Two Hits
By S. Faith, © 2015
Words: 1,177
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary: Drugs are Satan's poo, darling.
Disclaimer: I think after nearly a decade, you all know the drill by now. #notmine
Notes: So there's a throwaway mention of having smoked two puffs of a joint "fifteen years" prior to 2012, which puts the occasion some time in late 1997. Which is the end of Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. This little story picks up right at the end of the novel.
I have not smoked pot for fifteen years and then it was two puffs, which made me so paranoid that I thought people were ignoring me when they were actually talking to me.
—Bridget, Bridget Jones: Mad About the Boy
Entry dated Saturday, 29 Sept 2012
Friday, 19 Dec 1997
8.45 p.m. Right. On way to party. Should have rung up Mark but as yet have no answer to his impertinent question. Thailand. Thailand! Have only just escaped clutches of ten-year prison sentence there and no desire to return, but… Mark. Living with, eating with, sleeping with. Every day, every night. Do not wish to be apart from him. But… Thailand. Gah.
Do not even quite remember how call ended. Think I told him that I had to go then put down phone. He rang back a couple of times and left polite, concerned answerphone messages, but even he had sense to stop. (Though ooh, hope have not worried him. Cannot obsess. Will be all right.)
Mark had already demurred attending party at new co-worker's place, as he is not fond of parties full of strangers. Relieved, actually, to go it alone tonight. Gives self time to think without distraction, or freely discuss with neutral observers.
9.15 p.m. Oh, God. New co-worker is glamourous but intimidating new newsreader called Talitha. Feel like bug on underside of rock. Maybe will have drink, but no. Must make excellent first impression in manner of getting cool girl at school to like me.
9.25 p.m. Name 'Talitha' makes self feel like 19th century granny. 'Talitha' is exactly the sort of name the cool girl at school would have.
9.50 p.m. Have just been offered a little something to relax. Annoyed with self that it is so obvious it is needed.
9.52 p.m. Is a cigarette. Suppose that will relax self.
9.55 p.m. Is not a cigarette. Is a spliff.
Ah well. When in Rome.
10.01 p.m. Have now had two puffs—okay, long drags. A bit better.
10.05 p.m. OH GOD. Huge, huge, HUGE mistake. Has only made self notice how much everyone actually hates me.
10.20 p.m. Feel as if cannot—OH HOLY JESUS. SEXY MATT.
10.40 p.m. HATEFUL Matt, more like.
11.11 p.m. Driven out of party like social pariah that am. In strange car now. Despair and sadness.
Saturday, 20 December
9.45 a.m. GAH! Where am I?
9.47 a.m. Ah. Everything's white. Must be at Mark's.
9.48 a.m. Or at mental hospital.
9.50 a.m. Footsteps. Can hear Mark's voice. Could still go either way.
10.30 a.m. Mark's house, Holland Park.
Mark just came in with coffee and a little something to eat.
"That was a novelty," he said with a quiet coolness, setting the food down, then sitting beside me. "When you first got here, I thought you were squiffy, but realised pretty quickly that you weren't, not on alcohol, anyway. What exactly was on offer at this party?" Didn't say anything so he prompted further in that stern barrister tone that never fails to simultaneously aggravate and, to be honest, turn self on. "Ecstasy? Cocaine? Honestly, Bridget, I would have thought you'd learnt your lesson in Thailand."
Typical, bringing up Thailand again. "It was a spliff," I explained defiantly. "At first I thought it was a hand-rolled regular fag."
"You shouldn't be smoking those, either," he scolded.
Undaunted, I continued, squaring my shoulders, "I had two little puffs. Obviously I am not used to it."
"Obviously," he said. At that could see the faintest hint of a smile on his too-smug face. "For the record, it makes you over-suspicious and, I think, prone to hallucinations."
It all came sweeping back to self. Immediately after taking the puffs, suspected that everyone at party was actively ignoring me, worse yet while looking directly at self. Realise now, in retrospect, that nothing had changed at all. People were actually still talking to me, and even more so than before (possibly due to them mellowing out due to pot). Must have hallucinated no sound as it was not noisy with music. Do not remember anything beyond Sexy Matt—gah, should really think of him only as 'Matt' now, as seems traitorous to Mark—putting me head first into a minicab. Must have given minicab driver Mark's address, as had given same to dry-cleaners as safe, secure place with alarms and housekeepers.
"Do you remember arriving here worked up in a paranoid autowitter?" he asked. "I thought one of the neighbours might call the police at all the noise."
Suddenly felt horrified. "They didn't, did they?"
"No." He nodded towards where the coffee sat. "Have some."
"What else did I do?" I begged, reaching for the coffee. Was both desperate to know, and dreading it.
The tiny smile got bigger. "I had to help you out of your clothes." Saw his eyes flit down as if to underscore. Realised was stark naked; fought urge to hide under duvet, but is only Mark, after all, and would have been a bit 'closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.' "You kept shouting at me to stop trying to eat you."
So, so hugely mortified. Still, had to know if there was more. "What else?"
"Well, there was the minute or two when you thought my sideburns had come to life, and you tried to tug them off of me."
"Oh my God!" Had attacked his lovely sideburns. They looked all right, though, so clearly hadn't succeeded. Raised hand to touch his face, but he reflexively jerked back. Immediately he apologised and leaned forward again. Stroked his cheek and the sideburn. Felt all right, too. "I'm so sorry."
"You're sure," he said, "that the spliff wasn't tainted with LSD? Magic mushrooms?"
"Pretty sure," I said sheepishly. But he chuckled. Knew then he was teasing. Raised my eyes to meet his again. "I could make it up to you."
He raised a brow.
"Let me kiss and make it better."
"Would this be the time to mention you also tried to bollock me?" he asked, his expression guileless.
Blinked, then realised he was teasing. Reached up and tugged playfully at his right sideburn (well, self's right, his left). He captured the hand, then kissed the palm before letting go. "Eat your breakfast," he said, "and then we can discuss payback, darling… and possibly the Thailand question." Must have looked horrified, as he chuckled again. "What is it that Tom says? 'Drugs are Satan's poo'?" He glanced at me, totally serious once more. "That was very risky, leaving the party high on—in your state," he amended.
"It was S—Matt." Nearly said the S word. "He put me in a cab."
"And who is Sssmatt?"
"Someone from work. Not important. I'm not going to do it again, I swear."
"Like you swore to give up smoking?" he countered.
Unfair comparison, as temptation by Silk Cut available in every market is entirely different story than Satan Poo spliff, but in spirit of harmony… only pouted a little. He in turn raised his hand to sweep fingers across my cheek.
"I suppose that was unfair," he said softly. "Baby steps."
Hmm. Was as if he read my mind.
12.20 p.m. Gave him my answer about Thailand. He laughed then said he knew what answer would be.
Maybe he can read my mind.
The end.