"I know it's illegal, but it's the weekend!" He whispered into my ear as he smoothly slid his hand across my stomach and placed it on my waist. I had no sense of what was going on anymore. My nose burned, and I could feel the blood draining from my body. He sat there looking more comatosed then ever sitting in the driver's seat of his light blue 1989 Mustang. I didn't understand why I enjoyed the rush I felt being with him, but I realized it wasn't because he was near me. With my eyes hazed over, intensely blood shot, and itching at the surface, I placed my hand on the side of his tan face and kissed him as long as I could. We always played the game of "who can hold their breath the longest while kissing", and he usually won every single time. He looked just like me; strawberry eyes, blood dripping from his nose in crimson drops onto his leather seats, and skin as white as a ghost. White powder clung to the front of his striped rugby frat house shirt. I tried to brush it off just incase the cops showed up anytime soon. When I placed my hand on his chest to take the powder off, I only made it worse by rubbing it in. He didn't really care anyways since he was so out of it. I started to come back to my senses, and I couldn't remember where I even was. My parents always told me not to do things that were illegal, but you know me; I'm the rebel of the family and could careless what they say. I pushed open the door to his car and let myself out. He was clearly passed out and wasn't getting up anytime soon. As I walked away from his car gaining sense of what I did, who I am, and where I was; I thought to myself, "That isn't the life I want to see myself living." I thought I was wearing a purple shirt today, but I guess it is green.