I Think About You When You're Gone

Chapter One

My spit splattered against the dashboard, my lungs heaving in desperation as her own organs stuttered in laughter. Smoke rolled lazily from the lip of the makeshift bong, the intricacies of its function falling outside my realm of knowledge. Her giggles, drowned out by my coughing fit, eventually dissipated.

"Enjoying yourself?" I questioned, my breath finally settling into a steady rhythm as my eyes glared at her grin, my gaze lifting from her mouth to her irises. I shifted the focus of my attention upwards in an attempt to distract myself from the thought of kissing her, only to discover her eyes were more seductive than her lips. I felt my heart stutter as her eyelids, half closed, revealed a sparkle of hilarity and lust.

"Yes, actually," she bantered, leaning back against the passenger side door, bringing her knees up to her chest. I could feel the haze of inebriation begin to blur the edge of my vision.

I screwed the bong piece back on the top of the plastic water bottle, a corner of the bowl black as the rest of the weed retained its green hue. "Your turn."

She laughed once again. "That bowl's for you, honey. I'm blazed enough."

Honey. The word echoed in the car, rattling around in my skull.

"You can't be serious." I stared at the piece, filled to the brim and the second one of the night, the first of which was shared between us.

"It's already packed, you have to smoke it." I felt my mind, growing more cloudy by the second, begin to falter beneath her watchful eyes.

"How the hell are we going to get home?" I inquired, palming the lighter in the center console. Against my better judgment, I leaned over the cupholder in which the gravity bong rested, pausing for an answer.

"Relax, we'll stay out until we sober up."

"We will?" I glanced up, gauging her expression. She raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have another suggestion?" The privacy afforded by the small gravel lot on the outskirts of town seemed oppressive in that moment.

"No." I looked down, lit the bowl, pulling part of the water bottle upwards as smoke shot downwards into its plastic coffin. Unscrewing the bowl, my lips made contact with the opening. My lungs inflated, my eyes watered, and I turned my head to exhale out the open window.

The hacking quickly followed.

After I regained my composure, I turned my attention once again to my friend. I felt my lips loosen, my brain intoxicated enough to lose control over my words.

"Rose?" I asked.

"Lucy?" She answered. Hearing that name caused a jolt to travel down my spine, emboldening my next question.

"Why are you looking at me like you want to kiss me?"

My best friend, instead of meeting my question with laughter (which I had come to expect, knowing her), she stared at me with the most serious expression on her face.

"Because I do."

I stared at her, noting the fog of red that surrounded her irises and no doubt drowned my own.

"You're not serious."

"I am."

"You're high."

"That's true." She lifted her body up, crossing her legs as her posture straightened. "You asked the question, I answered. What, you don't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you."

She leaned in, lowering her voice to almost a murmur.

"Then why don't you think I'm serious?"