When We Were Young

V: human

fourteen

What the hell happened to him?

This is exactly what I ask his friend. I can tell he's sizing me up and realizing that I'm just a young girl.

"Are you Tatum?"

I shake my head and I hear Gray groaning, "Rick."

His friend's eyebrow shoots up. "Rick?"

Not bothering to correct him, I ask again, "What the hell happened to him?"

"I showed up at his dorm and he was completely wasted. He must've downed a few bottles of tequila or something. Smoked a bit of weed as well from the smell of it. I was supposed to drive him home today, so I dragged his ass out of his room into my car. He threw up a few times and is barely functional, but hasn't passed out yet."

My brain is whirling, not correlating this moaning, drunk boy with the Gray I saw only four months ago.

Gaining some sort of cognitive ability, I invite the two in. His friend drags him through the threshold as if he was a large doll and shoves him onto the couch where I was just seated. Gray lets out a huge groan and slumps down, head hitting the wall behind him.

"Rick." He tries to reach out for me, but gravely miscalculates where I am, hitting the lamp instead. "I'm sorry."

His friend huffs. "I think you owe me an apology too." He turns to me. "I'm Maxim, by the way. I live on the same floor as Grayson and we're on the hockey team together."

I give Maxim a tight smile. "Thanks for bringing him home. He calls me Rick, but I'm Maverick. Or usually just Mave."

What an odd way to meet someone.

Maxim's phone buzzes and he looks at me apologetically. "My mom's wondering where I am. I better go. Sorry to leave him here with you like this."

Shrugging, I nod with understanding.

After Maxim's left, I get a good look at Gray. He's got a cut on his forehead that seems to be clotting and large bags under his eyes. Not only has his hair not been cut in a while, he's clearly also not shaven in a few days, dark scruff lining his chin and jaw. His eyes are open now and instead of a warm brown, I see black.

And Maxim was right, he wreaked of the smell of weed.

I don't know if I want to hug him or slap him.

"What the fuck, Gray?" I tower over him on the couch.

He smiles dumbly, not exactly cognizant of what is going on. "Wow, little Rick is swearing now."

I roll my eyes, becoming very agitated with him. "You don't call or text for two months and you show up back at home drunk and high? Are you fucking kidding me? How much have you had to drink?"

"One cup... maybe two, promise." He sticks his pinky out at me and I slap it away.

"Bullshit." I spit at him, fuming. The least he can do is have an explanation for me after two months of dodging my texts and calls.

Suddenly, I feel a surge of gratitude that Tate and Lily aren't here to witness this. Lily would've been too kind and understanding to him, a luxury he absolutely does not deserve after abandoning us and then coming home like this. Seeing her brother like this would've broken Tate, who looks at him as if he hangs the stars. If she were here, their relationship would undoubtedly become severed, so I'm glad I'm the one to deal with this. It's the least I could do for them.

Looking back down at Gray, I see tears welling up in his eyes and my heart begins to swell. I have to remind myself of what he has done because my love for him is taking over and I just want to comfort him.