Okay, this is a look into the really dark part of Ryker's mind, so if you don't want to read that, don't. Just letting y'all know.
It's Ryker's point of view.
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Not sure how I feel about Fawn. Sometimes I feel like I like her, sometimes I feel like using her.
    I could so easily. She’d fall right into the trap. She likes me. I could.
    But I’m not sure what I would use her for. What would I get her to do? Get vodka for me?
    There’s an idea. Do that, maybe.
    I was thinking about this Saturday night, two days before Halloween. Could I use her somehow? If so, in what way? I couldn’t think of anything, but it seemed too big an opportunity to pass down.
    I was on my way to Jasmine’s to get Sami’s medicine. She needs it every Saturday and Wednesday. If she doesn’t get it, her whole body shuts down and she dies.
    “What are you doin’ out here?” someone asked behind me. They had a thick accent, like they were from New York or New Jersey. Somewhere around there.
    I turned to face him. There were two others with him, sneering. One of them had a puckered scar above their right eyebrow.
    One of them pointed a gun at me. “Empty out your pockets. Turn ‘em inside out.”
    I reached into my pocket. They snickered. They thought I had fallen for it.
    My fingers closed over cold metal. The gun. I pulled it out.
    “You shoot one of us, you’re dead,” said the scarred one. “We’ve all got guns.” He turned to the others. “Show him.”
    The other two pulled out guns and aimed them at me. Their fingers tightened on the triggers.
    “You gonna shoot, or give us your stuff?” One of them asked. He had a face like a rat’s.
    I smirked. “Shoot.”
    “Well, either way, we get his stuff,” Rat-Face said.
    “Not so sure about that,” I said, shooting straight up the barrel of Scar Guy’s gun and throwing myself behind a building.
    I heard an explosion, then someone scream. I peeked out from around the corner.
    Scar Guy was lying on the ground, completely still. His face was charred, and his whole right side was gone. His leg was jumping up and down. It gradually slowed down to a twitch, then stopped altogether.
    Rat-Face was missing an arm. He was screaming and clutching at the stump where it used to be, hollering at the other guy, who was fine except for some burnt hair, to go find me.
    I didn’t exactly want him to find me, so I took off for Jasmine’s house.

On the way back, I realized what I could use Fawn for.
    Food and water. That’s it. I needed that.
    I turned and headed towards Fawn’s house.
    When I got there, I clumped up onto the porch and knocked. While I waited for someone to open the door, I surveyed the house.
    It was—or used to be—painted white. Now the white had turned gray and was peeling off. The bronze doorknob was worn and looked like the sun had taken a toll on it. The porch was made of old, long strips of wood. They were gray, too, like the paint.
    Why does everything turn gray when it’s old?
    I looked around for other gray things, but all I could find was the sky. It looked like a thick gray sheet.
    I knocked again. The door swung open, revealing Fawn’s eager face.
    “Ryker! Hey!” She gave me a hug. I endured it. After all, I needed that food.
    “C’mon in!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me inside.
    I looked around. The inside was basically the same as the outside: old, peely, and gray. Only on the inside, it was dark.
    Tristan was standing on a winding staircase, glaring at me. I noticed he had a tattoo of a girl’s name on his wrist: Melanie.
    “Who’s Melanie?” I whispered to Fawn.
    “Melanie is—was—Tristan’s girlfriend. She’s dead.” Fawn whispered back.
    “What happened to her?”
    “He asked me not to talk about it.”
    I nodded. Tristan was retreating up the stairs. His eyebrows were knit together in a scowl.
    “Hey, Fawn!” someone said behind us.
    Me and Fawn both whirled around.
    Standing behind us—or now, in front of us, was a boy, about eighteen or nineteen years old. He looked exactly like Tristan, but at the same time, looked completely different.
    He had the same thick black hair, the same face shape, the same blue-green eyes. They both had the same pale, thin fingers, and the same dark eyebrows.
    But there the comparison stopped. Where Tristan's mouth was knitted together in a guarded smirk, this boy had a warm, welcoming smile. His eyebrows were slightly higher than most, giving him a slightly surprised look, whereas Tristan's were scrunched down over his eyes in a scowl.
    Still, you could tell they were related, which was confirmed when Fawn introduced him as Tristan's twin brother.
    “His name’s Heath,” Fawn said. “Heath, this is Ryker.”
    Heath regarded me, though not without caution. Then he smiled. “Be nice to her, or you’re gonna have to talk to Tristan.” Then he picked up a large, black bag near the wall that I hadn’t noticed was there and slipped out of the door.
    “So, what did you come here for?” Fawn asked.
    “I just wanted to be with you,” I said. An easy way to get to her was probably flattery, I thought. I just needed to be careful not to lay it on too thick. Sure, she wasn’t the smartest, but she wasn’t stupid, exactly.
    Fawn smiled shyly and looked at the ground. “Oh. Well, is there anything you need?”
    I couldn’t believe how easy this was. “Well, my sister’s really hungry, but I guess there’s not much you can do about that.”
    She gave me a sad look, like she knew what I was doing. “No, we’ve got food,” she said. “Come one. I’ll get you some.”
    I followed her into the kitchen. She climbed up onto the white marble counter so she could reach the cabinet and swung it open.
    “Here,” she said, handing me a jar of raisins, a box of graham crackers, and a half-empty jar of peanut butter. “Sorry it’s not much.”
    I shrugged and stuck them into the bag I keep the drugs in. “I gotta go now. Bye.” I turned and headed for the front door. She didn’t follow me.
    As I was walking to the door, I noticed an oak door directly across from the front one. It was slightly ajar. Inside I could see an open laptop. It was on, and its blue-white light gave the otherwise dark room a spooky vibe.
    I slipped through the door, thinking I could steal the laptop. Way to make money. People are gonna pay a lot for that.
    I went over to the desk it was resting on and picked it up. Underneath was a piece of lined paper with a brownish stain on the bottom. Half of it was written on.
    I set the laptop aside, picked up the paper, and started reading:

Dear Tristan,
By the time you read this, I’ll be gone. I’m sorry I have to do this. Just know it has nothing to do with you, and I love you more than anything in the world.
I just have to get away. Get away from this hell I’m living. I just can’t take it anymore.

Farewell, and take care.
Melanie.

    So that’s how Melanie had died. She had killed herself.
    To get away from ‘this hell she was living.’
    Your life is hell, I found myself thinking. You always wish for a way to get away.
    I shook the thought from my head and hurried out the door, out onto the porch, forgetting the laptop in my haste. It started to rain as I hurried down the driveway to the sidewalk.
    I just have to get away. Get away from this hell I’m living. I just can’t take it anymore. The last lines of the note echoed in my head. I found myself relating. I can’t take it anymore. I hate my life. I hate it.
    I raced into an alleyway and leaned against the wall of a tall, sand-textured building. I slipped my hands into my pockets to warm them.
    My fingers found the pocket knife. I remembered the stain on the note. Was it blood? Had she slit her wrists?
    I yanked my hands out of my pocket and ran to my miserable house.