Feel It All (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Jesse

A pounding at my bedroom door startles me awake. "Jesse," I hear Christian yell, still pounding on the door.

I lazily peel off my bed and throw a dirty black t-shirt on, boxers and my gray sweatpants.

"Jesus, man. It's almost noon."

I furrow my eyebrows, confused why he's at my door, why he gives a shit what time I sleep until on a Sunday morning.

"So?" I ask, groggy from sleep.

"The fuck do you mean 'so'? You can't miss any more school, man, or you're going to have to do summer school."

"Dude, it's Sunday."

He shakes his head with a scoff, running a hand through his hair.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jesse. It's Monday. Get fucking dressed. I'll be outside in my car. You have a test in Trig, and you can't afford to miss it."

I shake my head, confused.

There's no way it's Monday. I'm not losing track of days, am I?

Christian walks out of my room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Fuck," I mumble as I search through the piles of clothes on my floor, looking for something clean. I find a semi-clean gray hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. I smell them first to make sure they're clean enough to wear.

I grab some folders and notebooks from my dresser, shove them into the backpack by my bed. I grab an empty water bottle from my nightstand, open the second drawer of my dresser, push some clothes to the side, and grab my bottle of vodka. I pour some into the water bottle, put the lid on it, and walk out the door, slinging my backpack over my shoulders. I don't even bother brushing my teeth or putting deodorant on.

I hop into Christian's car, avoiding eye contact. He sighs heavily and starts the car, pulling out of my driveway.

"How the fuck do you get so messed up that you don't even know what day it is, man? Like, I know shit's rough, but come on."

I ignore him, looking out the window. I'm too hungover for one of his lectures right now. He turns the radio up when it's clear he's not getting a response, but I groan, turning it off. I already have a headache.

He pulls into the school parking lot and looks at me, eyebrows raised.

"You look like shit."

I open the car door, hopping out and mumbling, "Fuck you," as I slam the door.

I pull out my phone from my pocket, checking the time and ignoring the three missed calls from my mom. I have five minutes until Trig class. My head's still pounding, so I take a long drink from my water bottle, wincing, hoping that'll help. I make my way slowly to class, dreading taking a fucking test right now.

I take a seat in my normal spot, and pull my phone out again while I wait for class to start. Shaking, I click on Mark's contact.

I type.

Me: Hey man, you got anything?
Mark: I got some Oxy.
Me: Okay. Meet at your house after school?
Mark: Yeah.

I put my phone on the desk and take another swig from my water bottle, the familiar burn traveling from my throat to my stomach. I need something stronger, though. I feel sick.
I'm pretty confident I failed that math test as I walk out of class. I try to make it pass Coach Anderson's classroom without him noticing me, but I fail.

"J," he calls out to me from across the hallway. I could pretend I didn't hear him, but he'd just chase me down. I walk over to him hesitantly, putting my hands in the pockets of my sweatpants.