"Why do you do it?"
The question hung suspended in the air like a spider dangling from a silken thread. She glanced up, her glazed eyes suddenly coming into focus, as if noticing for the first time that someone had been speaking to her, even though we'd been there for over an hour. She took a long drag of the joint, closing her eyes slowly and allowing her reply to waft from her lips and disperse into the air with the diffusing clouds of smoke.
"To feel desired," she said simply. "That's what we all want, isn't it? Think about it. Being desired.Being validated. We're all looking for it some way or the other. You chose to find acceptance on the dry pages of textbooks. Me? I preferred a medium that was… a little more alive."
"Don't you feel… bad about it?"
Her eyes shifted towards me, the bistre orbs temporarily arresting me before slowly turning to gaze out at the skyline. She kicked her legs up lightly, the sprightly, childish move contrasting sharply with the glowing embers of marijuana resting between her fingertips.
"Well… sometimes I do. When I wake up to his messages every morning. That's when I feel terrible. I swear to myself that I'll never do it again. But then… I don't know. Maybe it's the flashing lights or the weed or the bass drops or the vodka, but…" She took another deep drag of the joint, now smoldering down to a nub. "I just can't help it. I need it. It's a drug, more than this could ever be."
With that, she flicked the end of the spliff over the roof and watched it tumble down onto the street below. She swung her legs back over the ledge, and with that, the silken thread was broken.