Unlike his father, Toby chose a different rout to deal with his stress. Getting high. He loved the sensation of the smoke in his lungs. The feeling of the drug ran through him. He was relaxed. Like none of his past ever happened. Not even the present seemed to be happening.

So tonight, long after you had gone to sleep, Toby silently sat on the stairs of your back porch. His lighter flicking repeatedly in his hand before lighting a flame to his blunt. His blue hood pulled low over his head as his goggles were pushed up on his head, keeping some hair out of his face. And his muzzle somewhere inside. As the yellow flame flickered and lit up his face for a few moments, before a quiet sizzle burned away at the wrapper.

"You said you'd stop," Your voice cracked, trembling but still trying to be firm as you stood in the doorway of your back porch door. He was just in bed with you, and here he was..breaking his promise again. Your eyes following between the back of his head, and the smoke of his blunt mix into the wind.

Yet, even as you spoke, Toby didn’t look at you. Even as the blunt burned between his fingers he still focused on fiddling with his lighter instead. The tiny flame catching for a moment before it disappeared. “Ye- y...yeah, well,” He muttered, “I lie-..li- l..lied.”