Tarnished

Chapter 3

My eyes bulge with shock then rage. He stole my fucking weed! And then another realisation joins it.

"You bumped into me on purpose!" I shriek half in disbelief half in shock.

WHAT! THE! FUCK!

"Don't look at me like that," he scoffs. "It was on the verge of falling out of your pocket. It practically begged for me to steal it."

Is this guy being serious right now?

"So you bumped into me!"

"Not hard enough to drop you. You did that all on your own."

I dramatically wave my hands. "Because you bumped into me!"

His lips part to argue but then he pauses and snaps them shut, seeming to think better off whatever bullshit he was about to sputter. "You're going to blame me regardless so I'm not going to waste my breath on defending myself."

"Because you bumped into me," I say slowly to help the words penetrate his delusional mind.

He rolls his eyes then mumbles under his breath loud enough for me to hear, "you dropped yourself but whatever. Blame me to feel less embarrassed."

"Or maybe you won't admit it so you don't feel guilty," I mumble ten times louder under my breath, punctuating each word.

His eyes flash to mine and his lips twitch like he's fighting back a smile.

I'm done with this dickhead. Without another word, I stalk over to him to snatch my weed back.

Just as I've reached him he catches onto what I'm about to do and bends his arm behind his back. "Nah, finders keepers losers weepers."

I chuckle without mirth. "We're not in fucking nursery. Give it back."

He pretends to look offended as he dodges his upper body to the side, away from me. "Hey, that was the best time of my life."

"Wasn't it everyone's," I grumble, exasperated as I try to reach over his head. Grateful for my tall height for once.

"Nah, all the fucking kids cried and screamed when their parents left. Me and my twin laughed and took the piss out of them."

When I almost fall on top of him I pull back and place my hands on my hips. "Give it back."

He makes a show of taking a deep drag. "Like I said finders, keepers, losers weepers." For a disgusted second, I think he's going to blow it in my face but he ends up blowing it out through the corner of his mouth.

"You stole it."

"Yeah, that's where the term came from."

"No, it's when someone lose—." Wait, why the fuck am I entertaining him? "Give it back."

He gives me a mocking sympathetic look as he shakes his head no.

I try a different tactic. A pathetic one. But a tactic nonetheless. "I'm broke for the rest of the month. That was my last one."

"It's bad for you," he says in a very serious voice.

I'm momentarily taken aback. Until I see the glint of humour in his eyes.

My mouth falls open. A hypocrite response?! Really? Is that the only comeback he has? I'm low-key disappointed. I expected more. But then again he did use a children's retort. And bumped into me to steal my weed.

I startle when he suddenly bursts out laughing and falls back onto the bed with his legs dangling off the edge. Pain momentarily stains his features and cuts through his laughter. "I've always wanted to say that instead of hearing it for once."

I sigh. Clearly, this guy is fucked in the head because he can't be high; he's not even halfway done with the bud. Unless he's already had one or two before we met but it doesn't appear like he did. There's also the chance of him having had something to drink and that takes its course to sink in.

Either way, I'm no one to talk. I cry then pause and then cry again like a malfunctioning robot.

He winces a little as he lifts his hips and reaches inside his back jean pocket and pulls out quite a bit of cash. Holding the bud between his lips, he grabs three notes and holds them out to me. "Here. This will get you a gram worth."

I give him a weird look as I hesitantly take the money. Three twenty pound notes. They are definitely not fake — I worked in a supermarket and had to learn the difference.

"Why did you steal from me when you can clearly buy your own weed."

A shrug is the only response he gives me before pocketing the rest of the money. He cautiously turns sideways, as if to prevent some sort of pain. His painful groan instead of wince let's me know it did the opposite effect.

"Are you hurt?" I ask before I can stop myself.

I'm trying to drop the caring side. It's difficult when you've spent your entire life doing it.

"What?" He throws his head back and puffs out smoke. As he does so I can't help admiring his sharp jawline and sculpted neck.

I can't lie, he's pretty nice to look at. He is one of those guys who manages to look hot as fuck despite being a mess. Curly hair and hazel coloured eyes. The piercings give him an edgier look but they don't take much away from his soft features. On the contrary, they accentuate them in a very alluring manner.

He gives me a questioning look when I don't respond.

"You keep wincing," I tell him without looking at him. To not make my avoidance obvious, I shove the money inside my bra.

My pockets are too loose for cash and I don't have a purse on me. All money is dirty so putting it in my weed tin is a no go.

From the corner of my eye, I can see the guy staring at me as I do so but I couldn't care less. It's not like he can see anything, my t-shirt dress has a high collar.

"I broke a rib a month ago," he deadpans as if it's as minor as stubbing a toe.

I'm no doctor but shouldn't he be like resting or something?

I eye the weed between his long fingers. "You do realise weed is going to slow down the healing time?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm aware. You're not the first person to tell me."

"But you don't care..." I drawl.

He nods slowly. "But I don't care."

Curiosity rears its annoying head. Pushing her down proves futile, especially when it's battling with my boredom.

I force myself to sit down on the bed beside him but I sit right at the edge of the bed. As far away from him as possible. It's a step forward though.

"How did you manage to break a rib?"

He raises a pierced brow.

I pop a careless shoulder. "I'm bored. You've stolen my weed. Entertain me."