The Drug Years

Lacey's Point of View
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"You are grounded for a week," she stated with her hands placed firmly on her hips. This usually meant that she means business and there would be no parole for good behavior.

"What?" I couldn't believe this. I had never been grounded before. This was ridiculous! It's not like anything bad was happening when they walked in. "I'm grounded for kissing my boyfriend!" I exclaimed standing up from the couch.

"No. You are grounded for having a boy over without supervision," my father chimed in holding a news paper under his arm.

I was very tempted to tell them that he had been over before when they were here, but that probably wouldn't help my case. In fact, it may have landed me with infinite grounding.

I sighed before trudging to my room and shutting the door--I wasn't big on the whole drama of slamming doors. It almost always got you nowhere. Besides, it's not like I did anything fun anyways. Most days I rarely left my room. Usually I left only for dinner and when my mother commanded I do a chore.

I laid on my bed and stared at my white ceiling. It was made up of square tiles, so I usually tried counting them. I have never counted them all because I usually end up distracted by something or I lose count. I began my attempt at counting them when someone slid gracefully into my room from the window.

1...2...3...4...

"How much trouble are you in?" Quinton asked as he walked over to me.

"Grounded for a week," I replied. I didn't look at him. I just continued counting the tiles one by one.

...11...12...13...

"That sucks. I'm sorry," he apologized.

"Not your fault," I responded, sort of angry because I had just lost count. I started over.

...1...2...3...

"What are you doing?" He asked curiously.

...6...7...

"It's impossible to count the tiles on the ceiling," I stated. "I've always tried but I've never been successful."

He looked up at the ceiling and didn't say a word. "47," he replied two minutes later.

"How...?" I began but didn't know where to finish.

"I count fast," he replied.

"You are too smart to be a drug addict," I mumbled hoping he didn't hear, but I knew he did.

"You are too grouchy," he stated. "I'm the one with the hangover. You should be thankful you don't feel like I do."

"Why do you drink if it makes you feel bad after?" I asked truly curious.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"That's not an answer," I stated annoyed.

"Sometimes there isn't an answer for everything," he replied before sitting down on the bed by my feet.

I sat up. "That's the problem sometimes. There is never an answer."

"What's wrong?" He asked worried. "Something is up with you."

I sighed. "I am pissed that I am grounded for a week for doing nothing! They treat me like a child!"

He chuckled. "It's because technically you are."

I groaned, "Well I'm not. Just because the government considers me one doesn't mean I am!"

"You are very stubborn sometimes," he stated running his hand through his black hair and looking at the floor.

"You are very confusing sometimes," I rebutted.

He looked back to me, his gaze holding mine for what seemed like an eternity. I leaned closer until my lips barely touched his before whispering, "I love," but before I could say 'you' he leaned into me, our lips crashing together.

He began to pull away, but I grabbed his shirt and held him close to me. "Let's give them a valid reason to ground me," I said reaching to pull his shirt off.

"No," he said pulling away and moving to the other side of the room. "Not tonight," he replied. "You're doing this out of anger. I won't let you mess up like I did."

He looked at me, his eyes pleading with me to understand. "Ok," I spoke.

"Plus I should be arriving for dinner soon and I don't want to be late," he smiled at me before walking over to the window. Before he made his exit, he turned to me and said, "I love you too."

I didn't know why, but I began to blush. He loves me. He cares for me. But then I remembered he cared for her too.