"Just lie to me, Blake." He was pleading at this point.
"No, I can't keep lying anymore, Harry. Please just stop." I could feel the tears forming as I was starting to get angry at the situation but more at myself.
"Lying to who, baby?" His voice tu...
Man, I know that it's hard to digest But maybe your story ain't so different from the rest And I know it seems wrong to accept But you've got your demons, and she's got her regrets
--
Bailey? Who the fuck is Bailey?
I recognized the blonde from the bar the other night, he was very much in his celebration clothes. He was wearing some tacky red patterned shirt that he definitely spent too much money on. He looked like the type to buy clothes, whether or not they were appealing, simply because they were designers. His nose was holding up a pair of tawdry red sunglasses at 2 in the morning and his cigarette disappeared into the ashtray as his eyes never left my own.
Self-medication. Everyone had their own ways of dealing with this life.
"It's Blake, Asher." Harry's tone and facial expression had entirely changed after mouthing an apology to me. His voice was more gravely and his furrowed eyebrows hooded his eyes. This was a personality I was most used to seeing but not personally with him.
Harry's soft side has melted away altogether after coming face-to-face with 2 women and 3 men, well actually 2 men and a boy.
There was the blonde one with anger issues, who I've come to find out is Asher; a dark-haired male with slight stubble and distinct dark eye bags; a bronze skinned girl with long braids and small, minimalist tattoos distributed across her visible skin; I couldn't see the other girls face as she was snuggled up against Tattoos, but I knew that the reason they were in this position was because of the lit joint in between her slender fingers.
Walking towards the couches trailing Harry, I see the young quiescent boy that my eyes caught a glimpse of a little earlier. There was no chance he was a day older than 17, but here he was amongst these twenty-something-year-olds with a cigarette in between his lips and a drained look in his eyes.
I keep my eyes on him as I sit next to Harry on the sofa, using the gaze detection phenomena once again. His bruised knuckles grabbed the stick in his mouth before flicking his eyes up to my own.
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He was so tired.
He still had his uniform on, reminding me that it was still Friday and trying to wrap my head around the contrast between a high school scene that he was part of earlier today and the scene he is in now. The top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned and his tie was loosely hanging around his neck. His uniform was a simple white shirt with a red tie and a dark blue blazer that was set next to him, but his articles of clothing were not what diverted my attention; it was the wine-colored blood stains and the faint wrinkles covering the top part of his button-down.
When I looked back up at him, I saw that his hand was now away from his mouth and I can see the dried blood in the corner of his mouth. Was he being bullied?
