Berries and Greed

She held her breath for a few seconds before exhaling a stream of white smoke, which made my gut clench. Why did that look so hot? She coughed a little at the end, wincing as the last of the smoke no doubt burned her throat. But as she passed the joint back, she grinned at me.

I grinned back. “What do you think?”

“Not sure yet.” She made a face and smacked her lips. “Tastes different to how it smells.”

“Yeah.” I took a long drag myself and exhaled slowly, relaxing back into the couch. “Tastes good, though. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine, I think. I don’t think it’s… Oh.” She let out a tiny laugh. “My head’s swimming a bit.”

“That’s probably a little from inhaling so deeply as well.” I passed the joint back to her. “Maybe one more toke and then we’ll wait a couple minutes.”

“Okay.” She took it from me, and this time, I couldn’t stop myself from staring as she raised it to her lips. My mouth had just been on that. And now hers was.

Insides squirming, I fidgeted with the blankets on my lap and gave her a tiny smile as she passed the joint back. A few seconds later, she laughed for no reason.

My mouth twitched into a smile around the joint as I looked at her. “Feeling it?”

“Yeah.” Her green eyes looked a touch heavier, and her lips were curved into a slightly goofy smile.

She looked so freaking cute.

“Hungry yet?” I asked with a tiny smirk. She snorted and smacked my arm.

“No.” But even as she said it, her hooded eyes drifted over to the pizza box on the coffee table.

“You know what’s a great thing to watch while you’re high?” I closed down DemiTV and went to my recorded shows. After selecting one, I hit play and grinned while Beryl peered blearily at the TV as a logo exploded onto the screen. Literally exploded, punching through a brick wall accompanied by the screech of electric guitars.

“D-Dewla..?”

“Deep Earth Wrestling League Association.” I smacked my thigh. “We’re watchin’ wrasslin’, bay-bee!”

Shit, the shade was getting to me tonight, maybe because I was already in such a good mood over Beryl’s news. Before I could get embarrassed over being such a dork, she burst out laughing and then couldn’t stop, which set me off until my eyes were streaming and I was struggling to gulp down air.

At some point, Beryl and I ended up facing each other from opposite ends of the couch with our legs tangled under the blankets in the middle. I was pretty sure we’d just stayed that way after I showed her the game my siblings and I used to play, where we’d push the soles of our feet together and try to overpower the other by stretching our legs right out.

Not much of a game, to be honest, and I’d always lost as a kid, being the smallest. But Beryl had cried with laughter at the sight of me with my knees practically at my ears so the soles of our slippers could actually meet in the middle. And at the sight of my giant feet stretching twice as far as hers.

Now, having just smoked another joint, we were eating our subs. The pizza was already gone, consumed mostly by me. Beryl’s head was turned to the side to watch the wrestling, but I was just staring at nothing through glazed eyes as I chewed my sandwich. It was so good.

When Beryl started laughing, I blinked slowly and turned my head to look at the TV, then blinked again. I couldn’t see what was funny. The Urg—who was my favourite wrestler—had Sinak “Big Demi” Bathan in a wicked chokehold, and was puffing up his chest and posturing as Big Demi tried to get free.

I wondered briefly if it had been such a great idea putting this on for us to watch. Beryl had spent the last couple of hours staring at big, beefy demiurgus in tiny skimpy outfits. My body looked nothing like theirs—not anymore. Well, not that I’d ever been that big. But I hardly ever worked out anymore, so I was just kind of lanky. Except for my little pot belly, thanks to how much I ate.

Not like Beryl’s ever gonna see you naked, I thought morosely, turning from the screen and taking another bite of sandwich.

I realised she was still laughing, so I blinked at her. Rubbing a bloodshot eye, she set down her sub and pointed at mine. I glanced down and finally noticed that all my sandwich fillings—an unhealthy amount of sliced meat and cheese—were falling out the other end of the sub and onto my lap every time I took a bite.

“Oh, shit,” I mumbled, leaning over to put the rest of the sandwich on its paper wrapper on the coffee table and almost toppling off the couch.

“Greid!” Beryl cried between snorts of laughter as I started eating what was on my lap.

“What?” I glared at her. “No point wasting it.”

Somewhere under the blankets, she shifted her leg to poke me in the calf with her big toe. “You’re so gross.”

“How is that gross? The blanket’s clean.” Possibly. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed it. As I stuffed the last slice of salami into my mouth, I saw all the grease stains on the fabric. “Well, it was.”