Gwen does weed! Viva la bong!

I was almost nodding off when I heard the distinctive growl of Dillian’s car coming around the bend. I jumped up and scrambled to hide behind a pillar where I could watch him without being noticed.

He flicked his indicator lights to the right and turned into the small street a block or two from his flat. He snarled at a cat staring at him as he was getting out of his coupe before slamming the door.

He ran eyes over its gleaming, metallic blue surface, and look that was a blend between puzzlement and amusement crossed his face. I wondered what he was thinking about.

He shuffled a couple of steps in the direction of the general store, kicking up sand in to the wind with his slightly faded sneakers. I sighed...he really needed new shoes. He glanced about before he shuffled the rest of the way to the store's entrance, as if unsure of what he wanted to do. I clenched my fists in indecision. I finally decided to stay put and to fidget, getting extremely impatient. Curse that damnable Dillian for acting so strangely and making me stalk him like this.

10 minutes later he emerged from the store, purchase in hand, and walked towards his car. I sighed again. So it was true. He was back to his old habit, and it was going to be quite the struggle to bring him back to me. To us. I was getting annoyed at the way I kept thinking of him as mine in the singular.

I was waiting for him when he emerged from his car a few minutes later. I gave him a tight smile, one that told him I knew what he bought, but I wasn't going to say or do anything. I was just... going to be there for him. He seemed slightly surprised that I was there, but said nothing, eyes glazing over the way they usually did whenever he was 'zoned out, but still functional'.

With a barely audible 'Bah', he grabbed the item and walked out towards the benches in the common landing. Fingering his purchase, he finally sighed and ripped off the wrapper and flicked the cover open.

I sat down beside him, doing nothing more than observe, for I was as far out of my element as I had ever been. I was unsure what to do, what to say. I wondered what he was thinking of me being here, beside him. I hated this feeling of helplessness, of feeling around in the dark, trying to figure out something to do to reach out to the imbecile beside me.

He sighed and took one of the contents from the item, placing it between his lips. One hand offered me the box, while the other fumbled for something in his pocket.


I took a long hard look at the 19 remaining sticks within; there was a slight pang of guilt as I took one out. I could not recall when I'd decided to smoke along with him, but there I was; cigarette in hand, waiting. A small voice inside was telling me to stop being foolish, that I'd done this before, long ago, what was difference now? The main difference, I screamed internally to myself, was that these cigarettes were mixed with no small amount of marijuana. It was a well known secret that the store Dillian went to earlier was a front for the dealers of the weed.

The area around us was deserted, and the only sound that could be heard was the flicking of a lighter. This was it. He shut his eyes and took a deep draw from the stick, holding it in, before releasing the smoke through his nose with nary a hint of discomfort. That meant that he’d been doing it before today. That meant bad news.

He looked over at me, eyes dull and half closed. No words were said, but it was rather obvious he wanted me to join him. It was the only way he’d accept me being there.

I sighed. Sometimes men and their strange need to be macho puzzled me beyond all reason. But then again, I suppose we women do the same thing for the male mental constitution as well.

I lit the cigarette and took my first puff in over 2 years. The smoke rushed into me, filling every pore in my lungs, awakening long forgotten memories of the experience.

My lungs hurt, but not in a bad way. My whole body gave a slight shudder, as if embracing an old lover after a long period of absence. I could hold my breath no more. The smoke escaping from my mouth was like that of a spastic geyser. Coughing, I opened my eyes, and almost wished I had not. Slightly dizzy, I took another draw from the cigarette. And another, and another. Each breath hurting less, and feeling more pleasurable. My senses becoming more alert, more attuned to the world around me.

Just like sex, I thought grimly.

Time lost its meaning, and I moved to cuddle beside him, feeling insanely high and unable to keep my balance. He tossed his cigarette butt -now wet- away and took my stick away from me, and began to smoke that one too, the ambers glowing into a sizzling red every time he took a long drag.

(Auth's note: considering taking out the following bit. seems a bit redundant)
After an immeasurable amount of time my senses came back to me, and I got to my feet with a slight wobble, nodding in the direction of the elevator. My head was feeling really heavy, a polar opposite of just 5 minutes ago.

With a muted curse he heaved himself off the bench and followed me into the elevator. His movements were slow and you could tell that something was 'off' about him. He was still grounded in reality, but only barely. I supposed smoking 2 sticks right off the bat like that was too much, even for him.

I sighed. Was it really worth it? Granted, it was the second-best feeling in the world, after an actual orgasm, but was it worth the trouble of weaning myself of the damned sticks? Again?

And speaking of orgasms...

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Okay, this piece TOTALLY SUCKS. omg. I am so not shiok with this. but what the hell, I do need this scene as a catalyst to move the story where I want it to go. I guess I'll come back to do some re-writing of this LAAAATERRRR on. heh. okay so i did come back to fiddle with it lol.

Some of you may find this piece familiar in some way. That's because I cannibalized one of my previous pieces. lol. Oh well. Until the next post, ciao.