His night at Nicky's had been pure hell. Reid had turned into anther version of Tyler; he hadn't picked any fights and hadn't even touched a drink. The worst part was having to constantly remind himself not to Use, but luckily no one noticed he was so focused on this all night. No one had noticed his bruised face either, as he had slipped the beanie back on after class. Most of the pain had subsided -or it had numbed- but nevertheless, he felt better. Back in the dorms with Tyler, as soon as he hit the bed, he was out like a light.
The next four days slipped by and Reid found himself becoming more and more reckless. He had to Use; he needed to Use. This longing feeling inside brought him to realization: his father was right. And so was Caleb. He was addicted and he deserved what his father had done to him. Caleb could sense Reid had not Used all week, and picked up on his fear on Thursday. He didn't want to believe it: bad ass Reid, scared. So he never brought up the subject to the blond.
Reid knew he had really screwed up when he found himself moving a pen off the teacher's desk. Realizing what he had done, he blinked, eyes returning to their normal blue. A wave of fear crashed through his body; he had really fucked up.
Caleb turned his head from his work to Reid, who was shaking in his seat.
'What's with you?'
'Nothing, I'm fine.'
'Was that you? The pen?'
'...Yeah...Sorry, that was really stupid.'
Caleb paused. Why was he apologizing? He usually couldn't care less.
'You sure you're okay?' he asked.
'I'm fine. Just don't really wanna go home today.' Shit. Caleb was going to catch on now.
'Why? Breaks not till tomorrow.'
'Gotta get some clothes and shit to the dorms for when we get back.' He didn't lie. Reid rarely showed his emotions, but he was not going to lie. Except for, of course, about Sunday night. Since he had already told his mother he'd be coming up to the house that afternoon, there was no going back.
Caleb was still worried, but he didn't say anything, and soon class ended for the day.
Reid pulled into his driveway, praying his dad wasn't there. It was pouring down rain and he just wanted to run in, grab his stuff, and leave. The weather would not strand him at home.
Pulling his hood over his head, he ran in his house, waved a hand at his mom, and raced upstairs. Grabbing his bag his mother had already packed for him, he ran back down stairs. Coming to the door, he slowed to a walk and he thought he was in the clear. Opening the front door revealing sheets of rain, he was proved wrong when a familiar fist connected with his head.