“I thought you don’t like to drink?”

Paul questions, watching as you grab the other beer bottle with furrowed eyebrows. You having told him earlier that you didn’t like to drink when you gave him the other bottle of beer. The two of you met, at least 20 minutes ago, on a cliff facing the ocean on the Quileute Rez, in the middle of the night. You were both having an equally bad day, so you wanted alone time. You just didn’t know that your alone time was not actually going to be alone.

“I don’t. But it’s meant to help.”

You says with a shrug, as you fiddle with the bottle. While keeping your gaze out on the dark silky water washing over the jagged edges of broken rocks.

“There are better coping mechanisms.”

the copper skinned boy replies, while he brushes a gentle thumb over his bruised and bloody knuckles. His dark, almost onyx, eyes glancing at you before he looks at the crescent moon resting between flickering stars in the velvety midnight sky.