[laying on the floor of their new apartment, deep in thought as Diego speaks to him] Dude. Dude. So you’re telling me that your mouth isn’t supposed to tingle when you drink orange juice and that’s actually a symptom of being allergic?
'Cause I don't need anyone
I don't need anyone
I just need everyone and then some
I don't need anyone
I don't need anyone
I just need everyone and t h e n s o m e
{Contains violence}
Wally was sitting on the livingroom floor of the squatter house, listening to music on his iPod. Music was his favorite way to wind down after a long day. Everyone was in the house except for Rowan and Burns. He hadn’t seen Rowan in weeks, no one had, and frankly he was almost certain she either got arrested, died, or ran away with her weird butch friend. Was he worried? Sure. But if she was still out there, he couldn’t spend all of his energy on her. She would probably just pick a fight with him if he tried. Andrew Burns, on the other hand, he had no concerns about. He was a 28-year-old man, Wally didn’t have to babysit him. But he was curious about what that idiot was up to.
Just as he was about to ask someone where Burns was though, he busted through the front door, almost falling on the floor as he entered. Wally paused his music, got up off the floor, and went over to the man. Burns reeked of alcohol and looked like he was about to throw up. ‘Typical,’ Wally thought to himself.
“Dude, you look like shit,” Wally stated, putting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “You need me to get you some water?”
“Fuck off, Wallace,” Burns replied, shoving the younger man’s hand away.
“The fuck’s your problem?”
“You’re my fucking problem, shithead!” Burns spat at Wally, and Wally smacked him in retaliation. Diego, who had been whittling a small bear, put his whittling materials down and broke the fight before it could escalate too much.
“Jesus. Andrew, what’s got into you tonight?” Diego asked, glaring at the drunkard until he spoke up.
“I got kicked outta my favorite bar ‘cuz of this motherfucker!” he shouted, stabbing Wally’s chest with his finger.
Wally smacked his hand away and condescendingly asked, “You sure it wasn’t ‘cause you got too drunk and threw up on the bartender again, dumbass?”
“Fuck you! It’s ‘cause your stupid ass stole shit from there and he knows I hang with you!”
“Hey, shit for brains, you like having food to eat and water to drink? Sometimes you gotta take some risks...”
Burns, not wanting to hear any more of Wally’s talk, pushed Diego onto the floor, then grabbed Wally by the shirt, pinning him to the wall. Everything happened so quickly that Wally didn’t even have time to react before finding himself pressed against the wall and his best friend on the ground, unable to get up. “Shut the fuck up, Wallace! You- you act like you’re the fuckin’ boss of us, but no one wants you here!”
No one wants you here. Wally tried not to let words get to him, but it was with those words that he snapped. He kneed Burns in the groin, and proceeded to kick him in the head until he bled. No amount of intervention from any of the dozen or so people in the house could stop him from beating the living daylights out of Andrew Burns.
The next thing he knew, his legs had taken him from Rosewood to Greensville. He made his way to the park and found a tree to sleep under. He didn’t want to go to anyone’s house at this hour. He didn’t need anyone. People needed him... Or did they? Did his homeless friends really need him for survival? Or did he need them to feel like less of a lonely wreck?
