50.

Alcoholics Anonymous, 1/50.

For a second, he forgot how to get out of bed. Push the covers off, then stand. It was so simple.

Simple, that is, to everyone who wasn't Alex.

Getting out of bed was the worst part of the day for the 19 year old college drop out. Getting out of bed meant joining the real world and leaving his dream world. In his dream world, Alex had everything– parents who loved and supported him, a great job, a girlfriend. All of the things that he used to have. He didn't like leaving that.

In the real world, Alex didn't have much. He had a shitty job at a crappy gas station, where he barely made enough money to scrap up rent payment for his ruin down apartment. His parents told him they didn't want any form of contact with him after he dropped out of college, where he was supposed to major in business like his father. His girlfriend announced she was four months pregnant with another man's baby, and then left him. She got an abortion and sobbed to Alex while trying to get him back. He wasn't buying it.

To say his life was shitty was an understatement.

Alex really did try his hardest to push everything behind him and cheer up, but he didn't have any friends to help him, or remind him to stay positive. Instead of going to therapy like any normal person would, Alex turned to drugs and alcohol. He'd hated the heavy stuff– he couldn't stand heroin. He didn't like it the first time he tried it. Cocaine didn't even have an appeal to him. Mostly, he smoked marijuana and cigarettes, and consumed many small flasks of hard lemonade and vodka. He wouldn't choose the words 'alcoholic' or 'addict' to describe himself, but any doctor, therapist, or sane person would. He told himself he'd start going to meetings– Alcoholics Anonymous?– for his problems, but that was a huge lie and he knew it. Really, he just told himself he'd start going to make himself feel better. He didn't like bothering himself with his problems. He couldn't imagine bothering an entire group of people with them.

When he got himself out of bed, he internally sighed. He'd been having the best dream; he didn't want it to end. He couldn't remember what it was about, really, but he knew it was a good dream.

Alex got himself dressed in silence, and without looking in the mirror. He hated the sound of his own voice, but he hated his reflection even more. He hated how lifeless his deep brown eyes were, he hated his heart-shaped face, he hated his too-long hair, and he hated his pale skin.

He also hated driving– he lost his brother in a car wreck– so he couldn't even drive himself to work. Even if he wanted to drive (it wasn't that he couldn't, it was that he didn't like to), he wouldn't have been able to. He couldn't afford a fucking car.

He pulled a gray beanie on over his head before walking out the door. The gas station he worked at was only around the corner, which he was thankful for. He rounded the street corner carefully and pushed the doors open, then quickly took his place behind the messy Speedway counter. The counter that was only messy because he neglected to clean it yesterday, he remembered.

"You're late," Josh– hated manager, dickhead boss– spat out at the beanie-clad teen behind the counter, "and you forgot to clean and lock up last night. Hallie had to come and do it for you. You really need to get your shit together, kid."

Alex was high when he left work yesterday. He figured that was why he forgot to do so much. He was just eternally grateful Josh didn't watch the security tapes. The last thing Alex needed was for Josh to see him blazing it on the night shift.

"I'm sorry, sir," Alex responded in a small voice, one much smaller than he intended to use. He wasn't scared of Josh, just intimidated by him. "It won't happen again."

"Smelled like straight-up weed when I came in this morning," Hallie interjected. Alex's eyes grew wide. He was busted for sure. "And, Alex was the only one here last night."