Sex, drugs, and Wes Gregory

Chapter twenty seven

I speed to his house after giving wen a long speech as to why I'm leaving the house when we don't have school.

I pull into the guest house driveway, hoping he might just be in there. I run to the house but find the door locked.

Giving it a couple of bangs of my fist, I wait to see if someone is in the house that will answer to my knocking.

But no one shows

Cursing, I turn and run to his actual house, forgetting the fact that his dad may or may not be in there.

I don't care if I see his dad that he clearly has never wanted me to meet, I just need to find Wes.

I try the doorknob and see that it is not locked. Twisting it, I slowly open it and step inside his home without ringing the bell.

I hear absolutely nothing, nothing besides the sound of a distant tv. Not sound of footsteps, not anything.

Checking where the tv is to see if anyone is watching it, I find no one sitting on the leather couches or love seats in the room.

So I slowly make my way upstairs. I can't quite tell why I'm trying to be so silent. Maybe I'm going slow because it's the first time ever being in Wes's home.

For some strange reason, something tells me to go to the door on the right of the stairs. My eyes stay glued to it.

Listening to my gut, I walk to the door and open it up.

"Wes" I whisper as the door opens. "Are you in here?"

No words come back to me, only silence.

My eyes kind of widen when I see the inside of the room.

It's Wes's room.

But it isn't an average teenage guys room. Some parts is just what a guy would do but overall, the room is quite abnormal.

His bed sits back against the wall in the middle of the room. A bedside table stands next to it with a simple lamp on top of it.

Clothes are sort of thrown about the room, landing where they may. A desk with a computer and some book set against the far wall.

Beer bottles set everywhere around the room. Cigaret butts sit around the room on the floor, on the desks, on the messy bed.

He definitely is going through a hard time.

I notice that one of his walls is just a mirror. Two mirrors are side by side on the wall, only a tiny bit of space put between the two.

I pick up his cologne that rests on a desk and I bring it to my nose, breathing in his familiar sent with a slight smile. 

My feet takes me to his drawers in the dresser across the room. I pick up the soft fabric of his t-shirts, rubbing it between my fingers.

The feel of it reminds me of his perfect touch, of the way he felt against my hands.

My hands flip through the stacks of CDs. I see a Creed cd, a James Taylor, The Eagles, Rascal Flats, and many others that are well known.

I go over to his bed and run my hands over it, feeling the warmness over where he had just recently slept. I feel where the pillow dips in from his head and the slight damp spot from where his wet hair had rested. 

I go back downstairs and just as I pass the living room where the tv is on, I hear a familiar name.

"Trevor Lang's father, Christopher Lang, was found brutally murdered five days ago in his car, suffering from thirty seven stab wounds to the chest and fifteen to the head. The police are still desperately trying to find the person who did this. Stay tuned to hear more."

I blink a few times at what I had just heard.

Then something hits me like a pile of bricks.

I know exactly where to find Wes.