Addicted [BoyxBoy]

Earned It

I awoke to the sound of an Eminem song blasting through phone speakers.

I sat up, looking over to where Bobby was sound asleep. I also saw his phone on my bedside table, which was still blasting "Slim Shady" at a terribly loud volume.

Panic set in. I shoved Bobby once, hissing, "Bobby! Your phone! You're gonna wake up my mom!"

He jumped a little as he got up, turning towards his phone with sloth-like speed.

Finally, he answered the phone with a groggy, "What's up?"

I couldn't hear the person on the other line. Bobby's face, though fatigued, showed worry in the pulling together of his eyebrows.

"What?" he exclaimed in disbelief.

The person on the other end continued talking, making Bobby more upset and me more worried. Who was it?

"Okay. Yeah, sure," Bobby said after a bit more words from the person on the other end. The call ended, and he looked at me.

"Murphy's coming over."

"What, why?" I asked him, trying to get whatever information he had.

"Something happened. It's. . .it's pretty bad."

I sighed, more worried than ever. "What about my mom?" I whispered in a low hiss, barely audible in my own ears.

"He's picking us up."

With that, he got up and put on a shirt, heading down the stairs in a quiet fashion.

I shifted off of my bed, putting my shoes on and the pants I had worn the day before to follow him. He was already out of the door by the time I had grabbed my jacket from the armrest of the couch. I followed him outside, shutting the door behind me. "Why is he coming? What happened?" I asked him, now able to speak as loud as needed.

"He got kicked off the team."

I found myself shocked, and more upset than I should've been before I said, "Why?"

He was standing on the curb, keeping an eye out for his friend, but his back was to me. I just saw his head shake as he said, "He failed a random drug test."

"What?" my voice was raised a few octaves. Murphy didn't use drugs. Did he?

Murphy pulled up faster than my thoughts could respond to the question. That's one thing I discovered after becoming friends with Murphy: he lived not too far from me. It would've been unnerving if he had still been my tormentor. Now, as a friend, it was oddly comforting. What was not comforting was the speed he pulled up: his tires screeched against the asphalt as he swerved unsteadily to the front of my driveway.

He slammed the door behind him, fuming as he stomped towards Bobby. Bobby simply latched on to him, holding him in a comforting embrace. Murphy looked like he was going to cry, and the hug might have made it worse.

My tears were close to following his.

I watched Murphy closer: unkempt hair, wild eyes, baggy clothes, and light scruff coming in. He looked like hell. I didn't know if it was just the news he had just gotten, or something more. Like what caused him to fail the drug test in the first place.

I wasn't one to make snap judgments like that, but it seemed viable for Murphy to be a user. Aside from his disheveled appearance, his status in school and on the field wouldn't put him far from destructive influence.

But Murphy seemed like the type to stay away from all of that. Right?

Bobby began to lead Murphy to the car after what seemed like an eternity of them hugging it out. He helped him into the passenger seat, and sped back to me.