It’s just the Ritalin. Just the drugs she told herself. The clock face read 1:43 am. Just the Ritalin. Her body melted into the twin bed, yet eyes remained wide awake, thoughts racing. One more hit. Just one, she could do it. If she could get up she could do it. One hit and she could sleep.
He would have called her by now if he was awake. He did take pills. Still. No. He’d contact her. She was sure. The sound on the phone was once again checked to make sure it functioned. He’d call.
She’d live. It was just the Ritalin after all. No need to make a fool of herself. She just needed one hit. Just one.
There really was no reason to be upset. They were still friends. He’d call if he was awake. She could relax there. He still kissed her good bye. He didn’t do that two days ago.
“He may not tomorrow” the thought came to her. She hadn’t kissed him tonight. There had been others present. Friends don’t kiss. Especially in front of other people. He’d know that. He’d kiss her again. She just needed to take a hit.
Her body felt hot. She needed air. To breathe. The cold air would waken, refresh, the drug would soothe, relax. He liked her. Of course he did. Why else would he stay? Why else would he leave so late? She rose.
The dark posed no threat tonight. The room was immaculate. She couldn’t work with the filth. Never work with distraction. Four steps to the door. Toes grasp the carpet, one step in front of the other. Focus. Calm down. No need to be so OCD. He’d call.
Such a hassle. Her roommate did not smoke. Never knew the need. So it was not allowed in the house. Not easily accessible. Kept close, but still separate.
She stepped into the night. The air did nothing to sooth. She checked her phone. Nothing. After one hit she could sleep. She caved.
<Awake?>
......
<Yooou should, come smoke a bowl with me.>
He’d come. She unlocked the door to small side adjourning laundry room. In seconds she surveyed the space. The filth. My god the shock. Her hands twitched instantly to organize, fold, divide. They had needed to clarify. Be official. Rules needed to be set. She had done the right thing. He was leaving after all. She needed to focus. She was just here for the bong. He probably wasn’t even awake. She could do the laundry later. That was just the Ritalin speaking.
Her comfort, the box, was organized. The drugs weighed. Her bong clean and in place. This her escape. They had that comfort in common. She displaced spare black chords covering the top, opened the lid, removed the bag with the drug and the small glass bong feeling her thigh buzz as the phone alerted her a response. The Ritalin still had her wired. “I need to smoke” she thought. Pocket the drug, draw out the phone.
<ok be over in a bit>
Close the lid. She opened the bag, inhaled the smell. It helped. Time to load a bowl. She ignored the mess, proceeded back out into the dark closing the door behind her with her foot.
He would be here soon. She was shocked he was awake. He did take pills. He must like her to be awake so late. Out the gate to beige, leaf littered couches she placed the glass piece upon the small wooden counter parallel. Time to begin the process.
She wanted him to stay. Smoke and stay. Of course that wasn’t friendly. She sat down. She’d made the right decision. The Ritalin just put her on edge. Got her riled, stressed, irrational. She really just needed this hit. He’d be here soon. She pulled the drug from its bag. The very thought of getting high, the recollection of before, put her slightly at ease.
She ground the herb up with her fingers. Too much air exposure had dried the plant out. It crumbled beneath her fingers into the small glass bowl. She liked the dryness. It was less complicated to handle, burnt quicker, got her higher faster, easier.
Not like they had known each other long. Amazing how much she was thinking about him really. The Ritalin had something to do with that. She obsessed on it.
She pressed the herb down into the bowl with her forefinger, tightly compressing the drug, allowing for maximum smoking capabilities. The more the better. Not entirely pointless. She would reload it regardless. She always smoked more with him.
She didn’t remember the first two weeks she knew him. Everything had just sort of happened. Now it had ended. Maybe. Probably not. He’d kiss her again.
She placed the glass bowl back into the bong hearing him approach. Eyes, red, half closed, straining to stay awake, off kilter stance, he smiled when he saw her. That look, a look of genuine happiness. Of course he’d come. She smiled inside.
“Shocked your awake.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged and sat down next to her. “How’d the paper go?”
“Meeeh.” She shrugged, handed him the bong. Within seconds he had the glass chamber full with swirling white smoke. She watched as the smoke disappeared into his lungs. One hit. Just one.
He leaned towards her, placing the bong on the ground, his arms soon pulled her close into the softness of his form, the comfort in his warmth. Her hands found their way under his shirt, wrapped around his back, feeling the sinews in his muscles up his spine, round his shoulder blades. Arms hold her in place, hands hold tight, steady. His hand clasps her chin, tilting her face to his, their eyes meet, the look appears. The lips raise, cheeks bunch up, the smile can’t be hidden or smothered. Even through the drugs the emotion is clear. The want, the look of a need. Heavy eyelids open revealing blue eyes. He pulls her face towards him. Pressing his lips against hers.
And she breathes. She inhales. And as fire pours into her lungs, warming her body her mind clears. The high spreads. His tongue parts her lips, exhaling the last of his breath into her lungs. Her muscles relax. Her bottom lip is taken, held in place lightly by his teeth. Their eyes meet. The smirk appears. His tongue circles the inside of her lip. The fire boils over. Throwing her head back she breathes fire and the smoke, blown into the night is forgotten as his lips brisk down her neck towards her breast.
“Just friends” she has to remind herself. Pressing her breasts into his chest, she pulls his body closer to hers preventing his lips from dropping any further.
They paused. Breathing. The drug consumed. The mind was fogged, cleared, focused on the warmth, and form of the other. Comfortably they conform to the contours of one another. One hit. She melted into into his form, her thoughts clearing. She would be able to sleep now.
