Jesse
After we left the football game, we all hung out for a while in the parking lot. We smoked a little weed, drank some vodka, messed around. Anyway, I might have been a little more fucked up than I thought because I ended tripping on the rug when I got home. My mom was already mad that I wasn't home when she wanted me to be, so her noticing I was drunk didn't make it any better.
"So, not only do you stay out way later than you were supposed to, but you come home wasted? Are you kidding me, Jesse?" she yelled.
My older brother was watching from the couch, and he looked disappointed. That pissed me off, because he hasn't been home in months, and he wasn't exactly Mr. Teenage America when he did live here.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"What the fuck is going on with you lately, Jesse? You're failing more than half your classes, you're coming home drunk, your room is a fucking pigsty. You know, and your brother was excited to see you. And you stayed out getting wasted instead of seeing your brother who hasn't been home in months."
"Maybe he hasn't been home in months because he can't stand to be around you," I slurred.
It just slipped out. I never would've said that if I were sober. Not like I'm really sober all that much these days, anyway. I didn't feel bad last night when I said it, but I do now.
"Jesse, what the fuck?" my brother yelled, standing up from the couch and crossing his arms.
My mom started to cry, which made me ever more mad, because she's said and done a lot worse. I know that's not fair, but I don't care.
"Whatever," I muttered, stumbling as I walked to the stairs.
I don't even remember how I made it upstairs. I'm surprised I didn't fall and break my neck, I was so wasted.
I'm paying for it now though, because I can't sit up or else I might puke, but I also really need to use the bathroom. And my head is pounding like someone is taking a hammer to it.
Eventually, after almost twenty minutes, I'm able to sit up, very very slowly. The rooms spins around as I do, but it stops after a minute or two. I sit up until I think I can stand without puking my guts out, and then I walk like a sloth to the bathroom. You'd think after all the times I've gotten drunk, I wouldn't be so sick afterwards, but that's never the case.
After I'm done in the bathroom, I go into my old gym bag to see if I have anything left from the stuff I got from Mark the other day, but I don't.
"Fuck," I mutter to myself.
I call him, he doesn't answer the first time. I call him again, even though I know it'll piss him off.
He answers on the third ring.
"What the fuck do you want?" he yells into the phone, his voice harsh.
"Do you have anything? I need something or I'm going to be sick."
"I have some Vicodin, but that's it right now."
"Man, you don't have anything stronger?"
"No, not at the moment."
"Fuck, well can I come over, then?"
"Yeah," he says, and then hangs up.
He's not one for small talk, which I like about him.
I stay in the same clothes I wore last night and find my black crocs, slipping them on without socks. I silently pray that my mom or brother aren't downstairs right now. Thankfully, when I get downstairs, the house is completely empty. They must have gone to run an errand.
I hop into my car and put the key in the ignition, a loud rumble erupting when I do. I'm about to back out of the driveway when my phone buzzes. I look down and it's Christian.
What does he want?
I decline the call.
I've been annoyed with him ever since last night. I don't know why, though. It's not like I care who Audrey dates, as long as it's not Christian. I'm not even sure I know why, though. Christian is a good guy, I just don't think he's right for Audrey.
I pull into Mark's driveway and rest my head on the steering wheel for a minute, my head still pounding. I get out and walk up the pathway to his front door, and then just walk in. He finds it "weird" when I knock. I see him sitting on the couch, next to another guy I've never seen before.
"Hey, Jesse. Hold up a second," he says, getting up and going to another room.
He comes back out holding a baggie with pills inside of them, and I feel a pang of guilt as I hand him the money. I always feel guilty, because I promised myself I'd never end up like this. Even when I first started using, I always just told myself, "I'm not like my mom. It's just a couple times." And now here I am, once again buying drugs.
"Thanks. I gotta go," I say, wanting to get the hell out of this house.
When I get home, my mom and brother are back, sitting at the kitchen table.
I hurry up the stairs before my mom can stop me, and lock the door to my room once I get in.
I take two of the pills out of the baggie, and crush them up the way I always do. Then I grab an index card and separate the powder into separate parallel lines.
Once I'm done, I sit down on my bed and stare at the wall. It kicks in within two minutes, and when it does, all the noise kind of fades away. I feel like my body if floating in the clouds, and any guilt or anger I might've felt is floating away with my body. I don't know how long I stare at the wall, but I eventually pass out.
YOU ARE READING
Feel It All (Part 1)
Romance(There will be three parts in this series) Jesse Reed, seventeen, had a rough childhood. His mother was addicted to drugs and his father wasn't very present. To no one's surprise, given his childhood, Jesse began struggling with addiction when he wa...
