Who She Is

~47~

*Drug warning

Alyx's POV

When we finally arrive at his house, Wes kills his headlights before pulling into the driveway to avoid notifying his parents that he's home. Hopefully, they're asleep; it's only nine o'clock, though. We quietly shut our doors and sneak around the side of his house, heading to the tree the treehouse is in.

"I hope this old thing can still hold us," Wes says, grabbing the rope ladder.

"Uh, yeah. So do I. I don't really feel like falling out of a tree tonight," I reply.

"C'mon. It'll be okay if you do."

I scoff but ignore him. He begins to climb up the unsteady rope. I wait for him to get all the way to the top and on the platform before making my way up. I put the blunt between my lips to hold it and grab the first wooden plank on the rope ladder. I begin my way up and try not to look down. This thing was a lot easier to climb when I was sixty pounds lighter and five years younger. I also had less anxiety back then, too.

I reach the platform and climb the rest of the way up. I walk inside the little room of the treehouse. Wes smiles when he sees me. I take the blunt out of my mouth and return the smile. We both take a seat on the floor and glance around the treehouse.

"We have so many memories up here. I miss being little," Wes whispers.

"Yeah, me too. You remember how we used to have acorn wars up here? I hit you in the eye with one before and thought I blinded you. I was so scared. I didn't know how I was going to explain that to your mom."

"Asshole. I almost forgot about that," he laughs. "You're lucky I closed my eyes just in time."

"Yeah, I remember you still cried like a baby, though." I cover my mouth to stop from laughing.

"Let it go," he says and rolls his eyes. "Let's try that." His eyes glance down toward the blunt between my fingers.

I bring it up and quickly realize one thing. I drag out a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"We don't have a lighter."

He lets a groan out before furrowing his brows. "Wait a second." Wes stands back up and walks over to a shelf, opening a box. He shuffles through it until he mumbles, "Please still work." I see him lift a gray lighter out of the box. He flicks it once and sparks fly but no flame. "C'mon." He flicks it again, and a small flame comes to life. "Yes!" He comes and sits back down, passing the lighter to me.

"How'd you know one would be up there?"

He lets a laugh out. "You don't remember when I stole it from my mom so we could come up here and burn paper and pretty much anything flammable?"

"Oh, yeah. I wonder how my mom would feel if she knew we were little paper arsonists when we were eleven."

"Probably not very proud." Yeah. Probably like how she wouldn't be proud of what we're doing right now.

"Yeah, probably not. I'm surprised this still works." I flick the lighter and hold the flame toward the end of the blunt. It's weird to think the same lighter we used to play with when we were kids is the same one we're using to get high with. I rotate the end of it in the fire just like Amaya did. Once it looks fully lit, I place it between my lips. I take a slow steady draw, trying to avoid the burn in my throat. I exhale and notice the taste on my tongue. It actually doesn't taste bad. I kind of like the flavor. I take another puff and inhale. It actually doesn't hurt as bad as it did the first two times I smoked with Amaya.