The things we don't say and tell are the voices we hear in our dreams. Burrowed screams under pillowcases and the echos that follow in our silent cries. The bullshit nobody talks about and likes to sugarcoat is the first layer of glass being shattered from a vase. Nobody likes to talk about their issues. Nobody likes to share with people their trauma. That's how Andrew was...
He was a quiet soul with a dagger stuck in his back. Everywhere he walked, even alone, a knife always seemed to follow him. And quicker and quicker he walked, the knife would soon catch him. I guess that's what you could say about drugs, and what they did to him.
When Andrew was in elementary school he loved the way girls dressed, in cute little pink dresses with white stockings. He hated wearing suits and ties. Andrew still wore the dress pants and shoes though, however, underneath was the silhouette of whoever wanted to be. Without even realizing it at first, people at school started to catch on about his closeted homosexuality. He hated himself for it and wished he would be normal. Although, the boys who pass around footballs and change in locker rooms with their dicks out are the same ones who wish they could express who they really were. Andrew was a "faggot"
They would call him.
Andrew didn't actually realize he was gay until he and his best friend at age fourteen decided to take swimming lessons. He looked at his friend like he shouldn't. Also, Andrew was going through puberty so he was horny, like all the time.
Anyways, he stopped caring at one point and decided he would keep it a secret for the rest of his life while having clandestine sexual intercourses for his dope. And soon enough that's what Andrew loved. It's the feeling he's been looking for his whole life. A time where he feels still and the world around him feels silent, and all the bottled up emotions and anger would slip out beneath his fingertips. The knife that followed him along the never-ending road.
Andrews has been hurt before, so when there's one knife in your back. There's sure as hell gonna be another one. And another one, and another one. Until your back is covered with them. And when you finally take them out, there's obviously deep wounds and scars and the only way to fix them is medicine. Mentally or physically, Andrew never liked himself as much as he did when his high caught on. After weed didn't kick him up like it used to, he moved to psychedelics and narcotics. I understand why Andrew was so okay with it because, to be honest, when I first took a line of MDMA I felt confident and amazing, I liked myself and I could actually focus on myself for once. The world stopped and it was kinda just like me there. I looked in the mirror and I only saw my reflections, not the ghosts that haunt me. But, I've seen what drugs do to people and I won't be another family member who gets sucked into this trap.

January 3

It's been a weird two days, me and Ian are good now, I don't necessarily know what to call us though. Andrew just came home from the hospital and my aunt has been trying to get me to open up to her for the past forty-eight hours.

Andrew knocks on my door, "Hey." He says while leaving it ajar to where I can only see his face. I smile at him. He looks at my bed for a couple of minutes and tiptoes in.
"Yo, you got any pills left?" Andrew tugs on my bedsheets while biting his lip.
Looking up at him, I can his eyes welling and his jaw clenched, "I'm sorry. I flushed them." My eyebrows raise.
"Fuck!" Andrew hisses, he turns around in a swift motion and stares at himself in the mirror. His breathing gets heavier and heavier.
Getting up from my bed, I gingerly inch towards him and tap his shoulder, "Is everything alright." I cringe. He turns his gaze onto me for a split second and then paces around the room.
"No. Fuck. Of course not." Andrew's hand firmly moves up his sweaty forehead as he curses in whispers of grunts. He knocks over my jewelry box while he paces back and forth.
"Andrew! What the hell?" I ask running over to pick up all the spilled necklaces and rings.
"What!" Andrew screams, his eyes puffy and his face red, and tears slowly coming out of his eyes.
"What!" He shouts again.
I get up from my knees and inch my hand towards him for comfort but he shoves it away.
"What the fuck did you do! What the fuck did you do!" He shouts and falls to the floor as he cries and screams.
"What the hell is going on up here!" Becky stomps up the stairs. Andrew lays there on my floor sobbing and screaming. Becky bats her eyes at me as if I did something.
"What is going on?" She whispers, her eyes held firm at mine.
"I don't know," I respond knowing full well its withdrawal.
"Get the hell away from me." Andrew shoves Aunt Becky away from him as she goes to reach for his arm. He runs to his room and I follow him there.
Pillows are being thrown along with lamps and his desk is now broken apart from searching frantically for anything he could have. Andrews's eyes look like they've been strained from sunlight. His hair Is a mess and his skin is dry and cracked.
"What did you do!" He cries and looks up at me while sliding down his bed.
"I just need one fucking thing, please!" He throws himself at me. I flinch and run out his door, shutting it behind me and keeping it closed.
"Let me the hell out!" He screams. My hand wrapped around the doorknob as tight as I can hoping to prevent him from opening it.
"Let me fucking out!" He pleads and tugs against the door. My palms are sweaty and at any moment I feel like they could just slip.
Andrew's voice becomes shaky and his cry's become heavier.
"Please." He screeches. My eyes water and biting my bottom lip as hard as possible I tug the door back from Andrew's grip and I hear him fall,
"You bitch!" He screams.
"All I fucking wanted was someone to fucking love me. Is it that goddamn difficult?" He bangs against the door. At this point, all his screams are gone and it's just the silent cry's that just now become audible. Andrew's breath is heavy and he gulps every five seconds.
"Bailey." I hear him whimper behind the door.
"Let me fucking come out." His words come out sharp. Nodding my head as I look up, holding in the tears, I grip onto the doorknob tighter.
"Let me fucking out!" He bangs his fist against the door.
"Fuck you, mom!" He shouts. The pain in his voice is noticeable and that's what breaks my heart. Although I still keep both my hands tightly grasped around the door handle.
In a soft but shaky voice, I say, "I know, Andrew." 
He pounds his fists harder against the door this time and shouts, "Fuck you too! You never cared about me! And you never fucking will!" He shouts and tugs on the opposite door handle.
"You were always concerned about your own shit that you shame me for the things I do! What the hell do you do, Bailey? Huh? What do you do? Do you sit around all day and complain about how hard your life is to your boyfriend! Somebody who actually gives two fucks about you! How the fuck does it feel Bailey, huh? How does it feel!" He cries and suddenly stops tugging on the door handle. All his words were like the bullets from the invisible gun he's held for his enemies.
Andrew's fists pound against the door again, "Answer me, Bailey! Answer me!" At this point, I don't even care how many tears come slipping out.
"I fucking hate you." Andrew sobs against the door, he whines and shouts and screams.
I don't let go of the door.
"I love you," I tell him,
"And I'm sorry if it felt like I wasn't there for you Andrew. But I am now and I'm helping you. You'll thank me later when you're not on the side of the road shooting up and becoming some junky." I get louder as I speak and then all of a sudden silence falls between us.
I hold my breath while releasing my grip from the doorknob. I inch it open to see Andrew sitting on the floor with his head down sobbing.

"I love you," I say and walk away.