All language subtitles for you.s01e05.Living With The Enemy.uncensored.720p.webrip.hevc.x265.rmteam

Previously on You...

Your old phone, which I have,
is still logged into the cloud.

And that means I'm still logged into you.

I'm a poet.

- Get off the stage.
- Wrap it up.

Did you move here to be something?
I did. But it's not working out.

Do you think I'm unremarkable?

Unremarkable people don't worry
about being unremarkable.

- So good to see you, hon.
- You, too, Dad.

The addict part was true, I see,
but he never died.

He's here. He's alive.
Could be helpful to write about him.

Benji was the worst kind of poison.

The peanut allergy was real.

I guess Benji's gonna die an honest man.

- It's not okay to yell.
- Grown-ups do it all the time.

Grown-ups are assholes.

I told this guy,
stay away from my girlfriend's kid.

He just seems a little neglected.

- That's it! I...
- All right! All right!

This is a lovely collection.

That's funny. There's a book missing.
Joe was looking at it.

I, of course, never had
any intention of keeping the book.

If Peach still has a problem,

I won't let her
get in the way of us, Beck. I won't.

Good morning.
This is my favorite time of day.

When it's just the two of us.

Were you watching me sleep?

Creeper.

I love our little routine.
Always the same, but never stale.

Sex. Showers. More sex.

Breakfast. Avocado salted, bacon crispy.
Every day.

Your father was never consistent,
and you're still healing from that.

With my help.

Mmm. Do you mind if I keep working?
I just have tons...

Eat. Work. I'll fold the laundry.

That's right, Beck,
I even do your damn laundry.

I protect your time.
I let you focus on your work.

And guess what?
Now that I've made our mornings sacred,

you're actually writing.

Free of distraction.

Mostly.

Ron and Claudia again?

If the goddamn dishes ever got done,

I wouldn't be bumping
into a goddamn stack of plates.

Can't you say something?

I don't like to mess
with other people's lives.

Maybe you should.
Anyway, I gotta get to class.

The worst thing about our mornings?

They always end.

I pass the time by counting down
to the next moment I see you.

You're teaching me to be more patient.

And God knows I need the help
when it comes to your friends.

For some reason,
we share our nights with your friends

and appointment-viewing like The Bachelor.

How can self-respecting women
tolerate this crap?

Sometimes I swear
I'm the only real feminist you know.

It's either a full Brazilian,
or, like, full bush.

And it's like, "Listen, my snooch
is the third bowl of porridge."

I mean, meet me halfway, lady.
It's, like, insane.

That's hilarious.

These girls
are even more tedious in person.

Lynn is a dark cavern
where conversations go to die.

That's hilarious.

What personality she has is only
activated by low-calorie girly cocktails,

which is doubtless why she drinks so much.

Annika's decided I'm so amazing,
which true,

but joining Team Joe
is just the latest move

in her cold war with Queen Bitch herself.

Peach goddamn Salinger.

Hope you didn't
start the fun without me.

We did.

Annika, thank God
for that chest of yours.

Otherwise, you'd be spilling guac all over
that Himalayan blanket I got Beck.

So goes the endless merry-go-round
of food issues.

Peach snipes at Annika's body,
Annika rubs her assets in Peach's face,

which, as defense mechanisms go,
beats the hell out of crying.

I can get you some paper towels.

Wait up. I need a refill.

No, no. I got it. I'll take care of you.

No. It's all right.
I could use the company.

This is so much more fun
than girls' night classic.

You know, when it was just us girls?

Peach has it out for me.

Probably shouldn't have stolen
her copy of Oz.

Or maybe I shouldn't have returned it.

But all that's behind me, Beck.

If I just keep being
the perfect boyfriend,

you'll realize that life is
so much healthier away from this toxicity.

Joseph, I was thinking
about thinning out my library,

and I thought I'd ask the expert.
What's a book like this worth?

She's still trying to build a case

that I'd be willing to
swipe the damn thing.

It's printed by Reilly & Britton.
An original. A rarity.

Hmm.

Guess I better act quick.

Before some desperate person
tries to steal my little beauty away.

The real tragedy would be
not appreciating what you have.

If I were you, I'd hold onto her forever.

But what do I know?
I'm just a bookstore clerk.

I'm trying, Beck. I am.

But your friends
bring out the worst in me.

And then Rastiche taught me this.

- D minor. Goosebumps, man.
- Is that a D minor?

Hi, Joe!

This place is...

musty.

Hi! Hi!

Annika, what brings you to Mooney's?

Your website,
and the deep sadness it evokes.

I mean,
did you do this in Myspace?

I've been telling Joe
we need to modernize.

Joe, I have 3.6 million followers.

And I get 12k for a selfie in glasses,

but I'm willing to do Mooney's for free
out of the kindness of my big-ass heart.

- All right. Let's do it.
- Yay!

If you need some authentic
Russian folk vibes, I can...

Thank you. But I got this.

"Smart bitches get their brains juiced
at Mooney's. Hashtag, stacked."

If you ever wonder what it takes
to become an influencer,

specifically, a body-positive Insta-celeb,
be shameless.

Annika's turning her curves
into an empire.

Inspiring the ladies,
arousing the gentlemen.

Everyone wins.

It'd be genuinely empowering
if it weren't so clearly a rebellion

against being Peach's, quote,
"fat friend from prep school."

And what's this?
Thank you, Annika's private Facebook.

Hello, nose job.

And just like that, I know how to repay
Annika for her kindness.

Annika, why the hell
is this not on your Insta?

Oh, my God,
because it's mortifying?

I mean, I'm adorkable, but Peach...

Lucky she is not on Facebook.
It is cute, though.

Do you run everything you post
by Peach first?

Hell, no!

You're right. Screw it.
This is the ultimate throwback.

I just need a brilliant caption.

How about,
"Bitches being our most authentic selves"?

Joe,

it's like you're in my brain.

No, I just know her audience.

Team Joe, one. Peach, zero.

You'd be proud of me, Beck.
I'm a good friend.

Hi, Allison. You wanted to see me?

Guinevere. Please, sit.

I understand that some things
are harder than others to write about.

Our own families
are usually the top of the list.

- I'm glad you stuck with it.
- Thank you.

My lit agent's assistant just got promoted

and may be able to connect you
with some jobs for hire.

Personal essays, reviews...

I'm in. I am so in! Thank you, Allison.

- I'll forward her contact info to you.
- Okay!

And Beck?

I was sorry to read about
your father's passing.

Peach tried hard
to get you for a girls' night.

But you picked me.
Joe, two. Peach, bupkis.

Whoa!

I think you might be
a little overdressed for sushi.

No. You're under-dressed
for the celebration I have planned.

The theme of our evening
is Fitzgerald and Zelda.

- Ooh. Which one of us is Zelda?
- Me, obviously.

We begin at The Palm Court,

where our literary couple famously danced
in the Plaza fountain.

Where a burger costs 30 bucks.

You're gonna wanna be
in something a little jazzier.

We will be sitting in the very booth
where F. Scott conceived of Gatsby.

That seems fake.

And then, after we've snarked
about our $50 goat cheesecake,

a horse-drawn carriage will take us

- to an even more exclusive club...
- No way.

...where Zelda herself...

danced the night away.

Oh, that's weird. Annika never calls.

Hey, Annika.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.
What's wrong?

What video?

I've got a bad feeling, Beck.

"Click on my profile." Hmm.

I have black guys that say, like,

they see me and they're all like,
"Damn, girl." You know?

Where are the white guys
that want a girl with a big butt?

Posted anonymously. Yikes.

This looks old,
but casual racism is evergreen.

And the Internet is turning against Annika
at the speed of outrage.

Of course, I can come over.

But the timing, Beck.
A video from college? Today?

In response to
Annika taking a stand against Peach?

Connect the damn dots.

- I have to go. Annika's having, like...
- Okay, go. Be with your friend.

Help her push Peach out a window.

- I'll text you tomorrow.
- Okay.

I made a mistake.
I underestimated Peach. Her cruelty.

Today, it's Annika.
Tomorrow, it could be you. Us.

Beck, I may never be able to prove

your best friend is capable of
destroying you with a flick of her wrist,

but that won't stop me from trying.

I'm sorry I'll miss you this morning.
But this is what it's come to.

I'm running. I'm a runner now.

Until yesterday,
I put all my effort into avoiding Peach.

But you know what they say.

Keep your friends close,
and your enemies...

Keep losing your enemies
because you're so goddamn out of shape.

Why does my kidney hurt?

This is torture,
but I have to know what we're up against.

I need to get into her head.

So, exhibit A. Peach starts every day
by punishing her own body.

Sadomasochist? Orthorexic?
Jury's still out.

Exhibit B. Peach is loathed at work.

Jayden, the Jacobsen chairs you ordered
are knock-offs.

And the specs on the Vanderbilt townhouse

were supposed to be
in my office by 7:00 a.m.

It's 6:50.

Entitled? Nepotized?
I'm getting warmer.

She doesn't go anywhere
without that laptop.

If only I could see inside.

Exhibit C in our tour of Peach's psyche.

Gauche? Demented?

If this is the fruit
of Peach's imagination,

there's no telling
what horrors she's capable of.

At least I have your old phone.

So, I sometimes get a warning
before Miss Congeniality appears.

Hey. Is Joseph here?

- Yeah, he's somewhere working.
- Oh.

Good morning, Joseph.

Anyways, what's the big news?

Okay, so, I didn't want to be tacky

and steal the spotlight
from Annika's meltdown last night,

but my professor
is hooking me up with an agent.

Beck, that's amazing
and surprising, but...

Shit! I'm so mad at myself.

What do you mean?

You know, with my family and everything,
I have agency connections.

So, I was gonna call a friend.
Roger Stevens.

Roger Stevens?
Doesn't he rep, like, famous writers?

You mean, like, Pulitzer winners,
Booker Prize finalists,

67% of the Times Best Sellers list?

Yeah, Beck, I'd say Roger Stevens
has repped some famous writers,

which, no offense, begs the question:

Why would he be interested
in an MFA student?

You can write for magazines, totally.

You know? That's legit, honest work.
Like what Annika does.

But Roger doesn't sell articles, you know?
He represents real authors.

So, it just depends on who you want to be.

I mean, if you can introduce us...

Happy to.
Yeah, he and I know each other

from when he was a counselor
at my Jew camp, so...

You know what?

Joseph? Joseph! Joseph?

I didn't know you were here, Peach. Hey.

We are gonna need you
to shut this place down tomorrow night

for a private party.

You know, it's perfect.

Roger is obsessed with
the sad and gritty New York.

I'll take care of everything,
if you can just...

you know, clean up a little.

Really, Peach?
God, you're amazing.

- Of course.
- Thank you.

You don't owe me anything, okay?

Happy to.

Oh, but you do, Beck.

But what am I supposed to do,
root for your failure?

That's not love. That's not me.

Wuthering Heights, huh?

It's a near-perfect cover...

for "Juvenilia: The Prosecution of Minors
in New York State."

I hear what goes on when Ron gets drunk.

I get it. You want options.
Legally-defensible options.

Maybe you're figuring out
what would happen

if you took a swing at Ron.

Put yourself between him and your mom?

Well, screw the book.
I can tell you what'll happen.

Best case, you hurt him.

Worst case, he hurts you back.

Someone at school will see
what he did to you.

Next thing you know, CPS is at your door.
You have 30 minutes to pack a bag.

Your mom loses custody.

You get punted from group home
to group home to group home

until you're 18.

Or you get fed up
and see if you can hack it on the streets.

Maybe you can do that. I couldn't.

Read this instead.

The Count of Monte Cristo.
It's another Dumas.

And we'll talk when you're done.

What's it about?

Revenge.

But more importantly,
living with the enemy.

♪ Just clap your hands now ♪

♪ Never did I ever
Mean to make a mess ♪

So, he gives the Pulitzer back,
and he's like,

"I'll have to trust you.
I wrote the whole thing on acid."

Hi.

- I thought you said this would be casual.
- Oh.

- Come on, I'll introduce you.
- Wait.

I need to get a drink first.

Don't be nervous.

Just be yourself.

I can't be myself.

I mean, the only reason
an agent like Roger Stevens

would even be interested in me
are my stupid essays

about my stupid dead dad
who's very much alive.

Okay, so don't be yourself.
Be more interesting.

You know, half the authors
you've ever read made up personas.

You know,

the Fitzgerald-in-a-fountain story
is tourism-fueled bullshit.

So give this guy a version of Beck

birthed by the same
formidable, creative mind

that put those words to paper.

Fitzgerald.

And Zelda.

Roger, this is Guinevere Beck,
the writer I was telling you about.

- Guinevere, milady, I love it!
- It's so old-fashioned!

Just call me Beck.
A lady I am not.

Well, I'm gonna go check on
the pear water. Be back.

So, how long have you known Peach?

Since her Adderall days. You?

You know,
since I started selling her Adderall.

Hard not to stare, right?

Roger keeps it tight.

I guess the book business
isn't always so pale and flaccid.

Did Beck tell you
I started jogging?

Fun. Runner's high is better than sex.

And for some, may last longer.

Touché, bitch.

Honestly, I'm starting to think
people who run just hate themselves.

No. It's all about the music, Joseph.

Find the right song,
and the whole thing becomes effortless.

Like Roger and Beck.

Can I be honest?

She's lucky she has me.

Beck rarely knows what's best for her.

I couldn't agree more.

Of course. Password-protected.
It's too risky.

Peach is already paranoid.

So, these are the humans
that made a creature like Peach.

God forbid a hair's out of place
for the country club crowd.

Bingo.

Diary.

Food diary. Christ, is there no end
to the neuroses?

Hello.

How old were you
when this was taken, Beck?

And what is Peach doing with it?

Hello, Joe.

Sorry I'm so wet.

Your friend is feisty.
Can she write?

There's potential.
She's not quite there yet, though.

MFA programs are such a scam.

You want me to give your friend
some advice?

She wants to be a real writer,
she should drop out.

I'm working on it.

Just, you know,
be gentle turning her down.

It sucks to be right, Beck.

Peach is trying to sabotage your career.

And I have to know why.

Here are some of
the most common passwords.

Password. 123456. Babygirl.

"Babygirl," really?

In any case, I doubt Peach is that stupid.

So, I'm outsourcing to someone
who's known her longer.

Hey, Annika. How are you holding up?

Well, I lost all my sponsors
'cause they're all a bunch of pussies,

a third of my Instagram followers,

and the only person who tweeted
in my defense was a Kardashian, so...

I mean, honestly,
where's the witch hunt for the guy

who saw a black-out-drunk girl
and decided to whip out his camera?

- Where's Beck?
- At my place.

She's revising one of her pieces.
She's been slammed.

Not too busy to party with Peach, though.

But, hey, that's Peach.
Beck's her favorite puppy.

- "Puppy"?
- She treats her like a pet, right?

Every day, it's like, "Beckalicious this,"
and "Beckalicious that."

And you know Beck secretly loves it.

The two of them are so co-dependent.

I'm sorry.
I know she's your girlfriend. I...

No. You know,
in Beck's defense, she really is writing.

I'm pushing her to make her deadlines.

Well, ain't you boyfriend of the year?

- I try.
- Yeah.

Hey, did Peach ever have any real pets?

Lame segue. I need the password.

- Um... Dalloway.
- Dalloway.

Yeah. A purebred bichon frise, obviously.

Yeah, Peach was, like,
devastated when she ran away.

I'm sorry,
I just need to work through this out loud.

It's like...

You know who gets away with

a self-deprecating joke
that's a little risqué?

And by "risqué," she means racist.

The fat girl.

Everybody laughs because she is harmless
and drunk and funny,

but, like, in a fat way.

But you know who gets crucified
for that same risqué joke?

Again, to be clear, racist.

The former fat girl
who is actually just embracing her body.

I mean, girls won't let girls just...

be.

Thank God. This was a huge mistake.

Sorry, it's Beck.

Hey. What's up?

So, Peach is here.

As in, here in your apartment.

Something about a stolen laptop.

Why don't you save us the embarrassment
and tell me where it is?

Is it in the kitchen?
Is it under the sofa?

Some little hidey-hole

where you squirrel away
all your stolen goods?

- Stolen goods? Okay, slow down.
- Yeah.

I don't know
what you're talking about.

Yes, you do.

Last night, you left halfway through.
Where did you go, Joseph?

Probably to take a piss?

Peach, believe it or not,
I can afford my own computer.

Beck. Help me out.

I don't know.

- What do you mean you don't know?
- I don't know.

I mean, of course you didn't...

I just...
Please don't put me in the middle of this.

Okay, Peach, if your laptop is stolen,
I believe you.

But the people at the party
weren't exactly strapped for cash, so...

I don't know, I mean,

is there, like, some other
more personal reason

someone would mess with you?

Oh, my God, Peach.

Weren't you just saying last week

that you were feeling unsafe
in your own home?

Whoa. I...

I mean, you run out in the open
every morning.

You're very pretty. You're a Salinger.

What if someone's creeping on you?

It wouldn't be the first time.

It wouldn't? Hallelujah.

Let's just say that James Franco and I
didn't end well.

We should call the police.

What are they gonna do?

Interrogate every single one
of Peach's friends?

Good luck convincing them
it's not just misplaced.

I'm sorry, I have to ask.
Have you tried Find My Computer yet?

It's just this little GPS...

I don't need you to mansplain
Find My Computer.

- I know how to do it.
- Okay.

Peach, isn't that your place?

She didn't think I'd be dumb enough
to bring her laptop here, did she?

Classy apology.

Joe, stop it.

Stop what? That was some bullshit, Beck.

And you didn't exactly rush to my defense.

What was I supposed to do?
You two are always sniping at each other.

And breaking into
each other's places,

but that's not the point.

She has had it out for me
from the first day we met.

No, she hasn't.

Are you blind?

Maybe you can't see it,
but Peach is next-level vindictive.

You know what?
If you hate my friends so much,

- why do you hang out with them?
- Because you force me to!

- If I didn't, I wouldn't see you.
- I don't have time for this.

I was supposed to send my pages
to Roger Stevens, like, an hour ago.

He doesn't care. He doesn't care.
He doesn't care.

He doesn't care!

He's never gonna sign you.

Peach is setting you up to fail.
I heard them talking at the party.

Roger thinks MFAs are a waste of time,
and Peach said herself

she thinks that you are not ready.

I'm sorry. I know the truth hurts,
but I have to set you free.

You are an asshole.

You know, if you don't believe in me,
just say so.

Don't come up with
some bullshit conspiracy theory.

No, Beck. Wait. No. I'm telling the truth.

You're allowed to be jealous of Roger.

I get it, you're a guy.
Boo-hoo, he's young and successful.

- No, that's not... No, wait. No, no.
- I don't care.

The last thing I would've expected
you to be was unsupportive.

Our first fight.

It was worse than I could've imagined.

And it's all thanks to Peach.

I want to punish her
for coming between us.

But I can't. I'm not that guy.

I'm an understanding,
supportive boyfriend.

I'm barely clever enough
to have gotten away with this.

The last piece of the Peach puzzle.
Proof that she has it out for you.

Here we go. "Dalloway."

God, even the dog is pretentious.

Thanks for nothing, Annika.

"Beckalicious this,"
and "Beckalicious that."

There's no way this works.
But also, please work.

Okay. Officially skeeved.

Not sure what I'm looking for,
but I'll know it when I...

Oh. "GB." Guinevere Beck?

What the hell?

Is this blackmail?

No, there's too much of it.
Going too far back.

I know what it's like
to be in love with you, Beck.

This is not what love looks like.
This isn't how love behaves.

This is the work of a sick mind.

Let's call it what it is. Perversion.

Now I understand
why Peach is setting you up for failure.

She's not threatened by you.
She's obsessed with you.

You know
I love you forever, right?

She wants to watch you,
have you, control you

like she controls
every other piece of her life.

She wants you all to herself.

Beck...

you've got a stalker.

Stop me if you've heard this one before.

A girl grows up
in a strict, old-money family

where any deviations from tradition
are punished.

Two choices:
be like them or be excommunicated.

No love, no money.

At some point, she makes a friend.
That's you, Beck.

She develops a harmless crush.

And it's 2018, so who gives a shit
if she's gay or bi or pan

or just a mortal in the presence of your
dangerous and exceptional pheromones?

I'll tell you who. Her family.
And she knows it.

So she takes her normal, healthy feelings
and crushes them.

Nurses them in a dark,
secret place for years.

Until they mutate into an obsession.
A sickness.

And now, your best friend is a stalker
and a sociopath and... Oh, God. A liar.

Runner's high is a myth.

Why the hell did I take up jogging again?

I'm in hell, Beck.

Even if I could share the proof,
you'd never believe me.

And now you're not even talking to me,
which means you're in trouble.

Look at you,
like a little literary hooker.

Get in!

Hey.

I so appreciate you reading my stuff.

Thank you for being down to ride.

I've got this Met benefit lunch
downtown this afternoon.

I figured you and I
could just bang it out.

Hey, office hours are better
without the office.

Well said.

Hey, speaking of.
These essays, these poems...

Loved, loved, loved every page.

Oh, my God. Really?

Fathers are the worst.

It's like their job is to mess us up.

What if we all just had two moms, right?
There'd be no wars. None.

I know, right?

Okay.

I'm gonna be real with you.

I think some of your stuff is problematic.

Wait. What do you mean?

Addiction is a disease.

And you wanna put your dead dad
on trial for being a victim?

I think the one you're talking about,

it's meant to be about forgiveness.

I'm sorry. That is my bad.

I skimmed.

So, what's your thing?

Is it, "Like daddy, like daughter"?

- Ow. Shit.
- What the hell? What are you doing?

Will you relax?

Here, take one of these.

No, I don't take anything.

Jesus, no wonder
I couldn't get through your stuff.

Peach was right. You have a lot to learn.

You think sobriety created
Joyce Carol Oates, sweetheart?

- You have a problem.
- You're a judgy little bitch.

Could you pull over?

This book is crap.

He waits 24 years to get justice?

What kind of message is that?

A smart one. It's all about the long game.

My mom needs help now.

Sometimes, putting yourself
between two people

is a surefire way to make things worse.

I promise you, we're not gonna let
anything happen to you or your mom.

It's too late.

Beckish? I got your SOS.

Oh, sweetie, what's wrong? Come here.

You set me up.

Excuse me?

Your friend, Roger Stevens,
was an asshole and a freak.

He doesn't want to sign me.
He never wanted to sign me.

This whole thing was just
designed to humiliate me.

Okay, calm down and tell me what happened.

He didn't even read my stuff.

He was a rude, entitled douche
who only wanted to get high and,

I wish I was exaggerating,
bang me in a limo.

- Okay.
- And you sent me there!

I had no idea that he was using again.

I mean, he's been clean since 9/11.

Beck, when it happened,
he was in an airport.

I don't give a shit!

You threw me under the bus!

"She's got a lot to learn"?

Go to hell.

Joe was right.
You live to cut down your friends.

Okay. I don't know
what your boyfriend told you...

Don't lie to me, Peach. I'm not stupid.
I'm not Annika.

Oh, come on. Annika may not remember
the night she went on that rant, but I do.

Junior year, Marcy House?
I was there. We were both there.

Are you accusing me of sabotaging Annika?

And me, and anyone else
who edges into your spotlight.

You would rather pick apart your friends
than maybe admit

that you're not being
your most amazing self right now.

It is exhausting being your friend!

I don't know what to say.

I mean, it was a favor, Beck.

And I don't need to love
your self-absorbed poetry

in order to be kind to you.

Where are you going?

Beck.

Beck? Come back.

♪ No one knows what it's like ♪

♪ You and me ♪

♪ You and I ♪

Can I come in?

I owe you an apology.

You were right.

About Peach's douchebag agent.
About Peach.

I told you so.
I told you so.

I'm so sorry.

How do you see things so clearly?

I mean, things I can't even
see for myself?

You must hate me.

Are you kidding?

I loathe you.

Get out of here, you trash goblin!

Whatever. This place is a dump.

Is it honesty o'clock?

Because I've been saving up
some intense constructive criticism.

No, I can't handle it!
Back to secrets and lies, please.

- Ignore that.
- You think?

I'm sorry. This is gonna keep happening.

She needs to get the message now.

You need to stop calling me.

Peach?

I just wanted to say
you were right.

I'm a bitch. I'm sorry.

Peach, what's going on?

Nothing. I just took some pills.

Which pills?

All of them.

Peach?

Peach? Peach?

Peach?

Oh, no.

Joe, I need towels,

and there's a naloxone spray
in the guest bathroom.

- Which one is that?
- It's downstairs!

That's good. Get it all out.

Thanks.

Where's the nasal spray?

- Shit, it must've come out in the hallway.
- It's fine. I'll get it.

- You sure?
- Yeah.

No way.

Peach logged her own suicide?

200 milligrams ibuprofen,
15 milligrams Wellbutrin.

There isn't enough in her system
for a light buzz, let alone an OD.

I see you spying, Joseph.

And you can't prove I wrote it all down.

Jesus, Beck.

This whole thing is an act.

A trap.

Tell me you see it.

I'll call the hospital.

No.

They'll put a 72-hour hold on me.
I'll be committed.

Exactly.

Beck, if this is real,
she needs to go to a hospital.

"If this is real"?

Did you even try to find the naloxone?

Joseph.

Joe, you wait outside.

Yeah.

Thank you for saving me.

Joe does have a point.

You should get a checkup.

What if instead you just stayed the night?

Just in case anything happens.

Whatever you need.

Beck, what I said
about her faking it...

Ugh, please, Joe. Stop.

She could've died.

We're not that lucky.

You two had one fight.

She tries to off herself, like that?
It doesn't add up.

This isn't the first time
Peach has tried to kill herself.

You're kidding.

I've talked her off of a ledge
more times than I can count.

So when she needs me, she really needs me.

I understand.

I understand that I'm too late.

There's too much history.

I understand
without a shadow of a doubt...

Peach wins.

How is a normal guy supposed to compete
with a rich, unstable stalker

who'd rather fake her own suicide
than be apart from you?

Your whole life is braided with Peach's.

Inseparable, now and forever,

until she drags you
into her own personal Grey Gardens.

Right now, she's probably
sinking her claws deeper.

You think wrecking this place
is gonna solve our problems?

Are you high again?

Another person I failed to help.

I thought I could better myself for you.
I couldn't.

I tried to be the perfect boyfriend,
the perfect friend to your friends,

and it wasn't enough. So, to hell with it.

It's freeing in a way,
to know so definitively where I stand.

Where you stand.

To know for certain
what I have to do to protect you.

And just like that,
everything clicks into place.

My feet. Runner's high.

It is pretty great.

And I remember
this is why I took up jogging.

♪ You must run and hide ♪

♪ For the hunter, he seeks ♪

♪ With his devilish pride ♪

Oh. She's dead.

Of course she's dead. She fell.

That's right, she fell.

An accident. Happens all the time.

She was running and she fell. Into a rock.

Over and over again.
Okay, let's be real, she was attacked.

Someone attacked her.
But maybe they had a good reason, right?

You ever think of that, Detective?

Shit! Detectives are real

and DNA is a thing
and I just hit that girl with a rock.

God, the sound.
I would never hurt a woman.

But she was a dangerous,
flesh-hungry harpy.

She forced my hand.
That's on her and her family

for screwing her up.
I had to, Beck. I had to.

I knew you'd never forgive me,
but she gave me no choice.

I'm not a bad person.
She was going to ruin you.

But you're safe now. Thanks to me.

I just want you to live your best life.

It's brave, what I do for you.

It's not easy. It's hard.
Sometimes it makes me sick.

I'm brave.

How many guys will do anything
for the person they love?

Honestly, Beck. You're lucky to have me.

It's over. What's done is done,

and now there's nothing
standing between me and...

Paco.

Paco, what did you do?

I couldn't take another night.

I didn't know how many sleeping pills
would knock him out.

Beck, you asked me to help Paco,
but turns out you're gonna save him.

Because it's thanks to you
that I know exactly what to do.

We need towels.
Does your mom have any naloxone?

It would be in the bathroom cabinet.
A nasal spray. Fast.

- Do I call 911?
- Not if you want to see your mother again.

You freak. You little freak.

The universe has a funny way
of keeping us humble.

That beating was karmic. I know it.

I did a bad thing today.

But for a good reason.

And if there's any justice in the world...

you are the reward for all my suffering.

Hey, you.

Oh, Joe, thank God.

Peach was attacked in Central Park
in broad daylight.

I'm headed to the ER now.

She's alive?

.srt Extracted, Synced and Corrected
by Dan4Jem, AD.XII.MMXVIII