POV: Mercutio Escalus

The vodka burned going down, which meant it was working.

I sat on the roof of Westridge Hall at 2 AM with a bottle I'd stolen from the senior lounge, watching the stars spin overhead while I tried to convince myself that everything was fine. Totally fine. Absolutely, perfectly, magnificently fine.

The fact that I was drunk on a Tuesday night meant nothing. The fact that I'd skipped three classes this week meant nothing. The fact that my best friend was sneaking ...