☆Blaze☽

Chapter 27:

"Dude," someone muttered as they kicked me lightly in the ribs. I stayed unresponsive.

There was another kick, "Dude, Lake, get up." He rolled me over onto my back with his foot, and then it collided harder with my side. I groaned and squinted at him through the morning light. Whiskey was already in his uniform with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hair styled to perfection.

"What time is it?" I rubbed at my watering eyes but refused to crack them open any further. The pain in my head was somewhat manageable, but I hadn't even stood up yet.

"You have like," he glanced down at his watch and then back at me, "ten minutes."

"I'm going to look awful," I said sadly, running hand through my hair only to have it get stuck. I stared down at my sweatpants and looked up at him, my eyes still only a crack open due to the sunlight that flooded in through the windows.

"You need to drop me off at home. I don't have my uniform, or backpack." Whiskey sighed in annoyance and offered a hand to pull me up off the ground. He distributed an Advil into my palm and began to walk away.

I stared at the pill for a moment before putting it in my mouth. Oh, God. I couldn't swallow this. I started to gag on the dry pill and Whiskey shot me an amused glance as he pointed to the water on the side table.

My day was already off to an amazing start.

It wasn't until I was standing in the hallway, waiting for my Advanced Functions teacher to come unlock the door, that I realized. I realized that despite the fact I was in my uniform with my backpack on and my hair looking mildly presentable, I had neglected one thing. One fucking huge thing.

There was still cocaine in my bag.

I groaned, out loud. Not that there was anyone there to hear it since I was the only one that would show up to a math class moderately early. I had to find Beatle. I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, unlocking it and ignoring the missed calls and texts that lit up my lock screen.

When all my calls went unanswered it started to really set in. The hairs on my arms rose in goosebumps and my stomach flipped in an uncomfortable way. Everyone seemed to see right through me and suddenly I couldn't take it.

There was fucking cocaine in my bag.

Yesterday it didn't seem so bad. I was helping Beatle and I only needed to hold onto it for a few periods, and then it was over. And there was no reasonable evidence to suspect I had anything. Now they had already spent a day mulling over the surveillance from yesterday, and if they started to connect the dots I was utterly fucked.

I stared at my phone screen a second longer and opened up my messages, ignoring all the new ones from Beatle probably asking me where I went and why I wasn't talking to him. I began typing a text to him.

Putting the box in the bathroom.

Next to the garbage.

Math wing.

The delivered sign appeared and I prayed that he would read it before someone else found it. I slipped into the bathroom and checked under the stalls to make sure no one was in here. Unless someone saw me, I was safe. It's illegal to put cameras in the bathroom, not to mention that would be disgusting and pointless anyways since all you would probably catch would be some kids trying to stick toilet paper to the ceiling.

I sighed in relief as I finally took the container from my bag and pulled the garbage can a few inches from the wall, shoving the drugs in the space I had created. I glanced around once more before emptying back into the now bustling hallway. The first warning bell must have sounded. I crossed the hall back to my class and leaned against the wall.

I grabbed my phone so fast it nearly slipped onto the floor when I felt it vibrate. Beatle had texted back a single word: thanks. I couldn't tell if he was mad at me, or he was trying to give me space, or he just didn't know how to act now. Or I was just overthinking it. Beatle was never great at texting anyways. Getting a sentence out of him was like asking him to write a book. But at least I knew he was going to get them and I didn't have to worry about that anymore.

It was right before lunch that I got called out of class, being asked to come down to the main office. I had a horrible gut feeling about what this was, but I tried to ignore it. I got called to the main office plenty of times, albeit that was before I had met Beatle. I used to get called down because I had placed in a provincial math contest, or had received a certificate.

The teacher waved his hand to dismiss and no one in the class really seemed to care. I wasn't worth gossiping about. I sucked in a breath as I pushed up from my desk and skirted down the halls. I willed myself to think positively, but it was impossible.

You're so screwed.

Mom's going to kill you. She wanted to anyways, and now it's justifiable.

I took another deep breath and squeezed my eyes. Positive thoughts.

Maybe prison food isn't that bad.

When I finally got to the office no one was waiting for me, which was always a good sign. Maybe I had forgotten something at home and Mom had brought it. Or Uncle Hec had died.

Oh God, I preferred family death to getting caught. I'm going to hell for sure.

I stepped up to the receptionist to inform her that I had been called down when the principal's door swung open and he stared me down for a moment, with his eyebrows knitted together. Then he beckoned me with his hand.

The time spent inside of Mr. Keefe's office consisted of him talking a lot and me nodding whenever it felt appropriate. I didn't know what exactly I was being accused of, since my soul focus was on Beatle looking ashamed and guilty in the seat next to me. I decided it couldn't have been that bad though, because there weren't police and we were talking suspension not prison. There were a few words that stuck with me though. Serious offense. Permanent record. But most of all, good kid. Was I even good anymore? What defined good? Obviously I had no idea.

We were asked to leave the school and return in three days when our suspensions were over. The truth was that Beatle had long surpassed that maximum number of suspensions you could accumulate before a pending expulsion. It was then that I realized that the only way he wouldn't have been expelled is if he made some kind of deal, a trade. And that trade was me. Beatle ratted me out.

"Did you show him the text I sent you in the morning? Is that how you saved your ass?" Beatle's face paled at the accusation and he shook his head, causing strands of hair to fall from their perfect placement.

"No! I would never do that!" He held up his hands, as if that was some sort of testament to his innocence.

"So they just found you with coke in your backpack and instantly made the connection."

"They looked over the tapes!" He sounded convincing, and I wanted to believe him, but it didn't reach his eyes. I wanted to apologize for thinking so absurdly and have a really cute moment and then we could go get ice cream or watch a movie or light the town on fire for all I cared. Like the ending of a story. I thought I deserved that much.

I couldn't just pretend that I didn't notice his eyes. I couldn't believe what I wanted to, what he wanted me to. It wasn't the truth. So instead of apologizing, I challenged him.

"You're lying."

I waited for him to jump to his own defense; for him to try and prove it to me because I worth at least that much to him. But he didn't. He didn't because he couldn't. Instead, he opened his mouth and shut it shortly after, gazing down to where his fingers had started playing with his backpack strap.

"I can't believe you!" I yelled, trying to hold back the tears but barely being able to. I didn't care if it made me seem like an insolent child, I had been betrayed by someone I would trust with my life. By someone I loved.

Yes, I loved that asshole. The completely deranged maniac. Maybe I never said it, but I felt like I didn't need to. Because he just knew that I did in the same way I just knew that he cared about me. Or I thought he cared about me. The lines were starting to become hazy now. The same guy who was ready to take the blame for me months ago when we were barely anything had now pushed me under the bus.

"How could you do that to me? All I tried to do was help you!" I pushed on his shoulder but he didn't stumble. I almost wished he would, as if that would give me some satisfaction. I knew it wouldn't, and I didn't quite understand why I tried to push him in the first place. Maybe it was to see if he would push me back, if he had changed that much. I nearly felt relieved when he continued to stare at me with the same lost and sad expression.

"I would've helped you through anything. Hell, I would have helped you bury a body if it came down to it. And you do this," I choked out the last sentence, biting my lip to hold back the stupid tears.

"I-I-"

"You what?" I cut him off, angrily. I wanted an explanation, I needed an explanation. Because right now all I knew was that I would be lucky to get accepted to any university, and it was his entire fault. I had fucked up my life for him. I was so stupid.

"I'm sorry," he said, locking his peridot eyes with mine.

"Well that's great. Why don't you go tell the Mr. Keefe that? I'm sure he'll change my permanent record."

"I was just scared."

"Of what?"

"You're leaving me," he muttered. It felt like I had just been slapped in the face. I was leaving him!? He was the one that had made sure there was no chance of us going to the same university.

"Leaving you?"

"You're going off to university. A nice university. And you're going to forget all about me."

"And the solution to that was to fuck up my life? It's your fault we're not going to the same school, because you don't talk to me. You never talk to me! You just make stupid, rash decisions and then expect me to understand them. You're such a child!"

"El, I-" he reached for my hand but I cut him off, backing up and shaking my head.

"Don't. I hope it was worth it, Lennon."

I turned and left.

**A/N I'm pretty sure this is the shortest chapter of Blaze, but I feel like if I write anymore I'll ruin it, because I'm moderately happy with it now.

So, all of you that were asking me to update are probably wishing I didn't right now? Yeah, honestly the only reason it took me so long to write is because I didn't want to, because they're my babies. But I promised a somewhat realistic story, and trying to avoid cliches, so this had to happen. Okay, maybe it didn't. But anyways, it happened.

How you guys holding up?

This is not the end. A few more chapters, not many.