As far as I know, anyway. She... doesn't talk to me anymore." They bit their lips, scratching the small ring on their nose.

"I'm… very sorry..." He wanted to ask more, but Dodger didn't seem in the mood to talk about it. Dodger lived with their aunt who, from what Jacob understood, was his mother's twin. But he didn't know much else.

"Just meant to say that... I know it's not easy to see a parent suffer, whatever the cause is."

They both took a deep breath.

"How does he... work? When he's at his job, he never...?" Dodger seemed to struggle to find the right wording.

"Well... somehow, he manages. But he's lost his job a couple of times."

He tried not to ask himself too many questions - Evan's job was a blend of paperwork, phone calls, long shifts late into the night, and an exhaustion that seemed to have aged his face year after year.

In Rainhill, he had found work for a "rehabilitation and social reintegration" organization.

Put more simply, he worked with adults in need.

The irony wasn’t lost on Jacob. It was stuck in the back of his throat like something bitter he couldn't swallow. Because his father "helped people", but hadn't noticed what had been going on in his own house for years now. What he himself was causing.

Jacob kept repeating to himself that it wasn't Evan's fault, in the same patient tone he used to explain to strangers that it was his illness's fault. A chronic illness. A complicated one. Invisible to anyone who didn't deal every day with that struggle making his father forgetful, hazy, sometimes unstable or irritable. Although he managed to be functional outside their home - and Jacob struggled to understand how - certain days were devastating, pointless.

Everything's fine. Sometimes he  passes out. He doesn't do it on purpose.

It was like a script by now.

Dodger studied him for a second, and Jacob had the unpleasant feeling they were carefully choosing their words. He saw them hunch their shoulders.

"You know, Kath won't... exactly be home tonight," Dodger confessed slowly, changing the subject.

Jacob stiffened. "What?" And after two seconds, it hit him. He narrowed his eyes, breathing out. "Are you serious?"

"I thought you knew."

"Why? How long did you know?" he asked aggressively, letting out a nervous laugh.

Dodger pulled out their phone and showed  Jacob the chat with his sister. The messages were from the day before.

Kath: Are you guys coming to the party?

Dodger: I am, but I don't think Jacob will.

Kath:  Figures.

Figures.

Jacob stood up from the floor, reaching for the doorknob, but Dodger pulled him back by his jeans.

"She's fourteen. If you tell her she can't go, first she'll hate you. And then she'll go anyway."

"No way that’s an appropriate party for her."

"All her friends are going, probably. She's trying to fit in at a new place..."

He hated the fact that Dodger was justifying her and didn't understand his reasons. " And... can you blame her for wanting out of this house for a night?"

Dodger seemed to regret asking that question, given the look Jacob gave them.

Oh. 

Jacob decided to ignore that last part because it made him feel so... humiliated.

"All her friends - who?!" He shook his head, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "I didn't know she  hangs out with older people, or people who go to parties -  I’m not familiar with who she hangs out with at all. I didn't even know you two were texting."

"We're not like… texting texting. She just wanted me to convince you to come to the party."

He started pacing back and forth across the room, nearly tripping over the mess he had caused earlier.

"And why on earth would she want me to go?"

"I don't know, maybe she's worried about you never going out."

Jacob burst out laughing.

His world was crashing down; he felt like he was losing his mind. Kathleen. At a party, at night, with twenty year olds and alcohol. The very same day he had found Evan passed out and covered in  puke. If anything happened to her... it would be his fault. His alone. The weight of that responsibility crushed his chest.

Has it already happened? Had she already snuck off  at night without him even knowing?

He didn't want to stop her and tell her she couldn't go, and he was so angry because it shouldn't have been his job  explaining to her  that going to a party meant for adults wasn’t really the brightest idea. It wasn't his job!

"I can't leave her there alone," Jacob whispered, his voice breaking.

Dodger nodded and tried to reassure him: "I'll keep an eye on her, Bod, don't worry."

"No."

He left the room. Making his way through the boxes, he went to knock insistently on Kathleen's door.

She opened it, one earbud in her ear and the other in her hand. She had that telling look on her face -  it would be only a matter of seconds before she told him to go to hell.

"Do you have a ride for tonight?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Is someone driving you to that fucking party?" he pressed.

"My best friend, Tania." He had no fucking i clue who Tania was.

"Tell her you don’t need the ride." Kathleen was already puffing out her chest, ready to snap back, when Jacob cut her off: "We'll drive you there."

"Oh." She ran her fingers through her straight hair, casually.  Even Dodger looked skeptical.

Jacob didn't want to go to the party. He didn't want to go out. The mere thought of being in a crowd terrified him. But the idea that something might happen to his sister was far more distressing.

" Alright I was going to go anyway." Jacob rolled his eyes. Will this phase ever end?

He heard Dodger chuckle softly from across the hallway.

"I wanna be there by 9:00 p.m. And I'm staying over at my friend's house," she demanded. Jacob nodded, forcing himself to accommodate her. "And don't let yourselves  get seen  around me. Losers."

Kathleen gagged, as if the sole thought of being associated with them was enough to make her feel sick.

"Now you’re crossing the line, jerk," he scolded her, turning around. He was already regretting  that choice.

And worst, he couldn't see how Kathleen's expression shifted into a satisfied little smile the moment she turned her back. The girl locked herself back in her room, pulling out her phone. She bit her lower lip and quickly typed out a message.

Kath: Guess who’s joining the party tonight.