𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

39. Mediterranean malaria.

T H I R T Y - N I N E
Mediterranean malaria.

"Are you awake?" Kie asks into the dark silence.

I've been awake for a few minutes, my breathing must have changed for her to put it together. Hours have passed, the sun has set and the medication has dulled the worst of the migraine. My eyes focus and I don't have the desperate urge to spill my guts.

I hum then gently, so as to not aggravate my head, flip to face her.

"You look better," she smiles. "I've been thinking. Do you remember the first time we got stoned?"

I do, vividly. Kie somehow got her hands on some pot, we snuck into the shed at the back of my childhood home, and got absolutely destroyed. It started my rocky relationship with pot, it's either great and I feel like the world is at peace, or I get crippling, the world is ending, anxiety.

The air was crisp, the stars bright. Our hands shook as we rolled the blunts, giggles filled the freezing shed full of dust, boxes of useless crap and tools only Robbie knew how to use.

Despite it being only a few years ago, times were simple—far, far more simple. It was a few months before I started seeing Rafe. Life was not anything close to easy; I was processing things to do with Corey, I was going through therapist after therapist, and my SSRIs were getting changed and increased.

And somehow, that is something I consider easier.

Maybe because there were more nights like that Halloween, genuine, teenage moments. Where I wasn't tracking down gold, dodging murder attempts from my ex-boyfriend or breaking into old women's houses. I was just getting too high with my best friend.

A lazy smile spreads across my face. "I sure do. Those blunts were tragic, but that pot was too strong for us. I'm sure I lost half of my lung that night," I recall.

Through the little bit of moonlight illuminating her face, I watch the lines form. "It was an eventful night, wasn't it?" She presses.

"Honestly, I can't remember much more than attempting to look at Robbie with a straight face and try to convince him what he was smelling was definitely not pot," I grin. Robbie found us, and asked what we were doing, I claimed we were making candles, he told me to stop whatever I was doing and sleep. That's what Robbie's like—he doesn't father me, despite our age gap, he just looks out for me. I'd be screwed without him and his guiding hand and unjudgemental aura.

He always told me that the only way I'd make him angry was if I didn't call when I needed help.

She fiddles with her fingers.

Sensing her tension I pull myself up gingerly to a sitting position. "Hey, what's up? You can tell me anything, you know?" I put a hand on her knee. "We're in this shit together. Whatever you say can just be between us."

She swallows, then goes to speak.

The door creaks open, cutting the conversation off and snapping Kie's mouth shut.

"Is Mabel– thank fuck. You weren't answering, I thought you had an aneurysm or some shit," he releases a sigh of relief. "I need to stop watching Grey's Anatomy, I was thinking about all the random shit. Like Mediterranean malaria or whatever the fuck." JJ kicks off his shoes, getting comfortable. "Ward blew himself up– I was meant to say that gently. Kie, how are you?" He asks as Kie gets off the bed and begins getting her things ready to go.

JJ just said so much and absolutely none of it made a lick of sense.

"Kie, wait, you don't have to go. I can kick JJ out for a second," I touch her arm, wanting to get her to stop. "It's late, just crash here. JJ takes the couch most nights, anyway."