I Am Not Okay With This (Me Either)

Smoking Is My Only Hobby

It seemed odd, almost funny in a way, how they could talk about murder (accidental, albeit) and go right back into kissing as if nothing bad ever happened. While in the middle of making out with Stanley, she pulls away, gasping with realization.

"Do you think it feels different to kiss if you're high?" she asks in a similar manner a curious small child would. "We kissed last night," he countered it. "Yeah but I don't remember what it felt like. Can we... do it again?" she pleaded with puppy dog eyes. "Jesus, why are you so polite?" he laughs, only half to himself. Not sure if that was a yes or no, Leo's brows furrow in confusion. "Of course we can," he pecks her lips once more. "You have to let me up though."

"Oh, right." she scrambled to get off of him. He grabbed the small tin container and pulled one out. "Would you like to do the honors?" he offered, passing it to Leo. She placed it between her lips as he lit it. She took a pretty deep hit and motioned for him to come forward. He leaned forward, and as they locked lips, she slowly exhaled the smoke into his mouth.

As he pulled away (joint in hand), he laughed quietly. "What?" she giggled. "Nothing.. Iss jus' that shotgunning is seems pretty professional for a newbie."

"I know things... jus' 'cause i haven't done them doesn't mean I don't know how to... Like sex, for example. i know how that works," she laughs to herself. Stanley just stares at her face, wanted to look away, but indulges a bit more. Wanting more, she leaned over. He held her face in his palm, and the other brought the joint to her mouth. Something about the way she stared up at him; it was too seductive to be unintentional. She blew the smoke out of her mouth, slowly.

She knew exactly what she was doing, too; getting him riled up like that. When he pulled his hand up to take a hit, she rolled over so she'd be laying in his lap. Of course, he took this as an invitation to lay back against the arm of the couch. "I like smoking with you," she spoke to the ceiling, wanting Stan to listen to her words. "I like touching you when we smoke. Makes me feel all tingly." His free hand carding fingers through her hair. "Me too," he said while offering her another ~puff puff~. Tilting her head upward to attach her lips to it, Stanley spoke again. "Wanna here about my shitty-ass homecoming date?" he asked through laughter. "Stanley Barber, I would love nothing more."

"Marijuana is a gateway drug," he said in a high pitched voice. "So I asked what comes next, as you would. She said," he muffles his laughter, "Mushrooms, then MDMA, then cocaine, then crack, then heroine, then gasoline, huffing it, then death." By the end of that list, Leo is nearly pissing herself from laughter.

"Do you want to play a game? It's a lot funner when you're high," he said while trying not to laugh. "Absolutely," she said, smoke escaping her lips.

After a bit of maneuvering positions, the ended up with legs tossed over the arms of the couch, heads together (upside down, but next to each other). "So, do you wanna play truth or dare? Or-" "Not truth or dare... You have to move for dares and I'm comfy," she said while caressing his face with her hand. "Fair enough; how about would you rather?" he said with a wide grin. She nodded her head and motioned for him to give her the joint. "Would you rather," Leo began, pausing to smoke. "Be in love, or have all the money you want," she finished. He let out a deep sigh before answering. "Love. What about you?" "I- I'm not sure," she almost laughed. "I think it'd be nice to be in love, and to be loved, but I'm not sure if I'm capable of it..." "Capable of what?"

"Being loved."

"Of course you are, dummy," he said, turning to face her. She stayed looking at the ceiling. "I like you already, and I've only known you for like, a day," he laughed at the strangeness of it. "I like you a lot." She turned to face him (his face, since they were that close together). "I like you a lot too." she kissed him softly. She offered him the last drag, and then placed it in the ashtray that was conveniently sitting on the coffee table. "Your turn," she whispered into his mouth. "Would you rather, be a jellyfish or an eagle." (Real original, Stanley.)

"Jellyfish, no questions asked." "Finally, someone agrees with me!" he laughed loudly, Leo nearly snorting at his outburst. "What's your reasoning?" he asked. "Birds are all feather-y, and eagles aren't all colorful, like a parrot. Jellyfish are cool, and they get to swim forever, and some glow in the dark," she spoke with passion, with a genuine love for this creature. "I wish I could swim." "Do you mean all day? Or in general?" he questioned. "In general." He sat up, "You don't know how to swim?" "Hey! You aren't allowed to make fun of me," she defended herself. "And no... I don't know how to swim," she added quietly as he laid back down.

"Would you rather be able to do stuff with your mind, like me, and not be able to control it, like me," she started. "Or, be dead." "Jeez, that got dark," he said in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Why do you ask?" She turned onto her side so she could face him. He turned as well. Her head being supported by her arm underneath, she sighed and looked at him, but not directly in the eye. "Because- well... I guess I've sorta been," she couldn't even finish. Leo took a deep breath and started over. "I've been having these... dark thoughts," she laughed out —well, it was almost a laugh, more of an exhale— though it was forced. Stanley's face turned into concern, and he noticed something.

He noticed how she was looking at him: like she wasn't all there, as if she was trying to block out the emotion behind the very loaded question. He realized that her eyes were red, and it wasn't just from smoking weed. He saw the pain behind her eyes, glossed over with tears.

"What kind of thoughts do you mean?" he asked, full of worry. He sat up and she followed. She moved into his lap, and wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him close. "I don't know... Just- bad ones. Like I shouldn't be here anymore. Like I'm not worth anything," she spoke into his shoulder, barely holding back tears. "I can— with one-hundred percent certainty— tell you that you are worth so much," he said with a softness in his voice that made her heart ache. "What other kinds of thoughts?" he pressed for more. "Stuff like, like I should hurt myself... Or worse- You know. And I know I shouldn't have been born— keeping me is a decision my mother regrets every day. And they're always there, in the back of my mind. And sometimes, its all I can think about," she sniffled.

"I would pick to stay alive," he said firmly.