“Yes, I do,” I slurred, blinking at my glass as I took two drags before handing it back.
He slid farther down the cushions, getting more comfortable. “And it would be?”
“Eh.” I tilted my head back and forth, the room also tilting with the motion so I did it a few more times, enthralled by the view. “Some have called me,” a few more head tilts, “Red.”
He took a long pull from the blunt. Was blessedly quiet for a good minute. His head slanted on the couch. Finally blowing the smoke out, he sounded bored as he said, “Where are you from, Red?”
I tilted my head back to the ceiling, staring at the sparkles, which looked pretty fucking cool right now. “Huh?”
He grunted, his head tilting my way and I saw the blunt in front of my face again. “You’re originally from some place, aren’t you?”
“Ah.” I took the blunt, squinting at the ceiling to try to remember where I had originally grown up. “That would be,” oh, yes, “my mother’s womb.” Damn fine truthful answer.
He hummed, watching me take a drag. “Interesting…and after?”
I pointed the blunt at him, eyes still on the ceiling. “Your silence was much better than the twenty questions, but I’ll be a dear and play this game a bit longer.” A deep inhale since I was way past the coughing stage. “After the womb, I lived in an apartment.” I nodded heavily on the couch once, enjoying my own wit.
He refilled my glass and his, apparently finally giving up on questioning me. He became mute again as we drank and smoked. Another half-hour went by, and when he teetered grinding out our second blunt, he sluggishly stood, folded his papers, and walked — a little crookedly from my perspective — to one of his dressers, placing the papers inside the top drawer. I yawned, drinking down the last of my whiskey. The sounds outside had faded a bit, and though I wasn’t really sure how long it had been since they had ebbed, I decided it was probably time to go.
I stood.
And promptly fell hard onto my ass back on the couch.
“Ugh.” I rubbed my head, seeing him leaning heavily against his dresser, arms crossed with an eyebrow raised. “Are you sure that was only weed in those blunts?”
His head cocked. “I never said it was only weed.”
I actually chuckled, because he was right. I had only assumed. The sound was gravelly from disuse, but a chuckle was what it was. “Huh.” I stared at where the tiny bits of the blunts remained. “They actually helped.” I had essentially found…humor...and I didn’t mind it so much. He was watching me awfully hard, probably worried I was going to puke all over the place, but I pointed a decently straight finger at him, saying, “You never told me your name.”
He was quiet for a few long moments, then he said, “No. I didn’t.”
I waved a wobbly hand. “Well, that’s not fair.” Yep, I was stoned and drunk. On the plus side, I wasn’t seeing two of him. He was a bit blurry, but there was only one man staring at me.
Gradually, his lips lifted into a very small smile — like my chuckle, it looked like he hadn’t done it in a while. “Fascinating logic.” He shrugged when I stared this time. “You never told me your real name.” A quiet hum, his head tilted. “I believe you said ‘some people call me’, not ‘my name is’, even if you hadn’t used a nickname.”
I blinked. “You’re a quick one, aren’t you?” I waggled my finger at him. “Damn quick.”
His gaze roved over my face. “Can you even stand?”
My lips pinched. “Of course I can.”
He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes still as dead as mine, but intense in their assessment.
Challenge given.
Rolling my shoulders, I placed a hand on the arm of the couch and pushed so I was standing. I blinked, staying on my feet this time, but I muttered, “Well, shit.”
His head cocked. “What?”
I pointed to the left and right about an inch apart. “There are two of you now.”
Again, his lips slowly lifted into that lonely, tiny smile. “May I ask you something…Red?”
I swayed, placing a bracing hand back on the couch. “You may ask.” Answering was optional.
He rubbed his chin, staring at me with that tortured gaze. “What put that look in your eyes?”
My eyes narrowed. “This is why I don’t make friends.” They wanted to share and shit. “I could ask you the same thing, but I’m not, so why go and ruin the mood?” When he only stayed silent, watching, waiting for my answer, my nostrils flared in irritation…but I enjoyed the fact I actually felt irritation. Though not anger or agony, the feeling was enough to placate me, as was he, since he had been the gateway to it through his drugs. I sat on the arm of the couch, sighing heavily, and told the truth, “What you see in my eyes is simply life staring you in the face.”
He went mute, staring at me with an unreadable expression.