Being in a group home wasn't ideal for anyone, but for the six teenagers, it was the best they could get out of the crappy system. In other's eyes, it was an odd way to form a friend group bonding over being in the same abusive home. But in their ey...
SAMMY DRUG DEALER AND SAM WILLIAMS FRIEND ARE DIFFERENT
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•CHAPTER ONE-TWO• (beginning of the book in his pov)
I'm awakened by a loud groan, making me look over the barrier at Walker who looks disheveled and tired. He always looks like that.
He walks over to Mak and Alea's bed, shaking it hastily. I roll back over, rubbing my eyes tiredly. I'll always remember the first time Sammy got me to try coke, it was supposed to be a one-time thing till I could go back to my usual.
At fourteen I had assumed I'd hit rock bottom, but you can always go lower. I was now officially at rock rock rock rock bottom, who knows maybe in a few weeks I'll be at rock bottom times five.
"The waters out again?" I groan into my pillow, which means I can't shower the grimy feeling of sweat off me.
The rest of the group starts to talk but I stare up at the ceiling, my eyes go in and out of focus a few times and I wonder if I'm still high, probably.
I climb down my bed quietly, shoving past Walker and toward the bathroom. Once I get in there and barricade the door with a broom I feel around in my pocket for the small ziplock bag.
Closing the toilet lid, I pour half of it onto it, sectioning it into small little lines. I snort the first one and a sense of relief falls over me, and even though they haven't kicked in yet my body automatically loosens.
I lower my head to snort but pause when I see something out of the corner of my eye. Quinn stands there, horrified as she watches me.
Major Deja Vu hits me, When I walk into the bathroom I stop in the doorway, hunched by the toilet is my brother, but it isn't my brother. Large dark circles cover his under-eye, but that's not what shocks me. It's the open bag of mom's bath salts that are put into neat lines on our toilet seats.
I've followed in Darian's footsteps, which is the one thing he didn't want me to do. "Ares?" Quinn breathes heavily, eyes darting around the small bathroom
Darian is almost seventeen, but he looks older at this moment. Maybe it's the pills.
I'm
Almost
Seventeen
Maybe it's the pills.
It is the pills.
What have I done to myself?
"W-w-what are you doing?" She stutters, backing away from me like I'm poisonous.
"Don't tell them," I beg. My hands itch to do another line, but I can't, not with her watching.
Quinn nods frantically, darting out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. For eight years I've hidden my addiction from all my friends, most of them thought it was just cigarettes. Now, Quinn knows.
