Taylor

Chapter 3.

Warning!!! In this chapter, you will meet Taylor Gabriel.  Her scenes are a whole different perspective. Her chapters include foul language, drug use, and some sexual content. This chapter does not include anything sexual. But if you are uncomfortable with reading about things like this please don't read. If you are reading please enjoy vote and comment!

Taylor Gabriel

I look at Sawyer's lazy smile as the last bit of smoke leaves his mouth. He winks at me and I roll my eyes. I take the joint, bubbling with marijuana, away from him. Sawyer's toned, slender fingers run through his blonde, messed hair. Blue, turquoise streaks are messed in the middle, still bright from few months back when I colored his hair while high on cocaine.

I press the joint to my lips and light the bottom. I inhale as big as I can. As if, that will erase everything.

"Woah!" Riley, from across the room says, "get it away from her!'

Sawyer rips it from my grip and I cough out the rest.

"Damn, Tay," Riley breathes. I look at her. No matter how hammered Riley gets, she still looks flawless. Like now.

Riley has had three drinks and has smoked six times out of the three of us. Her green eyes are bright, but you can see how bloodshot they'll be. Her full pink lips are pressed together and she runs her ring stacked fingers through her wavy, brown hair, cascading it down her shoulders.

I don't know Riley is even friends with somebody like me.

I don't act like her.

I certainly don't look anything like her. We are complete opposites, but you know what they say, opposites attract.

I cut my hair last year. Not too short. Long enough that the ends touched my thin collarbones. Riley bleached my hair blonde which only pissed off my Dad. So when I thought I was dying it a darker blonde, I accidentally grabbed a lavender dye, so light it sometimes looked silver. My grey eyes and pale lips make me look like a ghost. Sawyer says he's into it. Whatever.

There is only one word to describe Sawyer Truman. A complete and total ass.

He wasn't always, though. Sawyer enjoys the feel of being young. Sawyer is 17, like me. I met him sophomore year when we were assigned partners in English. I was so screwed up then, you have no idea. Sawyer was sweet and nice and made me laugh harder than anything, but deep down he had a lot to share. When I invited him to Riley's dorm for a party he was over the moon. Sawyer and I have been dating since sophomore year. We hang out, get takeout, go to parties, and always wake up with someone different on the other side of the bed. It's not cheating, it's expanding our horizons. You don't expect me to stay completely linked and secure to just Sawyer. Do you?

When we first met, he never drank. We dated for a week and he only drank at parties. Now he still does, but he only ever gets high when I'm around. For example, now.

Riley, Sawyer, and I sat cross-legged in some sort of triangle position, all facing one another. Time has gone by fast and I know Riley is high and Sawyer is for sure.

Passing the joint on to riley, Sawyer's raspy voice speaks up.

"Ya know," he begins, "I probably shouldn't have smoked so much."

"How come?" Riley asks, taking her turn with the joint, lighting the bottom.

"Cause I got that lame-ass roommate coming in today," he slurs his words together.

Oh, right. Sawyer hasn't had a new roommate in two years. Sawyer's last roommate was a douche. Constantly playing girls, sober or not. He started out as a sweet, nice guy. Then he met me.

He was expelled.

"Where'd you put the cold-ones?" Sawyer stands, stumbles a little, then pulls his dark washed jeans up onto his waist.

Riley and I share a look then roll our eyes.

"My god," I groan, "Just call it beer.. It's the blue cooler." He leans down to kiss my head, then moves to the blue cooler, hidden underneath Sawyer's bed.

"You want some, babe?" he asks as he pulls out my bottle of vodka.

I shake my head. The marijuana running through my brain is making me hazy.

My phone, still buried in Sawyer's sheets, begins to buzz.

Riley gets up to retrieve it. When she looks back at me, she has a scowl on her face.

"Who is it?" I ask. I bet it's the guy from biology class, who agreed to give me his notes, if I had a little quickie with him after school.

His notes are in my bag.

"It's him," the venom in Riley's voice gives it away.

My Dad.

"What does he want?" I move over to her to grab my phone. I look at the message:

I need to see you. ASAP.

Wonderful. Just perfect.

I look over at Sawyer. The fog in his room is starting to clean up, but he's still blurry. Riley just shrugs.

"Hey, Sawyer," I grab his attention. He looks up at me, taking a small sip from the bottle.

I put my phone in the back of my black jeans. I slowly walk over to Sawyer and grab the vodka. Wrapping my fingers around the cold drink, I press my lips to the opening and chug as much as I can. I want to be as hammered as I can, so nothing gets left unsaid. I swallow the cold drink as it slides down my throat. I hand the vodka back to Sawyer, wipe the access off my lips, and walk out the door.