BLACKHOUSE [H.S.]

Twenty-Eight

She groans loudly before walking over and sitting down beside me, sinking into the cushion until she's resting against the backrest. I reach over the coffee table to grab all of the things I use to roll a joint; my black rolling tray, papers, and grinder.

"What are you doing?" She wonders nervously.

"I'm going to smoke, would you like some?" I ask as I start packing the pungent greens into the white cone, twisting the end of it to ensure it all stays in place.

"I don't know," she hesitates.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, but it might help relieve a little bit of your anxiety," I point out, picking up my lighter to torch the twisted paper.

She stays quiet for a moment before she takes a deep breath. "Okay," she agrees.

She sits up and props her elbow up onto her knee, resting her head in her hand as she watches me take a long hit from the joint. I hold the smoke in my lungs for a few seconds before slowly blowing it out, and hand the roll to her.

She takes it carefully with shaky hands, and holds it up to her lips, delicately sucking in a small amount. She coughs a few times after exhaling, and waves her hand in front of her face to push the smoke away.

"You alright?" I chuckle, taking the joint from her.

"I think so," she wheezes, her face scrunched up in discomfort. "I haven't smoked in awhile."

"I can tell," I joke; she rolls her eyes at me playfully, shoving my knee lightly with her hand. "Let me get you some water."

I stand up from the couch and make my way to the kitchen to grab a glass, filling it up with water from the refrigerator. "Are you hungry?" I ask her loudly.

With her being such a lightweight I'm sure the munchies will be hitting her soon, and all she had while I was at her apartment was some popcorn. I walk back over to her and hand her the glass, looking at her expectantly for a response to my question.

"Thank you," she mutters, taking the water from me. "I'm starving, actually."

"What would you like? I can order some pizza," I suggest, sitting back down next to her. I tuck my leg underneath me, turning my body to face her, and rest my elbow on the backrest.

"That would be great," she smiles softly.

• • •

Thirty minutes after the pizza arrived, Katie and I completely devoured it, almost like it was a race; to my surprise, she kept up with me.

I guess I was right about the munchies.

I set my plate on the coffee table, and lean against the back of the couch, turning my head to look at her as my arms rest across my stomach. She opens her mouth to yawn loudly, and turns her body to face me, tucking her legs up to her chest and resting her chin on her knees. She looks exhausted, and rightfully so.

"I forgot how tired weed makes me," she giggles. "My mom used to say I would never be able to keep a job if I smoked, maybe she was right."

I roll my eyes at her, shaking my head playfully. "Well, what does she say about it now?" I wonder. "It seems like you can keep a job just fine."