Tarnished

Chapter 6

I studied psychology my first year in college. But then again, it doesn't take a genius to tell the difference. There's a fine line between wanting a high and a desperate internal need for it. The urge for a brief moment of euphoric high and an itching restless urge.

This guy definitely has the latter.

His eyes flutter closed with relief and he exhales the smoke as if he was deprived of oxygen for the longest time.

Alarm floods my body. I'm a horrible person. This is who I am. The good girl act wasn't only because of my dad. It was a subconscious effort to conceal my horrible personality. I'm a horrible person. Who fed an addict's compulsions. Did my dad see this horrible kid, could it be the reason why he started contradicting everything I did and moulded me into what he saw as a perfect daughter?

But no, it wasn't that, it was to make me a decent human?

A familiar, soft ringing suddenly hits my ears. Am I high? Already? I glance over to the bud and see there's like three inches — if not less — left. I know I've had most of it so I most likely am.

Lightweight. Perks of being a goody-two-shoes up until a month ago, I guess.

I dread the moment my tolerance grows, for both my bank account and my mental health.

When he moves to take another drag, I snatch it off him. "Reward over."

He cuts me a glare so sharp I half expect it to cut my skin. My hand lifts a couple of inches to check. I quickly drop it back down, shake my head and bring the joint up to my lips. "You're snogging it all. The reward was a deposit. You'll get the whole thing once I make a smoke ring," I lie, drawing in the longest inhale of my life, trying to extinguish it as soon as fucking possible.

If I actually am a bad person, I'm going to preserve as much as the little good I might have in me from my previous life.

Or stimulate it?

The smoke sits in my chest like a heavy weight and I scarcely avoid coughing it all out. I sputter some past closed lips, but other than that, I blow it out with ease.

"Hypocrite much," he counters, eyeing the bud.

He's attentive, I'll give him that.

"Another one of my specialties," I send him a wide-eyed stare. "Are you sure we haven't met before?"

"As if you're easy to forget."

I let out a dramatic gasp, my hand flys in the air and I slap the duvet below us. "Another specialty. You're on a roll here." The fake enthusiastic smile slips as I bring the roll up to my lips.

He chuckles. "Add annoying to the specialty too."

"Oh, it's already there. And I hold it with pride," I touch the back of my fingers to my chin like a proud little girl and then I do what one wouldn't, blow out the smoke.

His eyes narrow once more in that assessing manner. "You're a weird thing."

"Mmm," I mumble unsurely, cocking my head side to side. "I prefer Malien."

"What the fuck is that?" He startles as if I told him I'm an alien. Oh, wait I just did. Kinda.

"A specie —" I press a hand to my chest "— I, which is a combination of Minion and alien," I flash him a toothy grin.

"Minion. Alien..." he thinks out loud and then tips his head, his bottom lip jutting out a little. "That explains it."

I suck in an offended breath. How rude.

"Dickhead." I swat his arm. I remember his rib too late and I anxiously fold my lips between my teeth, expecting a wince but find he's giving off zero sign of pain.

Dumbo! I slap my head. His arm isn't connected to his ribs, it's connected to his shoulder.

His chest shakes with silent laughter. "You said it."

I stare at him confused as to what I said. And then suddenly, jolt with fear. Did I call myself dumbo out loud?! Okay, think quick Sarah. How do I turn it around and make him believe I called him dumbo.

"That you're a Malien," he drawls laughing out loud.

I let out a huge relieved breath of smoke. Until I register his words and direct him with a piercing glare. "Yeah and what. I'm a Malien and proud. Me and my Malien besties are proud. You got a problem?"

He shakes his head. "Lightweight."

I stick my tongue out at him with a taunting glare before bringing the roll up to my lips and taking another deep drag.

"Okay, come on. I got a lesson to teach."

I light up like a firework. "Yes sir," I say in an overly enthusiastic manner which surprisingly isn't completely fake.

We start from the beginning.

I laugh every time his use of words take on a dirty note and he cringes. I laugh ten times harder at his effort to rectify himself and make it sound less dirty.

I laugh so much, I come very close to pissing myself.

"Becoming a teacher is out of the question then?" I say in-between bursts of laughter.

He gives me an exasperated look that says, 'you think?'