"Now it's three in the mornin' and I'm trying to change your mind."

"Left you multiple missed calls."

"Why'd you only call me when you're high?"

"It's harder and harder to get you to listen."

"Incapable of makin' alright decisions, and having bad ideas."

Dior Goodjohn. The name was familiar - she was your enemy, friend and a little less of a lover. Like most teenagers, or people under their 20s who were irresponsible, she smoked.

Dior would only call you when she was high - obviously because you both were co-workers and she needed you sometimes for many things - whether it was for a hookup, someone to chat to, or just for something stupid.

You were usually sober - so you had to deal with Dior's bullshit or dumbass things when she called you when she was high.

Because like... Who would even want a dumbass motherfucker to come to their house high? Or even call them while they were high?

It wasn't like Dior hadn't smoked in front of you before, she had. Dior would usually be smoking some pen or some cigarette.

Yeah, cigarettes were your least favorite type of nicotine to see on her.

Why?

Well first, they smelled like absolute dog water and ass. Second - Dior's voice always got slightly raspy or slightly deeper after she smoked a cigarette.

Third... Well, that was all, it just smelled like shit, you didn't really mind Dior's voice sounding deeper or raspy.

Dior seemed like she always smoked - it always led you to try to make her change her mind.

This night - Dior had gone to some party Tamara decided to host at her house - obviously the alcohol and weed type of party.

Charlie was the one who alarmed you when Dior was smoking - but this time, Leah did so, and when you saw the messages...

Well, you immediately started trying to dial Dior's number. Once, twice, three times, four times, five times... Countless messages trying to get Dior to answer your fucking call.

All of them led to fucking voicemail or you just got left on delivered.

The situation pissed you off a little, and you needed to take deep breaths to calm yourself down and resisting the urge to leave a voicemail to Dior yelling at her to stop smoking.

Later in the night, about the time at 3 AM, you were still awake. Of course, you had no work the next day and you didn't see the point in sleeping early. But you heard the door knocking.

You walked over to open the door and - Of fucking course.

Dior, stood there, curls slightly disheveled and she definitely just arrived from the party. In the distance you could see Charlie's car driving off - that motherfucker probably agreed to leave Dior here with you. "...Hey." Dior started, her voice slightly raspy.