"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, plumped lips held back, hands trembling. "You want to be with me?"
"The only thing I'm sure of is that we all die in the end." Harry bluntly spoke, smoke still lingering from his mouth. "And I would hate...
"No concern of dying, no concern of living, the outcome is so fucking funny."
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"I wish I had a little chip in my brain that recorded all of my thoughts cause when I'm high, so many things run through my head and I can't write them down due to my incompetent state of mind and it's frustrating cause I end up forgetting it the next day." I rambled on and on as my hands kept digging in the twizzlers wrapper, pulling out nothing each time. Harry eventually took the plastic away from me.
"There's nothing in there." He hummed and tried to toss it into my trash can across my room, missing completely. "You really want a chip in your head?"
"Well maybe if like they didn't record everything... I think about some fucked up shit."
"Like what?"
We were on my bed, looking at my popcorn ceiling and trying to count the many bumps that littered it. Harry got as far as fifty and I got to twenty-one, my mind suddenly spitting all these ideas out. After I took my shower and got dressed, we went behind my house to smoke and came right back in, stumbling with tingly mouths and blurry heads. I wanted to right before we drove to the concert only because I figured everyone would be on something, but Harry said he needed to be in the moment to see one of his best friends perform without the buzz of his high. I understood him completely; it showed that he cared about his friend's success and that was extremely cute.
"It's really fucked up to say out loud and you might see me as some murderer or something but I just do extensive research on serial killers and psychopaths-" my high was taking advantage of my thoughts and pushing them out of my uncontrollable mouth, whereas Harry's just made him concentrate really hard. He got up from his laying position and looked down at my flushed face, squinting.
"You're thinking about killing people?"
"No!" I shot up and playfully pushed him away from me, scooting backwards to press my back against my headboard. "No, it's not-- No I'm not thinking about killing people. What I'm saying is I think about what motivates people to kill. I'd never.. I'd never kill anyone!"
Harry looked at me in the way I knew he would and I licked my bottom lip before kicking him. My foot couldn't even reach his shoulder, his hand wrapped around my ankle and pulled me from the headboard. "You're always tryna hit me." He chuckled and opened my legs, positioning himself between them as he always did. "You're not strong enough to hurt me, baby."
"I'm weak?" My voice was almost comparable to a little girl's and I cleared my throat to change it.
"You're weak." Harry looked at my lips and back into my eyes.
"No, I'm stronger than you." I tried to convince him and reached up to the back of his head, tangling my fingers in his never ending, soft chocolate curls.
