Life of Ives ✔️

Twenty-two

MAX

My dorm room is officially a hotbox. 

I've been sitting here since my roommate's stupid fucking alarm went off this morning, smoking both regular cigarettes and some of those green leaves I bought last weekend. Well, some is probably an understatement.. It feels fucking amazing to be high again. I've been staying away from everything drug- and alcohol-related all summer, and now I'm back, away from my mom and her prudish new husband. They can no longer judge me for my poor decisions. I do that very well myself, thanks.

I pull up my phone and look at the time. It's after twelve now, so Ives should be done with her classes for today. Maybe I should text her? Or call her? I don't even know. I'm sure my voice sounds croaky as hell right now, and she'd be freaked out. I don't think she's ever touched a cigarette before, and definitely not a joint.

I laugh a little, before I navigate into her Instagram account to look at her images. I wish she uploaded more selfies of her beautiful self, but I have no idea how I can make her do that.. Maybe I can convince Dean to tell her to do that. She seems to listen to him. Or maybe I can make Grayson ask Josie to upload some. Nah, I should let her decide for herself..

I pull my lighter up to the thick cigarette between my lips and inhale as I light it up once again. I close my eyes for a second before I look down at my phone once again. I quickly try to figure out what time it is in Paris, counting on my fingers, and I figure out that they are probably at least six hours ahead, so I dial my dad's phone number, and put my phone up to my ear, while I blow out the tainted air from my lungs.

After just a few rings, I hear that my dad has answered his phone, and I hear a lot of people around him, as usual.

"Hey, Maxy! Is everything okay?"

His voice seems happy as fuck, and I feel kind of envious.

"Yeah, I'm fine. What are you up to?" I ask him casually.

"Oh, I'm just at some dinner party with some friends, it's no big deal. Did you have something on your mind? Do you need some more money, kid?"

"Nah..."

I study the blunt between my fingers, and sigh a little.

"Max, I can hear that something's bothering you. Are you high?" he asks.

Of course he would know. He always knows. Probably because he smokes weed himself, and I've seen him snort cocaine a few times. He always let me take a puff of his blunts, but never the harder stuff, so I guess he's kind of responsible in his own way.

"A little," I admit, and take another drag of my cigarette. I feel so damn relaxed I don't even care that I just admitted to my dad that I'm high.

"Just weed, right?" he then asks me.

"Yeah, whatever. Hey, how did you... Nah, never mind," I say, and lean over to the floor, so I can flick the ash away from the tip of the rolled up weeds in my hand.

I was going to ask him about being jealous, but the busy sounds in the background makes me want to vomit. It's so not fair that I had to stay back here with my mom and her new guy, while my dad is living his best life in Paris.

"Look, Max, I hate to do this, but I have to go. We're taking it out to the bar, and you know, It's a huge cock block to be talking to my kid on the phone," he says, and I can hear his voice change a little towards the end, as if he puts a glass in front of his mouth. He's probably drinking some crazy expensive shit that costs more than my mom's mortgage. "I'll send you some more cash, kid, and then we can talk later?"