Disclaimer: I don't own LWD.

A/N: Well, I guess to make up for the short chapter from before, I've supplied you with probably the longest chapter of the story. Hopefully this will make up for the wait. Although I seriously doubt it. Well, anyways, I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 15… Low Lifes

x o x x o derek's p.o.v. o x x o x

"You sure you're on the right bus?" he asked.

Trust me old man, I've already asked myself that question so many times. God, he had to be at least 80 years old. And driving a gray hound. Who is he to criticize my life choices?

"Yeah," I replied. He still eyed me, squinting. I just slapped my ticket on the dashboard, turning and taking lengthy strides down the median of the dark, significantly vacant bus. I felt a few glances graze my cheek and I made sure to keep my eyes on the back, where I planned on dropping all of my stuff and collapsing into a high backed, worn down seat or two. Making big choices like this is exhausting.

Finally, I reached the back of the bus and found three empty seats to my right. Setting my stuff on the window seat, I plopped myself down, only to have my butt come in forceful contact with a metal armrest.

"Shit," I hissed between my teeth, glancing down angrily at the cold metal and rubbing at the impact wound. I glanced around me, and though it was dark, I could see the outline of a person a seat away from me, the only person remotely close by. With a jolt, the bus began to move and I felt myself become catapulted into the seat smack dab in the middle of the back.

I looked over again at the person whose head was now turned toward the window, slightly hunched over, hand most likely secured under his chin. From momentary bursts of light from the lampposts we rushed past, I could tell he had dreadlocks, which probably meant he was black. Which is cool and all, I'm not a racist. I just don't know a lot of black people. And I have some friends who are racist. Believe it or not, Sam's a racist. Just one more thing to add to the pile of evidence proving that Sam could in fact be a bad person…

Well, I guess he noticed me looking at him (more like staring) and he cast a glance over his shoulder. I could barely see his brown eyes through his dark skin and my stomach tumbled involuntarily.

"Where you runnin' too?" His voice was deep and rich, like caramel. And his eyes were now focused on my face.

"I'm not running," I said defensively, once I realized the context of his question. Another person questioning me. I felt another demeaning remark tug at my mind. 'Is it every low life's mission to pass judgment on me tonight?' But he might not be a low life. I mean, look at me, I'm the low life. Calling these people I don't even know low lives just for being curious. "Sorry, it's just… It's just complicated."

"I understand," he said, all sincere. I relaxed a bit at his genuineness and decided to prolong the conversation.

"…What about you?" I asked, hoping I wasn't being too intrusive.

"Oh I'm sure you already know," he chuckled, shifting his head to face the window once more.

My eyebrows must have become one at his words. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"It means that we really aren't all that different," he replied.

The tension came back and I suddenly felt all cold and strange. And this moment seemed frozen and full of importance, as if this one conversation would make all the difference.

Which is just so stupid. One conversation with a complete stranger will change my life? I think not.

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. I was still tired, but my mind was still buzzing.

The silence became too much for me to take and I mumbled, "Well, what's your story?"

He chuckled again. And suddenly I realized how hypocritical I'm being. He asks me one simple question and I practically fly off the handle. Now I'm asking multiple questions and he's mister calm and mysterious. "Let's just say I know what it's like to run away from my problems."

"Excuse me, I'm not running away, I'm doing this for them, for everyone," I said, frustrated with the stranger once again.

"Alright brotha', just calm down, I'm really not here to judge," he said, his eyes completely focused on me, hands gesturing that I relax.

I just rubbed at my eyes with a sigh and continued, "This wasn't how it was supposed to be, this isn't my life." My voice was shaking, my chin jutted out in defiance to forming tears, and I looked away, rubbing at my eyes again.

"Hey, it's not supposed to be anything, just calm down…" he said, his voice soothing and calming, yet having absolutely no effect on my on edgy nerves.

"She's just so stupid! Why the heck did she do this! God, everything is so fucked up!" I wiped away at the one tear that managed to escape, even if it was useless to hide my emotions now.

"Tell me," he said, with eagerness that I found fulfilling. Though I wasn't sure how helpful talking about it would turn out to be.

My hand went to support my forehead and I closed my eyes tight. "My step-sister is bulimic. It's been about a week since she told us. And then, today, in class, she just passed out. And everyone came around us and I just started crying. And –"

I almost told him. This is completely ridiculous, but it makes more sense than anything else right now, so I continue. He is, after all, just a stranger.

"I think I love her."

x o x x o x x o x x o x x o x x o x

x o x x o casey's p.o.v. o x x o x

My knuckles rapped on the stained wood. It was really loud, and I didn't know how much good it would even do to knock, so instead I just turned the knob and stepped across the threshold.

She was sitting on the couch chatting up some guy. Music pulsed around the house; a steady beat surely doing serious damage to my eardrums even after 3 seconds. And before I knew it, Amy had jumped off the couch as if it were on fire and stumbled her way over to me.

"Hey," she screamed. "How great of you to come!" She smiled and her eyes were bright. I don't think she was drunk, but she wasn't what you'd call sober either.

"Yeah. Happy Birthday," I shouted.

This whole situation was kind of unfamiliar. I'd never been to a serious, beer keg, couples making out in every room kind of party. As a freshman at my old school, sure I'd tasted alcohol. But it was just cooking sherry that some guy had found in his mother's cellar.

Amy smiled her bright white smile and gripped my arm, turning and leading me somewhere. "Come on, let's get you a beer!" she yelled, weaving our way through throngs of people. I just tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear with my free hand. My whole body was tense. A headache was forming at the back of my mind. The incessant chatter, the pounding music.

We reached the refreshment table within seconds. I almost didn't notice Amy trying to hand me the flimsy blue plastic cup, which of course, contained beer. I thought back to the spork. This very cup was most likely made from the exact type of material. Flimsy plastic was my poison of choice tonight. Without hesitation, I grabbed the cup and tipped in down. Bottoms up.