𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐲 | robin buckley

(11) weed isn't very glamorous

SAM HAD LEANT ROBIN A CURE TAPE, boy's don't cry to be specific. It was an original from 1979 and the only good thing she'd gotten from her Dad. It had happened in a conversation where Robin had admitted she wasn't familiar with The Cure and Sam had been positive of her next move. After all, how could she let Robin get away with such things?

She knew that Robin would like it. Sam felt over the weeks that she'd been getting to know Robin she was starting to learn her taste. She'd heard her sing along to the radio and seen her eyes light up in the roller rink when a song that she enjoyed came on. This alongside her Blondie and Bowie T-shirts led her to believe she understood the girl. Maybe Sam was focussing on insignificance but it made her happy anyway.

Sam didn't feel nervous about giving her precious tape away. She trusted Robin would take good care of it, that she would cherish it and appreciate it as the music should be appreciated.

What Sam did not expect was for Robin to show up on her doorstep one Friday evening the tape clutched in hand. If Sam had known this, things would've been different. For starters she would've looked hot rather than a hot mess. She'd been wearing mens boxer shorts (the checkered kind that were just the right amount of baggy) because they were ridiculously comfortable and a large T-shirt with faded Star Wars characters on it.

However this wasn't even the worst part. Sam had been having a significantly bad day. Her shift down at Mariano's had finished her off and after a long shower she'd decided there was nothing she wanted more than some good intoxication. After a couple shots of vodka and a steady blunt, she was feeling absolutely incredible. Until the doorbell buzzed.

At first, Sam had decided to ignore it. She was a murky mixture between drunk and high, mainly high because realistically two shots of vodka did nothing but relax her but she did know that whoever it was would piss off after a while. She very rarely got visitors. Sam didn't have many neighbours since she lived above a shop and on the off chance that she did get some post, there would be no need to knock on the door.

Sam closed her eyes, taking another hit from her second blunt. However the knocking didn't stop. She groaned loudly before she started walking to the door, skidding slightly on her socks and staring at the ridiculous mess that congregated around her. Living alone and having no visitors meant that Sam never had any reason to make her apartment look presentable. This much was evident.

She opened the door with a rather snappish swing of her arm and was about to say the words fuck off before her eyes collided with Robin. The girl looked as great as usual. She was wearing jeans and a large fleece, silver jewellery intact. Her lips were glossed, her liner perfect and between her freshly painted nails sat Sam's tape.

"Oh... Robin" Sam slurred slightly.

"Hi Sam I just" Robin paused as she stared at the mascara stains around Sam's eyes and the steadily smoking joint of weed in between her fingers, "oh... sorry I didn't mean to interrupt"

"You're not" Sam turned and stared in horror at the mess. Clothes were strung on the sofa, underwear in plain sight. Takeaway boxes had become furniture at this point and there was a general mustiness that Sam would probably be disgusted by if it hadn't come from her.

"I came to give you back your tape" Robin held it up, "and say thanks... it was great"

"Yeah" San rubbed her hand over her face, "yeah it's banging... if I'd known... shit"

"What's wrong" Robin asked.

"I'm a fucking mess Robin" Sam laughed, wanting to laugh more because of her infused mind which probably made her look insane, "no one ever shows up here"