Light -Marcel Fanfiction-

Chapter Eighteen

Holy shit, my head hurts. Holy shit.

I drank way too much. What time is it? Where's Grace? Who's... oh, fuck.

No, no, no. I bolt upright, a sharp pain like a dagger in my temple when I jolt out of bed. Some random guy lies asleep in my bed. Shit, shit, I didn't, I couldn't have. I throw some clothes on and run downstairs, grabbing a huge cup and filling it with water. Then I run back upstairs and throw the water at the guy. He shouts a curse and falls out of bed, onto the ground, and then groans.

"Get the fuck out of here!" I shout, throwing his clothes at him. He's tall and strong, tan and toned, strong jawline. Hot. Normally I would go for another round if I managed to get somebody that hot home.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" the guy yells at me.

"I'll give you three minutes to get out of my house," I snap.

"I wasn't that bad, was I?" the guy smirks.

"Two minutes," I warn. He throws up his hands in defeat and starts redressing himself.

What have I done?

"You got laid? Cool, me too," Grace says, obviously oblivious to my problem. I feel awful, I shouldn't have done that, not after just breaking up with Marcel.

"Who?"

"My boyfriend came and drove me home around one," she informs me. I run my hands through my hair. "Do you remember anything?"

"No, I don't," I sigh, rubbing my eyes. "Nothing passed going home, I don't even remember doing anything to get him home with me," I say. She moves some of my hair to the other side of my face. I rub my jaw, feeling some bruise from some fight. My lip is also swollen, but I'm not sure if that's from a fight or from the guy last night.

"Did you smoke anything?" I tense, and rub my temples.

"I sure as fuck hope not, Grace. I don't know, I don't know," I sigh, exasperated. "I don't wanna fall back in that circle." I told Marcel that I didn't do drugs, and I wasn't lying. But I never said that I haven't. I've never been addicted to any drug, but I would still smoke them. I eventually just decided I had to stop, and I did, without too much difficulty. I said that I wasn't addicted, it was a once every two weeks kinda thing, since I was thirteen, until I was nineteen.

Jason really pushed me to stop, even though it never really affected my athletic ability or my personality. It was just fun. He just cared about me, that's all. I've never done any hardcore drugs, cocaine or methamphetamine. I know that you can become addicted to marijuana, but I just never let myself become addicted. It was just some more stupid shit I did, running around and having sex and smoking weed and chugging booze.

Once, with a group of friends, somebody laced my weed. I remember everything. I ran into walls and it didn't hurt, it tasted and smelled a lot different but I didn't care. I felt so weird, everybody laughed at everything I said. I actually didn't smoke anything for a year after that, it terrified me. I eventually did go back due to, you guessed it, peer pressure. It was nice, though, most of the time. Being a pothead wasn't even a bad thing to me. Now I don't want to get anywhere near the shit.

"You're okay, babe," Grace tells me. She pats my back and my forehead aches.

"This is too much," I groan, and stand up. I kiss her cheek and exit her house, driving down the street and pausing in front of Marcel's house but continuing down the road back home. I immediately grab my gloves and tape, my gym bag and water bottle, a sweat towel and some gauze, just in case. And then I set off for the gym.

As soon as I walk in Jason greets me with a grin and swings his body over the counter. For some reason I stride towards him and envelope him in a hug. "What did you do, Chase?" he asks.