You didn't see him much after the night in the dumpster behind Denny's.

Arthur Morgan, your best friend John's older brother, was like a ghost. Sometimes you saw him, most times you didn't. You didn't blame him much, though. That night was hectic and he was the only one forming coherent thoughts.

John had told you a story once. It didn't make sense when you heard it, but now it clicked. He'd said that Arthur would sometimes meet up with some shady folks behind the strip club, maybe a mile down the highway. You realize now that it was far away for a good reason.

So, on your day off, you decided to head down there. I mean, you yourself had your fair share with shady people and shady things. You were somewhat experienced.

So there you sat, watching the sun set as you bought stuff you had never thought you'd see yourself buying. You could hear the bass from inside the club. It shook the concrete around the building, sending waves through your body. Arthur was beside you, eyes red and lips slightly puffy. He had a arm slug over your shoulder, putting most of his weight onto you. His hair was fucked up, strands of it falling near his eyes. In total, Arthur was fucked up.

In John's story, he'd mentioned Arthur went there to blow off steam. He explained briefly why; their father, Dutch, had extremely high expectations for him. So high, that it took a toll on him mentally, and physically. John had told you about the scars, and how Arthur wouldn't come home for days at a time.

Now that you were there with him as he now pulled you back to your car, you understood, having gone through similar situations with past relationships.

Everyone had a way to cope, and Arthur's was sad. A sad sight that you couldn't help but frown at.