I glanced at her, turned my head and closed my eyes. “Do you want me to call a doctor?” she asked. I shook my head. “No.” “Aren’t you hurting?” “I’ve endured way more pain than this in my life. I’ll get over it.” “Kiley, you just can’t lay there in pain. Let me take you to see a doctor.” “I said no. I just need some sleep, that’s all.” “Then, let me help you to your room. I put some clean sheets on your bed and fluffed out some pillows for you.” “I need a joint,” I mumbled. “If you want to do something for me, you can roll me up a joint.” “No,” “Then, I’ll do it myself.” I slowly eased up and pressed my sore back against the couch. I then leaned forward, and reached for my bag of weed and papers on the table. My hands were cut and bruised, but it didn’t stop me from putting together the joint I so desperately wanted. I placed it in my mouth, taking a long and deep drag from it. So deep that it made me cough. And when I coughed, my body ached. Anna stood up and removed the joint from my hand. She laid it in the ashtray and took my hand. “Come take a bath with me. I think you’ll feel so much better after you relax in the tub for a while.”
