𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐘 . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 . You could say he was trouble , and it was likely that he’d just agree with you . They’d met during a very pivotal point in John’s teenage years , 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙳𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝟸𝟶 / 𝟸𝟶 —— he might’ve been better off if he’d never met Byron , but there was nobody to blame for John’s mistakes aside from himself .
For as long as he could remember , BYRON CRAWFORD and ROBERT GREENE had been joined at the hip , best friends since pre - school , and always the troublemakers ; his father had told him to stay away , to associate with the good , God - loving kids that they attended Church with , and for awhile , he did . It wasn’t until he hit that rebellious streak that all youths inevitably do that he really started paying attention to the local “ punks . ”
And so it goes , he befriends the two , and it wasn’t long before the precious and pure Catholic boy was pulled into a whirlwind of rock , teenage experimentation , a bit of violence , and eventually , drugs . Every waking moment he spent by their side , the further he was pulled from his faith , but the thing was —— he liked it . It was exactly what he’d been hoping for , and more ; it was the taste of sin and self - indulgence on his lips that would lead to catastrophe , and one that John would never learn to cope with , not even into adulthood .
He can remember the day Robert Greene died , a memory so vivid , sometimes he was certain he was re - living it . He can remember the month before , waiting in some dingy Jersey back alley for their dealer , who , prior to this , had only dealt them smaller things : weed , acid , shrooms , maybe some Xanax here , some Adderall there . But sometimes , it just wasn’t enough . The three needed something new , something all the more stimulating , and the dealer , that bastard , recommended heroin . Ignorant and young , they agreed .
And just like that , they were hooked . Eventually , John got used to the sting of the needle , he became something of an expert in the art of completely destroying his body , with Byron and Robert right by his side . But things such as this didn’t stay good for long , and just as they’d been warned in the anti - drug use ads pushed so violently by their high school gym teacher , Robert overdosed , leaving Byron and John to deal with the aftermath , and the grief .
John had been the one to tie the tourniquet . Byron had been the one to buy the batch . Both were blamed by the entire town , by Robert’s family , and just as hated . Just like that , he lost everything ; Byron and him drifted , as it seemed self isolation was both of their coping mechanisms . John hasn’t spoken to him in years . Hell , the other didn’t even show up to the funeral , but John couldn’t blame him . He wasn’t exactly greeted with a warm welcome that day . 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 , 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐑 .
Sometimes , he wonders where Byron Crawford “ fucked off to ” as he would’ve put it ; did he ever escape the devastating grip of addiction ? Or had he ended up just like his childhood best friend ? Had he ever fully processed his grief ? Or was he like John , who wholly blamed himself for the mess that such harmful pleasures had turned into ? He supposed reaching out would’ve been simple , but no —— the man couldn’t bring himself to do it . Not yet .
