suicide + drugs tw

"Shoeshine?"

Sweet Polly knocked on her best friend's door. A lump of nervousness formed in her throat. She had been knocking on Shoeshine's door for several minutes now. The mutt was magnificent at opening doors, or at the very least, making his state known. "Just a sec," Shoeshine would say, or tape a sign on his door that read "Out to lunch."

The lack of notice wasn't what made Polly nervous, however. Shoeshine was forgetful. Perhaps he just forgot the sign. Polly knocked again, making her knuckle tingle. She sighed as still no answer came.

Shoeshine… wasn't doing well. He never really was. He didn't have that much money, but Shoeshine was nice and optimistic, and had been getting on just fine. Up until a few months ago, anyway.

He and Polly had been hanging out late one night. Polly asked if he'd been doing alright, since Shoeshine had looked so, so exhausted. He sighed and let all sorts of words tumble out of his mouth.

"Not really!" Shoeshine said, "I've been missing my mom too much lately!"

"Well, that's alright," Polly replied. She knew full-well Shoeshine's parents had both died rather brutally about ten years ago. "It's rough, it happens."

"I know, but it's not like that," Shoeshine answered. "I used to think sometimes, I'd love to visit my mom again, and it'd scare me, because I'm not ready to die. But I was thinking about it earlier today and I didn't feel… anything. But sad."

Polly's fist clenched the cold metal of Shoeshine's doorknob as the words rolled through her mind. I'm not ready to die. But it's stopped scaring me. Polly took in a deep, shaking breath. Shoeshine wouldn't. Would he?

"Shoeshine?" Polly called, shaking the doorknob and knocking the wood, "Come on, man, you're scaring me."

Shoeshine had started looking and acting worse recently, too. He had bags under his eyes and his ears were terribly frizzed. Polly would ask him to join her for lunch, and Shoeshine wouldn't reply until hours later with, "Sorry! Just woke up." Polly had invited herself over to his apartment once to redecorate and help with some cleaning in an attempt to get his mood back up. The only food she had found were Cheerios and Nutella.

Polly had responded with a laugh back then. "You're an adult, Shoeshine, not a college student!"

"Eh," Shoeshine replied, "They're heart-healthy."

Polly sighed to herself now. She regretted not thinking anything of that or his response.

"Come on, Shoeshine," Polly whispered to herself. Her voice broke. "Just tell me you're alright."

The poodle dove a hand into her purse and flipped open her phone. Shoeshine hadn't left her any messages. She hit the 2 button and balanced the silver phone against her shoulder. Polly continued to dig around in her purse, looking for her keyring this time.

Ring one… ring two… ring three… ring four… ring five…

"This is Shoeshine Clark, I'm currently away. Please leave your name, number and message, and I will call you back as soon as possible. Thank you."

Polly waited for the beep. She flipped the keys over her fingers and clutched her phone tightly.

"Hi, Shoes, it's me," she started. Then she paused, searching for the right words. "I'm worried about you. Call me back. Bye."

Polly hung up, swallowed, and sighed deeply. She held both keys and phone in either of her hands, and paced the hallway in front of Shoeshine's apartment. Maybe he was asleep. His ringtone was a saxophone, and it always woke him up.

Still, no response came. One minute passed. Then two. Then five.

Polly shoved her phone back into her purse and let out a deep breath. She shifted through her keys to find the one with Apt 366 on it. Shoeshine had given her the key encase he had ever lost his own. Or if he had ever locked himself in or out.

"I'm not that smart," Shoeshine had laughed as he handed his best friend the key.

Polly stuck the key in the hole. Before turning it, she knocked one more time. After a few moments, she twisted the key and opened the door.

"C'mon, Lewis, this isn't funny!" she called. Her voice boomed angrily, but really, she was more scared than upset.

Lewis was Shoeshine's real name, and he hated getting called that, so Polly never did. But now was a dire matter. Shoeshine had been depressed lately. Polly was just worried he'd done something terrible. She needed a response, even an angry one would do.

The poodle closed the door and set her purse on the arm of Shoeshine's couch. She gulped.

"Oh, come on, you bastard," she said to herself, but she didn't really mean it. Shoeshine had absolutely perfect hearing. He had to. He would've heard Polly calling him by now.

She looked around. Shoeshine only had a two-room apartment, and she was in the first. The couch was terribly messy, but it always was when Polly came over. Shoeshine frequently dozed off there. More recently, he'd just been too tired to fall asleep in his bed and slept there instead.

On the coffee table was a box of crackers, a jar of Nutella and a few empty brown fast food bags. Polly wasn't sure what to make of it. On one hand, she was glad that Shoeshine had eaten something aside from cereal recently. On the other, fast food wasn't exactly healthy. The TV was off. But Shoeshine never did leave it on long, he had a tight budget.

Polly swallowed despite the lump in her throat, and turned to look at the kitchen. Beer bottles littered the counter. Shoeshine couldn't hardly figure out how to open a pop bottle, Polly thought sadly. How did he manage this?

She padded over to get a closer look. Most of the medicines were still and unmoved, but Polly didn't dare touch any as to not get her fingerprints on them. After all, perhaps it wasn't suicide. It didn't look like Shoeshine was taking his antidepressants. He had been taking the pills since he moved to New York. Polly shook her head. It didn't take a scientist to tell that Shoeshine wasn't taking his prescriptions.

She did notice one thing. His benadryl was gone. Polly felt her heart skip a beat. Benadryl could kill if enough was taken. Her mom told her that.

"No, no, no," Polly gasped, letting a tear fall down her cheek. She rushed across the apartment to the furthest wall. Shoeshine left his bathroom door open when he wasn't using it. It was open, and the bathroom was clean. Polly padded in and looked around to see if any blood was anywhere.

There wasn't any. But blunt force trauma couldn't effect Shoeshine, Polly reminded herself. A bathroom wasn't lethal to a superhero. Polly placed her elbows on the side of the sink and leaned over. She shook and let herself cry, trying to compose herself.

She was absolutely terrified. All hope drained from her mind. There was only one room left. Polly pulled herself up and took a deep breath. Maybe Shoeshine's phone had died, that's why he didn't wake up when Polly called. But no, Polly told herself, a phone didn't ring if it was dead. People didn't answer if they were, either-

Polly pulled her hair up into a ponytail and stared at her reflection angrily. Shoeshine wasn't dead until she found his body herself. She exited the bathroom, and rested her hand on the cold metal doorknob of Shoeshine's bedroom, and paused. She knocked on the door, then sighed when there was no answer.

"Oh where, oh where has my Underdog gone?" she sang softly, her voice shaking. She clenched her teeth to prevent more tears from falling. "Oh where, oh where could he be?"

Shoeshine would answer to that. Absolutely he would. But he didn't.

With a shaking hand, Polly pushed open her best friend's bedroom door.

"SHOESHINE!"