(A/N: Yeah, so. Sorry for not updating. I could say I've been busy, but really, I just really thought everyone was over this story so I kinda like- Yeah know. So, anyways, just like- I don't know. At least watch the video. it's probably the funniest thing I've seen all week.)

"-His name is Clucky!" Pacifica says. I smile, rather interested in her tales of her pet chicken which, she hopes, is safe in California and not in the bellies of either of her parents. She lights up as the tale continues, not leaving out a single detail. From the shape of it's beak to the hue of it's feathers to the pitch of it's squack. She doesn't seem to shy away either from giving a below average impression of Clucky, flapping her free arm in the air as she does so. Her other arm, snapped tightly around my waist as she holds my staggering body up right, is warm against my bare skin. My shirt, which Pacifica describes as a 'muscle shirt', is still soaked with tears I've yet to wash out.

"Well, enough about my life! Tell me something about you!" She beems at me and, for a moment, my heart is absolutely swelling with sudden appretiation for her. I return her beem as best I can, though the woozie nausia in my gut prevents me from an ear-to-ear grin. I begin to lean more easily against her, allowing a little less space between us. 'It's safe here' I think to myself. And it is. It feels safe here. Safe on this dark street, lit by the yellowed glow of street lamps. Safe for my drunkin mind to wonder, my brain to fuzz up, my goofy smile to last. It feels safe. I feel safe. I feel-

"-Sick." I say out loud before throwing up on the pavement, the sickening shades of muddy drinks and slimmy stomach acid racing over my tounge with a nausiating after-taste. Pacifica gasped in shock and suprise, watching the puke splatter and set on the paved road. It made a disguisting *sloosh* sound, at which I threw up again, this time an inescapible reflex of the nerves, my breath hitched, my shoulders bunched up, my eyes shut as I regurgitated lunch. I let out a drowsy 'ugh...' my right arm draped around Pacifica's neck now, holding me up to keep from falling face-first into my own chunks.

"O-oh God, dude!" She said, looking at the mess I made. Her arm tightened around my waist as the scent of my insides rose to her nose, causing both her and I to wrinkle our noses in disguist. I was disguisted. I was disgusting. And, in a way, it was liberating. I had never drunk, and I never again wanted to drink, but I felt alive. I felt fresher. My stomach no longer ached, but was meerly uneasy. The pain seemed to match perfectly with the feeling on excitement. The clentched muscles in your gut, the constant turning, the rush of not yet feeling the entisapation that was surely to come.

"Oh... My God..." I mustered, my eyes tracing over the scene I had made. "Can we-" I began, only to feel myself tilting back, my head dreamily floating towards the stars as I lose all feeling in my neck-muscles. My body sloshed side-to-side as Pacifica wraps her arms around me in a panic, managing to keep my body up right. "Dude!" She barked. "Let's take a break for a sec." She dragged my body towards the street's curb, setting me down far away from the filthy mess I had made earlier. "Jesus... I'm a real mess, Paz." Pacifica gave out a small 'hmp', bearing a soft smile in return to my statement. "Well, you're much more put together than I am."

"I wish. You've got your whole life together. I don't even have a life." I responded with a playful tone to it, although the truth behind it was painfully close to reality. "I mean, I wish I was allowed to stay out this late. Grunkle Stan's gonna kill me when I get home." Pacifica turned her head, looking at me worridly. I pretended not to see it. She looked disturbingly worried, like I was a child about to fall out of his car seat. Instead, I looked at my shoes, tracing the outlines of their sewing patterns. Every thread, every curve, every delicate detail followed to a "T". I wish I could be like that sometimes. I wish I was perfectly sewn together. I wish I was made of fabric and lacing and spent most of my time under a bed or lying in the closet. Most importantly, I wish someone was looking for me. Always. Someone out there was in constant devistation, thrashing through the room, throwing shit around, trying to find me before the school bus left. Because I was the most important peice. Because no one could go out without me.

But I'm not a shoe. Instead, I'm drunk. Jesus, I'm a real mess. "Hey. You want some gum?" I turned my head just a little bit. Just enough to see Pacifica scrounging around in her pockets, sure she had some with her. "I mean- It's not bubble gum or anything, that stuff's 'too sugary' for my braces or whatever. So, all I have is weird ice-mint whatevers that are kinda nasty." She holds the gum in the palm of her hand sheepishly for a moment. I take it. I look over the foiled rap, mashed up a bit, like it had been in her pocket for ages. The smell was fairly powerful, reaching my nose before I had even unrapped it. I loved that smell. My mother always brought gum like this on her walks, stashing it deep within the corners of her fanny pack, which also consisted of tissues, lip balm, and a couple of coupons.

I put it in my mouth, and it was just as I remembered it: terrible. But, I still used the same rationallity to keep me chewing it: that it was still gum, and I liked gum. I looked at Pacifica, who placed the other piece in her mouth as well, giving off a sour look. "My parents only let me eat this kind of gum. They think other flavors are bad for me 'cuz they have more sugar or whatever." She scowled. I nodded my head in response, letting out an agreeing "Mmmhhh". It felt weird. I wasn't doing anything worth wild. I wasn't egging houses or crashing a party or driving a car on the free way. It wasn't like what I had seen in teenage movies. Yet, I think, this is the closest I've ever gotten to living like teenagers in the movies. Chewing gum on the side walk in the middle of the night, talking about nothing. I feel happy. Like I'd be fine with doing nothing with her, talking about nothing, watching nothing, eating nother. But the shear factor of being by her side, it makes me feel like I'm living on the edge by doing nothing.

And then the police came. It happened so quickly, I couldn't even tell what was going on at first. The headlights were so blinding and the man's deep voice was so assertive. For a moment, I didn't know who was talking and I didn't remember why I wasn't in my room fast asleep at this hour. "Hey kids! What are you doing out so late?" Sheriff blubs barked. Military man. Worked 30 years in "The Core" or whatever. Now, he was a sheriff in some rinky-dink town that no one really cared about. And he was never happy about it. Roomer has it he was kicked out after the alleged accusations about his relationship with his right-hand man, deputy Derrly, were confurmed. And let me just re-state this: He was never happy about it.

"It's TWO in the MORNING, soldier!" The sheriff launched at me, stepping out of the cop car almost instantly. He confrunted me with a huff, bending down to my level so he'd come eye-to-eye with me. "...Dipper?" This must have been surprising to him, since he'd never seen me in this state. Not drunk. Not with random girls. Not drunk. Not out so late. Not drunk. Not drunk. Not drunk. Not drunk. Not Drunk. Not Drunk. Not. Drunk. Not Drnuk. Nto DrNuk. NTo Dnk. No DraKn. Nat Drank. Nough Dranf. No Bebe. Nein Drink. Nok Nrunk. Nah Trank. Golf Rank. Indo Tank. Leavin' Pank. Purple Dank. Leafy sank. Iven Shank. Copper rank. Doggo Bank. Cheeto Lank. Drnotunk. Wow, it's really dakr outside. Not drunkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk. Not-

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I woke up to a soft, yellow sun light through my window. It was so sweet and nostalgic to feel myself lying in this light that I didn't even notice the throbing pain in the front of my head, until I went for my mega-morning-stretch. Suddenly, the pain was unbearible and I felt as though the pressure from my brain was gonna give me a nose bleed. It was like I stretched a ripped muscle or a pulled hammy... But in my brain. "God Damn it!" I barked as my muscles reflexivly caused me to curl up into a ball. I held my head in the palms of my hands, squinting my brow together as hard as I could, moaning with pain. And things were only about to get worse.

"Dipper!" My sister's voice rang, as if my head were inside a ringing church bell. It was agonizing to hear her voice, and I could only prey to work up the strength to tell her to shut the fuck up for a second. But, of course not. She jumped on my bed and nuzzled into my curled up body, her back squished up against my chest, squeezing the back of her head into the crook of my neck. "Ughhhhhhh." I moaned in sickness. I felt bad enough to throw up on her. That would only make things worse, though. Mabel did this sometimes. She used to do it all the times with mom. After she got home from her daily walks, mother would go to her room and rest from exhaustion. Mabel would always sneek into her room, though, and curl up in front of her, cacooning herself in mother's arms, like she were still a baby. Like she hadn't even been born yet. And, after mom died, she started doing it to me.

I didn't tell her to move. I didn't tell her to leave. Instead, I begged my stomach to hold on for just a little bit longer. And than she spoke. "Dipper... Are you okay?" She spoke in a soft tone, as if she were still sleepy and was just barely holding on. The sunlight did that to her. It did that to me, too. And, looking in Mabel's arms, I could see the soft pink color of something round and fat: A pig. The pig's sleepy snore was low and gargly, taking in every instance of the light. It did it to Waddles, too. For a moment, I laughed to myself. 'Three pigs in a blanket', I thought. "What do you mean?" I asked, a little confused. Part of me thought It couldn't be more obvious what she meant. She knew what was going on with me. She was worried about what was going on with me because she didn't know what was going on with me, and she wanted to. But, part of me thought there was something else. Something... more. Something she knew that was going on, but couldn't muster up to ask me. And I felt like there was, too. I just didn't know what it was.

"Yeah. I'm chill. Just a little sick-ish." I responded, gritting my teeth after a failed attempt at a light-hearted chuckle. I felt so unbearably painful that it was like I lived in it. It felt like the pain would never go away. But, I knew the pain would be gone eventually. So, why did I still feel like the pain was stronger than I had previously known? Not that it was something new, but like it was just stronger today. Like, it was always there. It was always around. It was always- "You know that's not what I mean. What's going on with you man? You're- glum. Like, you seem more mopey than just straight up emotionless and all that jazz. What's that all about? Are you, like, depressed? Or is this kind of a thing? Like, is this just a little thingy going on or whatever?" In that split second, I felt this ping in the center of my chest. I don't want to say it was my heart that felt it. It felt like this space inside the heart, that was also seperate in body and soul from the heart. Like it wasn't something being felt. But something being removed. Like two wires trying so desperatly to connect, but couldn't touch each other for unknown reasons. This place was Hell for a moment. This place was evil. I could feel the emptiness inside me and I knew it wasn't a feeling I had. It was a feeling I didn't have.

But, depressed? That doesn't make any sense to me. It would be weird to say I was depressed. It would feel like I was forcing it out, like I was trying to act like this to get attention. I wouldn't identify myself as depressed because I still get happy. I still feel happy sometimes. But, then again, doesn't everyone? Doesn't everyone feel a little bit of everything once in a while? At least once? But...- No. I wouldn't be. I'm not.

But it still hurts. It still hurts and I can't escape it or tell anyone. I can't tell anyone because they'd take it and use it. They'd disect it and look through it. They'd talk to me about it and tell me it's going to be alright. They'd tell me they won't tell anyone else what I've told them, and then tell everyone they knew. And, at the hight of all of this embarassment and pain, they'd say they understood. Let me re-phrase that: They'd relate themselves to it. They'd "OMG SAME" it, and "I know, right?!" it. They'd wait for me to finish talking and then tell me something similar they went through. I won't go through that. Never. I would never let that happen. Not even if it became a problem and I needed to talk to someone. Not even once.

I won't be looked at as someone with trivial problems.

"No. I think I've just been kinda over-worked lately. That one new girl's kind of a run-around type. I can never seem to find her sitting still, but I somehow end up bumping into her always. Not to mention Grunkle Stan. He's been especially ass-hole-ish, which is normal, I guess." With that, I let out a sigh of annoyance. I'm so- Tired. Always tired. I feel like I'm losing motivation in everything. Pretty soon, I might lose the motivation to even get out of bed. Everything just feels so pointless. I can't believe it hasn't even been a month since school went out and the private academy of Gravity Falls was closed for summer break. I can't believe it's been less than a month since I started feeling this way. Like I've lost interest in everything. And, maybe, it's been longer than that. It's been longer than that since I began feeling like this. Just maybe.

"So.... Pacifica? Like, that blond chick? The crazy girl?" Mabel taunted playfully. Even though her back was facing me, I knew she was giving off that same smile she had whenever she started talking crap about love or like or just girls in general. "You know, I heard she was a real catch where she used to live." She began, but I wasn't really having it. "MABEL...." I groaned in embarrassment. She made me sick sometimes and I felt bad about that, but I couldn't help it. It was garbage, some of the things she would say, and I really didn't want that. "Can we not talk about her?" I would die of embarrassment if we had to talk about her for any longer. It made me feel weird in the gut to talk about that girl.

That... girl? What happened to her last night anyways? "Well, geez. Didn't know it was such a touchy subject for you." Mabel grumbled, sliding off my bed in annoyance. I saw her, still carrying waddles in her arms, exit the room in a bit of a gloomy huff. And, for the moment, I felt extremely cold after she left. Like I had turned off the heater on my bed side and the change of temperature in the room was substantially different. She left. I stayed. And I could feel the crater she left in front of me, the one she always layed in. I felt bad about that, because mom never got her to leave. Mom, instead, would enclose Mabel in her arms, while I just drive her away.

I guess it can't be helped, but I wish it could be. I wish I had some way of being there for her like she is for me. I wish- *Knock knock knock* I hear the faintest of tappings. At first I look to the bedroom door, only to see an obvious gap, signifying it was open. I wait for a moment, saying where the tapping may have come from, only to be startled out of my mind. "Dipper!!!!!" The muffled voice went, and I had never been so confused in my life. "LOOK OUT THE WINDOW!!!!" The muffled voice begged in obvious fear. I turned to my bed side window, only to see Pacifica's face pressed up against the glass. What a fucking retard. "Jesus Paz!" I scurried to the floor before bulting to the side of the window and unlocking it almost instantly.

As I opened the window, I guess she lost her grip on the sides of the house. She began to lean backwords, using her finger nails to work as best they could as claws and keep her steedy. However, she continued to slip backwords. I grabbed her by the collar of her pink jacket and dragged her through the window, her face smashed to the ground with an awkward 'thud', her legs slidding out of the window in an uncomfortable manor. For a moment she was still, so I poked the ark in her back, and she was wide awake. "AH!" She chirped in surprise.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" I demanded in a whispered tone. I couldn't believe this. This wasn't happening. This wasn't really happening. I couldn't-

"I just wanted to give you something." She beemed, scrambling to her feet. In a moment, she was off of the bedroom floor and scrounging through her purse. I got to my feet as well, expecting some form of explaination afterwords. "Now, where did I put it....?" She began to mumble, pushing items around in search for her true objective. I began to pick inside with her, only to be caught by surprise. She had found it. In front of her, she held out a cheep-looking pencil, chewed up and battered. And, on top of it, sat a rose-shaped eraser.