She stretched lazily on a well-worn recliner; her favorite piece of furniture, like the rest of the living room set, was upholstered in an aged, plaid-printed tweed, over-ripe and splitting at the seams. She reached for her mug of green tea before settling into a comfortable position, legs curled under her, elbow propped on the arm of the recliner, body wrapped close. Her clothes fit loosely, faded greens and browns (wearing green always brought forth a near golden hue to her hazel eyes), torn in places, yet much too comfortable to be gotten rid of.
“Here,” Ben said, passing her the dying roach, yellowing and burning slow. Replacing the tea, she took the roach from her fiancé, pressed it to her generous lips.
“Roll another,” she said. Smoke traced the shape of her lips as she exhaled, but she quickly sucked it back in, not willing to let it go just yet. She delicately placed her teeth against her bottom lip as the smoke flowed in plump tendrils from her nostrils. Her lip leapt away from her teeth at the same time as that sweet sound she made when contentment took her.
“Oh, that shit is good,” she said. She drew out the word “good,” tasting every letter. Her eyes followed Ben’s movements as he reached for the papers.
“Grab that bag for me, would you?” he said. Ally obediently followed the direction, grabbing the bad from the television stand and dropping it on the table for Ben to make use of.
The two, Ally and Ben, looked at each other. Her eyes dropped first as she resumed her place on the recliner. This time she stretched her legs out, twisting her hips in such a way that her skin peeked out from underneath her clothes. Her hand dropped to her hip; the movement, not meant to cover her skin, brought her fingers to the supple mound of pale, unmarred flesh. She traced little circles, noticed that every now and then Ben would pause what he was doing to watch her. Always, however, he resumed his work. Every time his eyes were off her, she would seem to shrink.
“Here,” he said, passing her the joint. Her eyes seemed to darken a fraction of a shade and the line of her mouth hardened as she took the joint from Ben. Their fingers almost brushed, but only almost.
She leaned back in her recliner, poised to light up, but stopped with the joint halfway to her lips. She looked at it for, what seemed to her, no small amount of time, slightly shifting her legs. Her hips rocked, body moving to some music that only she could hear. Slowly she brought the joint the rest of the distance to her mouth and lit the tip. The paper caught fire with the smallest whoosh, no more than a breath of a noise. Still her body rocked. She inhaled deeply, arching her back, lifting her free arm behind her head to lengthen her torso.
She made the sound again, softly, before curling back in on herself as she passed the joint back to Ben. Their fingers almost brushed, but only almost.