The Boy with Bad Habits

Chapter 56

I smiled sadly, feeling the high immediately plummet and the blunt itself burn out. Looking at it I sighed, only if the feeling was permanent. The organic flavor of a glorified cigarette only Dean could supply for me. "Got any whiskey?"

His hazy eyes stared back at mine questioningly then darted to his shutter door closet. "Will vodka suffice? Whiskey's not really my thing." My mind flashed to the almost exact response Rachel gave me in an underground bar we broke into. Shaking my head curtly while simultaneously ridding the memory, "Forget about it." It came out a bit more harsh than intended.

Dean's feet padded across his wooden floor. Creaks were heard from where he stepped. "Way to be a buzz kill, put it in that ziploc next to you," he gestured towards the blunt in my hand and the clear bag on his desk.

While opening it—he opened his mouth, "Ya know I'm not sure why you're so salty about throwing a party for your birthday but-"

"Drop it," I deadpanned. "There's a specific reason why and I don't want to get into it."

His jaw clenched and the familiar sound of grinding teeth was heard. Blanketing it with a false smile, he recovered and added, "What if I promised a week's supply of..." Tilting his head at the ziploc, my conviction started to waver.

"I don't know if I can deal with all that attention Dean. How about a small get together?" In all honesty I wanted to evade this topic and spend my brithday as if it were any other day.

After scoffing, "You really think I'm gonna let this slide by? You've come over my house every day now for the past two weeks and I've hardly been outta this room thanks to you. You've been mopin' around here like a sod, atleast let me help you out." The words stung me, and although that wasn't his intent, Dean's words made me feel guilty and even more bashful.

Scratching my exceedingly thick stubble from two rough weeks, I contemplated his proposal. I realized putting aside the emotional bitterness held over my head would be the only way. Allowing my selfish and deserting parents define my happiness had to be put at rest atleast for the only day I had to myself. "Alright," I gave in, "The amount of people has to be kept to a minimum and no presents."

Dean took a double take at this, "That's the point of a birthday genius. If there are no gifts, what the hell's the reason for having one?"

"I don't want to be left with the burdening task of thanking people and having to repay them. Besides, hardly anyone will show up anyway." Without thinking, I had lifted the edges of his bedroom window higher while lighting up a Pall Mall cigarette.

"Best believe if atleast one of the twins host a party, people will show up. We'll have it here. Come on man," his voice grew closer near the window I had slumped over at. Taking a long drag and exhaling heavily to relieve some stress, "Live a little," he suggested.

Hearing that reminded me of Tony. Poor guy looked like a walking zombie. The break up was eating away at him and I missed seeing the sobering light in his eyes. It hurt seeing my best friend like that. Mainly because all I could see was the reflection of myself. I had debated giving him advice then dismissing the idea at once. What would a lowlife like me be thinking by giving advice to someone who needs it accurately? A hypocrite.

"I'll do it," I stated, smoke escaping my lips like a nicotine filled mist. Dean started to hoorah triumphantly. "On one condition."

He interrupted his celebration asking, "What condition?"

"You do whatever you can to help my friend Alyssa Wells back with her ex."

His clapping stopped abruptly, "How am I supposed to do that when I don't even know her?"