When We First Meth

Bro, Youre Totally Not A Billionaire

"Bro, she totally friend-zoned you. You have no chance. She definitely meant it when she said she didn't want to date you because you're not a billionaire."

"Thank you, Ken," Darell said, burying his head into his pillow.

He had returned home to his idiotic friend for some friendly advice about the horrible incident that had happened some hours ago. But instead, as usual, Ken was being a dick. A literal walking speaking dick.

"Hey, what if she tells her friends about you in the group chat? Bro, they're definitely going to have a good laugh."

"I'm not that broke," Darell said, sitting upright in his bed. "We're not broke, are we?"

Ken sat on his bed, which was across Darell's, his brown wavy man bob hair bobbing. Unfortunately for both of them, they had no cash, so they were stuck with living in a small apartment that smelled like dogs and cats shit in them. Mostly it was Ken's poop that polluted the environment. The smell was so pungent that even though the toilet was flushed, the scent would still tickle Darell's poor nostrils.

"Look around you, " Ken said, throwing glances around the room. "Our kitchen is in the same room as our living room and bedroom. Luckily, our toilet isn't.  The only cool thing about this room is my awesome band posters on the wall and maybe your boring bookshelf."

Darell frowned. "My bookshelf isn't boring."

"I tried reading a book in there called  Oliver's Tip and I slept."

"It's Oliver's twist, not his tip."

"Bro, why do you have to make everything sound so sexual."

Darell gasped. "Me? You're the one calling Oliver twist Oliver's tip."

"Look, man, you're pained, and I understand."

"I'm not pained."

"Your left eye is doing the twitching thing," Ken said, gesturing to his eye. "You're definitely pained."

"I'm not—"

Darell coughed, his chest tightening. He held his chest, the pain like two swords stabbing his lungs. Tears brimmed his eyes, and he exhaled, his whole body trembling.

"Water, please."

"Here you go," Ken said, handing him a water bottle.

Darell gulped it, his throat muscles relaxing again, a calm wave washing over his throbbing chest. Was he going to die this way? With no parents and close relatives to turn to, he had no money to lay for chemotherapy.

"How do you feel now?" Ken asked, his dark eyes heavy with an anchor of sadness.

"Better."

"Have you thought over what I told you?"

"The biopsy?" Darell raised his brows. "No, Ken. I can't burden you with it."

"But you're like my bro. We've known since high school. It won't hurt if I spare you a few change from my freelance jobs."

"Ken, Ten thousand dollars for a biopsy is no spare change." Darell knew that was his friend's  life savings. There was no way he would let him squander it on his.