“A cigarette and a joint? At the same time?”
“Yup,” I say, popping the P.
“You’re gonna kill your lungs if you keep that up.”
“Like you care.”
“Don’t do that,” he says. He comes in front of me, crouching down. Elbows propped on his knees, hands hanging between his legs.
He looks fine.
Better than fine.
“You look like shit,” he observes. I laugh, but it’s humorless.
The dining hall door opens. “Hi, Maverick,” Clayton says. Looking up at Maverick, I watch as he motions his head to the side, silently telling Clayton to come here. Ignoring whatever they’re gonna say, I take a drag of my joint and cigarette at the same time.
“That’s not my responsibility,” I hear Clayton say.
Maverick is better than that to not be heard. It’s a mostly one sided conversation I’m listening to.
“I didn’t do this. He did this to himself.”
“I don’t trust him. That’s not my fault.”
They go back and forth for several more minutes, but after hearing enough, I blocked them out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Clayton walk away without sparing a second glance my way.
Mav comes over to me, sitting on the ground beside me and pulls the cigarette from my fingers before putting it out on the ground and shoving the butt into his pocket.
“Hey! I was smoking that.”
“You need to pull your head out of your ass,” he says, voice stern.
“I’m good. Nice and cozy up here.”
“God, for your sake, I hope you never get your heartbroken again. You’re life isn’t fucking over, Max. Get off your ass and win him back if that’s what you want. He came over here, so, he clearly cares about you.”
“He doesn’t want to talk.”
“You did everything right to make him fall for you. Do it again.”
“Do it again,” I mock in a sarcastic tone.
“Oh, fuck you. You have had nothing but an attitude for the last week. Skipping class, skipping work. Enough, alright? Someone is gonna catch you breaking all these rules and get you into some serious trouble. Daddy Levine isn’t here to help you, so fucking get up,” he says, standing and staring down at me.
I don’t move.
“Up.”
“No.”
“Get the fuck up, you toddler.”
To piss him off further, I lay down in the grass.
“No,” he growls, bending down and gripping onto my shirt and heaving me up off the ground. I try to fight his hands off of me, but he doesn’t let up. I'm too high and drunk to put up any of a fight, he knows that. He knows that I know that he knows.
