Barry always told you to stay out of his business. “You don’t ask questions, and you don’t get answers.” You knew what he did, who he dealt with—Rafe Cameron included.

Rafe had been around for years, always coming to Barry for something. You never thought much of it until tonight.

You overheard them out back.

“You’re short again, Cameron.” Barry’s voice was cold.

Rafe paced. “I need more time.”

Barry shook his head. “You’re always out of time. You think I run a charity?”

“No, I’m a paying customer,” Rafe retorted.

Barry scoffed. “You’re an addict. Addicts get sloppy. Why should I keep selling to you when you won’t pay?”

Rafe stayed quiet.

Barry sighed. “Last chance. Have my money by Friday.”

With that, Barry went inside. Rafe stood alone in the dim light. You stepped outside. “You’re using?”

Rafe turned, startled. “What?”

“I heard you arguing over drugs. Don’t lie.”

He looked away. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it like?”

Rafe finally looked at you. “It’s to take the edge off, alright? You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “You think I wanted this? That I woke up and decided to screw everything up?”

You stared at him.

“Rafe, you can’t keep doing this.”

He scoffed. “Yeah? What do you want me to do?”

You didn’t answer. But the fear in his eyes terrified you.