Simon’s gaze lingered on the account that had just texted him. The account that texted—being yours, now was going to be left in deliver. Before turning to look at the text book his history teacher had given him.

He was failing almost all his classes, but he didn’t seem to care at all. He was going to drop out of high school anyways. So he didn’t even bother stressing over grades.

He hated his teachers either way.

He turned to look at the door, and then at the drawer were he hid all the weed he’d smoke with you.

He had spoken with you for months now. He found you cute, and really liked smoking at the backseat of his car with you after… intimate moments.

But it was never really personal—atleast for him. He didn’t care. He wore condoms and that’s that. He always did this too you, because he knew you’d forgive him.

He’d unblock you, talk it out, take you out in his car, smoke, then crack. And that was the cycle.