The Window

63 Hours After...

I yanked the sheet off of my bed and took it to the bathroom. I dumped it in the corner and promised myself that I would take it to the basement for a good washing next morning. I'd remove the stains beforehand of course, with a bit of detergent. I was just lazy to do it right then.

I took a new sheet from my cupboard and spread it out on the bed as Manik paced in my tiny studio apartment, bare-chested and carefree, which resulted in me getting repeatedly distracted from the job at hand.

I succeeded in making the bed eventually, and was slightly surprised when Manik plonked his ass down on it immediately after. He took his phone out of his pocket and started scrolling through it once again.

What was he even doing? I wondered. He didn't seem like the type who would stalk his lady friends on social media anyway.

I cut the silence at last with a fairly simple question.

"Are you planning to...stay the night?" I asked, with mixed feelings.

There was a part of me that didn't want him to leave. Partially because I felt safer with him around, and partially because I wanted to have sex with him again. But the latter was definitely a bad idea, since I'd just changed the sheets. The other part of me wanted him to leave because I didn't want to break my 'no sleepover' rule. I hadn't let any of the people I hooked up with stay the night.

So, why should I treat Manik any different?

"As if. I don't do sleepovers. I'm just not sleepy yet. Besides, the day we've had, I think I won't be getting any..." He said, casually, momentarily looking up from his cell phone screen.

I watched as he pulled his wallet out of his other pocket. He opened it, only to fish out a small plastic pouch. In the dim lighting of my studio, I could see a spice-like substance enclosed within it. It looked partially granular, and from certain angles, even leafy.

And then it dawned on me-it was marijuana. Or as the stoners in my college referred to it colloquially-weed.

"Really? Pot? What are you? Sixteen?" I asked, rolling my eyes.

"Shit. I don't have any rolling paper." He huffed, as he fiddled with his wallet, ignoring my question.

I tightened my robes around myself and walked over to the small bedside table. I opened the drawer and reached under the library of books that it was filled with. When I finally felt a flap of cardboard on my finger, I pulled the item out, and looked at it, fairly satisfied that I'd managed to find it among the pile of books.

I threw the old Rizla box over to Manik, and watched a smirk form on his face as soon as he noticed it.

"It's a few years old I think. Don't know if we should use it." I warned.

"It'll do." He said in a neutral tone as he laid the filling out on the other bedside table, and slowly transferred it onto the rolling paper.

In the next few seconds, he made the tip intricately. After that, he proceeded to insert it into the paper. I watched as he folded the paper to achieve a near perfect cylindrical shape.

"Quite the professional." I remarked.

"I hate buying joints directly. They're so horribly rolled." He said, with a frown.

He took a lighter out of his pocket and lit it swiftly, causing an odour filled smoke to be released. He took a hit of the joint, and a general look of contentment set in on his face.

"You need this more than I do." He said, as he dangled it in front of my face.

Well, I couldn't exactly argue with him there. He'd only spoken the truth. Perhaps, I would feel more relaxed after taking a few drags.