Princess Enraptured

When Ellie finally willed herself to open the bag, she found herself unable to do anything but stare.

She's spent the morning glancing at it warily as she sipped her coffee. Then the afternoon avoiding it like the plague as she got chores done around the house. But as evening fell, she finally gave in and brought it into her living room, daring to open it.

She wasn't sure what she expected. But it seemed to be as Wally had said: weed, obviously (a

lot

of it, at least to her) and an assortment of other drugs she was not familiar with. She stared.

Carefully, she pulled out a couple of containers from the bag. She kept them held loosely between two fingers as if she were afraid to touch them. A bag of small, pink crystals. Another baggie of dried mushrooms. A small wrap of aluminum foil that she peaked into, gingerly peeling it open to reveal a strip of paper, perforated to separate it into 10 squares. She closed that back up, quickly.

The last thing in the bag was a small silk cover, holding something. She pulled it out and revealed a small, delicate glass pipe. Just a one-hitter with no shotgun, the pearlescent pink swirling with bits of rose. She let out a breath. Was this Wally's?

After a moment, she returned everything to the bag except for the weed and the bowl. She took the bag and placed in a cabinet under one of her islands. Then, standing, she looked over at the bag of weed and bowl on the table. Already, a dank aroma was hovering in the air.

Slowly, she padded into the living room to sit on tje couch with a heavy breath, the bowl in one hand, and the bag of weed in the other. She say and picked a nug from the back, breaking it apart with her fingers and nails to effectively pack the small one-hitter. After relative success, she pushed the bag aside and stood, lighting a scented candle to cut the smell permeating the room. Then, satisfied, she sat and picked it up.

She'd never smoked alone, really. She was a social smoker usually, if only because it felt safer, more familiar. But now she ached for the opportunity to unwind and ease her tensions. She took a quick puff, holding the smoke for a moment before releasing it. She managed not to cough this time around, instead closing her eyes to savor the soft weight that fell upon her shoulders, down her body. Already, she felt more relaxed.

Her phone dinged and she picked it up lazily.

Hey. This is Tom

.

She stared. Had Jim given Tom her number?

'What the fuck? Why would he do that?'

She didn't know what to say, but she also didn't want to say nothing. She wasn't sure of the proper etiquette in a situation like this. Could you ghost a drug lord?

Instead, she sent back one of the auto responses listed.

Hey

.

She sat back on the couch and picked up the small pink bowl, lightly packed. She brought it to her lips, eager to ebb away the anxiety gnawing at her nerves. She hadn't even finished the hit before her phone dinged again, notifying her of a new message. She allowed herself a moment of respite to hold the smoke in her lungs before releasing it, managing to bite back a cough. She snatched up her phone.

Did you like the goodie bag

?

She blinked, caught between high and confused, and decided to just be honest.

Yes! I mean I don't know what most of it is but the weed's great. Thank you!

She sent it, paused, then added:

Did you put Wally's bowl in there too?

Maybe too wordy. She probably shouldn't have double texted. She repacked the one hitter. Again, less than a minute passed before be responded.

No, it's for you.

That made her feel back in blatant disbelief. What did that even mean?

Huh?

She added a quick 'lol' last minute, just to add a light tone.

I can't give you weed and nothing to smoke it with. 😉😜

The use of emojis threw her for another loop. What the fuck was happening right now? She set down the bowl and lighter, getting more comfortable in her seat as she responded.

Thank you so much!! Lol, do you just keep them on you like party favors?

She was high and felt playful. Texting Tom felt

bad

and dangerous despite the casual text banter. It seemed so weird to her, all of this. She felt like she was in a story.

A ding brought her out of her drifting thoughts.

No, haha. Had it and just thought it suited you. You like it?

Uncertainty boiled in her. Was he

hitting

on her? The thought seemed absurd for a variety of reasons. Though she felt confident in her looks, she definitely didn't think she would be his type; soft and giggly, bad jokes and too many rolls, wild hair. She'd have pegged him for the rocker chic type, not a 30-something year old woman in a knit sweater and some jeans, smoking weed for the first time in years.

She shook her head. She was attractive enough, she supposed, and her awkward humor often made her endearing to people. Tom, she was sure, had had an abundance of women in his bed - why not another notch? She tilted her head and let out a slow breath and tried to keep it light.

Yes.

She answered.

It's so pretty!

😭

Thank you again!

You're welcome. I'm glad you like it,

it read. Another followed.

Are you right now?

Her heart caught in her chest, pounding against her throat. Her eyes bugged out of their sockets. Everything in her told her to say

'no.'

And, indeed, she immediately came up with an excuse to say just that.

No, I'm having lunch w my boyfriend right now.

A light, easy lie. One that would also cut this off at the pass, before she got tied up in something either dangerous or just embarrassing for herself.

His response was quick and only made her anxiety flare up even more.

How about tonight? There's a really good Ethiopian place near downtown.

She stared. "Oh my God."

Another message.

It doesn't have to be anything serious. You just seem cool and I want to get to know you.

She let out a bark of laughter. She had to be in an alternate universe, or dreaming, or dead. He asked if he could take me out to dinner for Ethiopian. That part had thrown her off the most, surprisingly. Her love for food was vast and diverse, and her palette enjoyed multiple flavor profiles. And she

loved

Ethiopian food, despite how little she was able to get it. Most places were too expensive for her tastes, or a hassle to get to, or constantly booked. Or she didn't have anyone to go with and just didn't want to eat alone. Most of her friends were picky eaters.

'This is such a trap,'

she thought to herself. But how could it be? How could he know aside from coincidence?

She was making a terrible mistake.

I love Ethiopian! Are you sure you're fine with it just being us hanging out?

She immediately added:

Instead of as a date?

Yeah, of course. Wouldn't expect you to cheat on your man, haha.

She doubted that severely but excitement buzzed inside of her all the same. She was making a terrible mistake. She knew she was. But she couldn't help revelling in the feeling, like a teenager fawning over their bad boy crush. This was the first time she'd felt like this in... Longer than she could or really even cared to remember.

Just one dinner couldn't hurt, she told herself.

When he arrived, a few hours later, after she'd sent her address and convinced herself to stick to this terrible, terrible plan, she was surprised by how well he cleaned up. He was still wearing dark jeans, but he'd opted for leather loafers instead of the boots he'd worn before, and a peacoat instead of his black hoodie. His piercings were the same, as was his hair, but he looked to be in much better spirits since the last time she'd seen him.

She'd answered the door awkwardly, peering out and up at him. He was like a giant in front of her. He smiled easily and waved.

"Heya," he greeted smoothly. She smiled a little.

"Hey." She felt a bit self-conscious. Judging by his attire she wasn't particularly under or overdressed; a simple, flirty, long sleeved dress that stopped a few inches above her knees. She'd opted for no leggings that evening, and had adorned herself with a long and heavy sienna cardigan in lieu of a jacket.

She'd worn a little make up, just a bit. Eyeliner and some mascara. A little blush and some matte lipstick. Nothing big. But she could see him regarding her with an intensely interested look, taking in the entirety of your appearance. His eyes trained back onto her face so fast she almost doubted she'd seen him checking her out at all, but the tilt of his head and lift of the left side of his mouth told her that wasn't the case.

"You look lovely," he complimented with such a sincerity that she almost blushed. Instead, she deflected the way she always did when she didn't know what to do. She curtsied deeply.

"Why thank you, good sir," she said, trying to keep herself casual. "I clean up alright."

He laughed as easily as he smiled and she couldn't help but admire the way his wolfish grin stretched so genuinely across his face. His carved jaw when he tilted his head to regard her with a look of amusement. Eyes trained on her, like they'd been before at Jim and Wally's, like she was the only thing that mattered.

'You're a grown woman,'

she chastised herself, anchoring herself back in reality as Tom spoke again.

"You ready to go?" He asked, glancing at his phone. "Our reservation is at seven."

"Yeah, sure," she nodded, stepping outside. She locked the door behind herself and turned to find him standing, waiting for her, his elbow out.

"Madam," he said seriously. She grinned and linked arms, feeling a bit more at ease.

"A true gentleman," she said, mimicking his tone. They walked down the steps of her house towards his car, parked on the street. It was nondescript, a typical four-seater black car with slightly tinted windows. He opened the passenger door for her when they reached it and she hopped in, clicking her seatbelt in place as he closed the door and rounded the car.

Once he'd gotten in, started it, and started heading down the road, he spoke again. "Reach into my dash for me."

He nodded towards it. She blinked and did so without question, finding an assortment of flat, opaque bags. "Grab the dark green one and open it up."

Again, she did as she was told. As soon as she opened it, the pungent smell of marijuana hit her nose. She let out an 'oof' of surprise, to which Tom laughed.

"Sorry, should have warned you." He certainly didn't sound sorry. She shot him a look then proceeded to open the bag more to see what was inside. A small box that she removed carefully and popped open. Rolled, thick joints, at least twenty, filled the container.

"Take one out and light it for me." He said, eyes trained on the road. She looked at him again warily.

"Are you a good stoned driver?" She asked slowly, eyes narrowing. Maybe she felt a little too comfortable now. "You'd better not promise me Ethiopian food then just kill me before we even get there."

He let out a laugh of surprise at that. "I've literally been smoking and driving since I was fifteen," he said with a shake of his head, smile still in place. "I think I can get us there in one piece."

She pouted her lips skeptically but did as he'd asked, picking what she presumed was a joint out and setting it in her lap. She closed the box, put it back in the bag, and returned it to its initial spot after she'd closed it up. Tom nodded again towards her door.

"There's a lighter in there," he explained. "Start it for me?"

She feigned a cool demeanor despite how hard her heart was pounding. She brought the joint to her lips and lit the tip of it, inhaling slowly. The tip glowed red, ignited, and she pulled it from her mouth as soon as she felt the smoke building in the back of her throat. She released it and coughed only twice into her fist before holding it out to him.

He was grinning, glancing at he out of the corner of his eye. "That's my girl," he praised, taking it from her. She watched him smoke with ease, rolling it out of his mouth and back in through his nose. She'd always wanted to learn how to french inhale. She took it from him when he held it back out to her. "So what made you wanna start smoking?" He asked idly.

She shrugged, taking another hit. She already felt looser, less anxious. "My ex-husband cheated and I filed for divorce," she said casually. "So now I'm taking time to have the fun I couldn't have."

He nodded. "Makes sense. Sorry about your ex."

She shrugged again. "It's whatever."

"It's not," he said firmly. "It's fucked up." He took the joint from her and hit it again. She watched in wonder. She was already so high, how could he smoke so easily? He didn't breath out yet, the smoke resting in his chest, speaking low as he held it. "How was your lunch?"

She sighed. "I didn't have lunch," she admitted. "And that guy's... not really my boyfriend."

Tom chortled a little and tried to pass it to her but she shook her head, holding up a hand to signal she was done. He exhaled finally, coughing once low in his throat, then brought it back to his lips with a small smirk. "Yeah, I kinda figured that."

She cut her eyes at him and scrunched up her nose. "You showed up to my friend's house with a gun," she said simply. She felt bolder than she would have if she hadn't been smoking. More belligerent, yet more laid back. "So," she breathed out a laugh, "sorry if I had my reservations."

"Fair enough," Tom acknowledged with a nod and raised brows.

She leaned back in the passenger seat. "Just a little scary," she said with a small nod of her own. "Low-key. Maybe high-key."

He turned onto the street leading into Downtown. She watched his long fingers grip the steering wheel, entranced. He was smiling again. "Then why'd you come out with me tonight?" He asked.

"I dunno," she admitted, looking thoughtful. Why had she come? Should she be honest? "You seem cool, I guess." Easier to deflect.

"Scary and cool," he mused with a nod. "I can work with that."

"Can you play music?" She asked.

"Sure," he said, turning on his radio. He tapped his phone, attached to his window by a holder, and opened up his music app with fluid ease. In moments, music filled the car. She let out a small breath of laughter.

"Oh, I love this song," she said with a happy whine.

Tom didn't respond, focused on the road and oncoming traffic. She hummed along, feeling good. This was nice. Not what she'd expected.

"So, what is this place?" She asked suddenly, as the thought popped up in her mind.

"It's called Ibex. They're good. Eritrean cuisine mostly."

She raised a brow at him, both impressed and skeptical. "Why'd you choose there?"

He shrugged. "I like it? And figured you'd be down to try it if you hadn't before."

She hummed thoughtfully, looking out the window on her side. She watched the buildings pass, zoning out for a moment before she felt something touch her arm. She looked over to see him holding the joint back out to her. Had he been smoking this entire time?

"Have you been smoking this entire time?" She asked because that's what she'd been thinking.

"Uh, yeah?" His brow furrowed as he glanced at her. "I smoke a lot."

"You're too powerful," she marvelled, taking it from him hesitantly. He grinned.

"I try. We're gonna be there in a second so finish it off then roll down your window."

She realized, hazily, that they'd indeed been hotboxing his car. She giggled a little and took one more small puff, biting back a cough, then rolled down her window. Plumes of smoke poured out as they road down the street. She flicked the roach out the window and laughed louder, unable to help herself.

"Do you

really

not give a fuck?" She asked him.

"Nope!" He pulled into the parking lot and slid into one of the few remaining spaces. She coughed a bit and rifled her fingers through her hair.

"Do you have any kind of spray or something?" Her face scrunched up. "I don't really like smelling like a skunk."

He popped open the holder and arm rest between their seats and pulled out a small bottle of perfume. She took it from him, studying it, then sprayed some on herself as he pulled out another bottle for himself. She could tell from the smell that the two were distinctly differently. "Why do you have different kinds of perfume in your car?"

"Because

no on

e likes to smell like skunk," he said as though it were obvious, but his smile was playful. "Let's eat."

"

God

, yes," she practically moaned, quickly hopping out of the car.

The dinner was everything she could have wanted. Tom had chosen a bottle of wine for them and ordered to her surprise and slight annoyance. She'd always liked to pick things for herself, but his choice had been what she probably would have ordered anyway. A large platter of meats, stews, and sauces, and injera to her heart's content. High and starving, the waiter had barely left before she began to tear in with her hands. She felt ravenous and didn't even realize how aggressively she'd started eating until she glanced at Tom, her mouth full of dorho wrapped in injera, and found him staring at her, chewing slow with a small smile. She gulped down what was in her mouth and grabbed a napkin, dabbing at her lips sheepishly.

"Stop staring," she said, a little flushed. "I'm here eating like a velociraptor and you're over there judging me."

He visibly tried to stifle a laugh around the food in his mouth, swallowing quickly. "Not judging," he said after a sip of wine. "You're cute." She scowled at him and he laughed again. Why did she like the sound so much? She was sure she'd like it better in her ear, him on top of her...

"You don't have to be embarrassed." He was saying. She blinked at him.

"I'm not," she lied, feigning confidence. "Just...

I did

kind of attack this like a wild animal." She stared down at her side of the plate; she'd already destroyed a half of it. Tom was grinning though.

"It's

fine

," he insisted. "Do whatever you want. Eat however you want. I'm with it."

"This is so weird," she mused, once again transfixed on getting more food into her mouth. "Do you do this a lot?"

He quirked a brow at her. "Go on dates?"

"

Not

a date," she corrected, but she couldn't hide a small smile. "But yes, I guess. It's just weird. We talked for less thàn two minutes, you gave me a bunch of drugs, then you asked me out to dinner. That's not weird to you?"

He swirled his glass of wine, a twinkling of amusement in his hazel eyes. "Not really."

'This is probably how it always goes for him,'

she thought.

'See a girl, woo her with drugs and dinner, hit and run.'

Somehow, the idea didn't sound that unappealing. She'd never had a one night stand before, nor any kind of sex with no strings attached. All of her partners had been people she'd been in relationships with. The prospect of throwing caution to the wind felt exhilarating. Or maybe that was just the wine and weed in her.

Her cheeks were warm as was her stomach. Her head still felt light and full all at once. It was nice. She took another sip of wine, finishing the glass. He refilled it for her without missing a beat. "So, you asked me out... why?"

"Look at you," he said simply, as though the answer to her question was obvious. The same sincerity as when he'd complemented her when he picked her up. And the same striking gaze, set on hers.

She rolled her eyes a little out of an awkward lack of anything to say, the complement a little too earnest for her. "Okay. So I'm hot. Got it."

"Funny," he continued evenly. "Adventurous. Warm." He tilted his head. "How could I not?"