Misadventure

14

A/N: before starting this chapter, Id like to reiterate the warning from this story's description. Things are going to get a little graphic. Id also like to remind everyone that there will be a happy ending, so try not to panic too bad. Thanks so much for all the reads, votes and comments. Enjoy<3

Louis' POV

Having Niall and Will at university with me was a strange enough feeling. Niall hardly talked to me anymore, though I couldn't blame him. Will was basically here for the partying, not because he cared about getting a music education.

But Harry Styles was the only thing anyone could talk about on campus. He had always been ridiculously gorgeous, but at some point over the past two years, puberty had hit him like a truck.

It shouldn't have bothered me as much as it did to hear people talk about how insanely attractive he was. I had no right to be jealous. So much had changed over the last two years. I wasn't the same person he met his junior year, and that was nobody's fault but my own.

Last year, I'd spiraled rapidly out of control whilst recovering from the window fall. Never did I imagine myself getting hooked on any drug, let alone opiates, but those pills they prescribed me for the pain were so insanely addictive. They made me feel amazing, and without them I felt like absolute death.

I was in denial at first. They improved my life so much in the beginning. And I convinced myself that they were safe and harmless, because a doctor had told me to take them. When my prescription had first run out, early winter of senior year, I thought that would be the end of me taking any sort of drug.

Then the withdraws hit.

I couldn't ween off of them. I'd already been taking more than the prescribed dose to begin with, and I ran out sooner than I should have. I tried everything to make myself feel better. Alcohol. Acid. Pot. Even crystal meth, which was a one time thing, and I wasn't proud of it one bit.

At that point, I should have fessed up to it. I should tucked my tail between my legs and told my mother that I'd been misusing the pills, and that I was having withdraws because of it. She would have been livid, but she would've taken me back to the doctor. They would have helped me withdraws under medical supervision, giving me methadone to keep me from getting so sick.

Of course, that's not the root I took. I couldn't face her, and tell her what a failure I was.

Will had some friends from London who were able to hook me up with pain pills and heroin. The shit was so fucking expensive. That spring was when I started having sex for money. Before that point, I'd only even kissed one person in my whole life. The first time it happened I cried like a baby for hours after. But as I kept doing it more and more, I gradually became numb to it.

I felt so guilty for ignoring Harry in class the other day, but I didn't know what else to do. I had showed up late as high as a kite. I knew if I so much as even made eye contact with him, he would notice. Harry could never know I was doing this to myself.

I was fucking up my own life bad enough, I didn't need to fuck up his too, especially considering everything he went through with his Mum. He was probably traumatized by it. I didn't want to make things any worse for him.

****

"Hey man, you busy?" Zayn strolled into our shared dorm, cello case tucked under his arm, and black backpack slung over his shoulder. "I was gonna go shoot pool in the common room. Wanna join me?"

Zayn and I became quick friends. We simply clicked. Still, I shook my head no. "I'm getting ready to go to a party."

"Sounds sick. Is it on campus?"

"Off campus. One of Will Mcginny's mate's is throwing it at a house outside of the city." I adjusted my quiff in the mirror. "It's open invite if you wanna tag along."

"Yeah, sounds good. Let me change real quick," Zayn answered.

"Okay. I'm just gonna piss real quick. It's a bit of a drive..." I took my own backpack into the bathroom and locked the door.

I always used clean needles when getting high. It felt almost silly, because I was essentially poisoning myself, yet cared enough about my health that I didn't want to contract some sketchy, deadly infection.

It was getting harder and harder to find a decent vein to poke lately. My arms looked like a fucked up water color painting of blues, purples, and greens from all the different stages of bruising. The sight made me almost sick to my stomach from shame. But the second the drug entered my body, it was like every care I had just melted away.

I pulled my sweatshirt back on, stashed the needle, lighter and spoon in my backpack, and returned to the main part of the dorm.

Zayn was the one who took on the initiative of decorating. I didn't mind this. He actually had decent taste. The walls were covered in beautiful artwork.

"These are brilliant." I came up behind him in the kitchenette. "Where'd you get all the paintings?"

He beamed. "Made them myself."

"Wow." I took another look around at the walls. There were at least fifty different art pieces tacked up on the walls, and they were all of different people, none of whom I recognized. "Are these of friends of yours?"

"Some of them." Zayn shrugged, putting on his shoes. "Some are family members. Some are total strangers. I like people watching."

"That's not creepy at all."

Zayn hit me with his shoe, laughing. "Fuck off. I'm not some stalker. I just find it interesting. I like trying to piece together people's personalities by looking at them, then portraying it on the canvas."

"No offense, but isn't like the first thing they teach you in primary school not to judge a book by its cover?" I asked.

"There's a difference between judging and observing. You'd be surprised what people will show you about themselves if you're actually paying attention."

"How so?"

"Fashion expression. Neatness or unkemptness. Body language. If they're alone or in a group," he answered. "The list goes on."

I tried to imagine a staring at a complete stranger for long enough to finish an entire painting. "Seems like a good way to get the cops called," I teased.

"I'm good at being discreet about it." Zayn smirked. "You haven't noticed me doing it to you yet, have you?"

"Remind me to buy a tapestry after the party. Gonna hang it over my bed so you can't watch me sleep."

He laughed at this. "No promises."

I tried to act as casually as possible getting ready for the party, but the drugs were starting to take over. By the time we were in the parking lot behind the dorms, I felt totally out of it. "Zayn, mate?"

"Hmm?"

"Mind driving? I don't have my glasses with me," I said.

"Again? You should keep an extra pair in your car or something," he answered, but I still accepted the keys as I handed them to him.

It wasn't rainy like yesterday, but the sky was dark and overcast. My whole life when I imagined what my first week of university would be like, I never pictured it would be so gloomy.

Then again, I shouldn't have been so surprised, because nothing was really going to plan at all.