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Smoke slipped against my throat and filled my lungs.
I took another hit.
“Damn, man.” Maxwell frowned. “Are you trying to fuck the joint or smoke it?”
I ignored him and smoked some more.
A wave of euphoria washed over me, a soothing balm to my frayed nerves. It was as if the smoke was a key, unlocking a door to a calmer, more detached part of myself. The world slowed down. The sounds of the night morphed into a distant symphony. My muscles relaxed. The tension in my shoulders eased.
All around me, smoke coiled, curled, and danced in eerie wisps.
Maxwell watched me. “You might as well keep that. She’s your woman now.”
I put the joint out and placed it in my pocket. The euphoric haze softening the edges of my reality. “Come on.”
Together, we entered.
It could have been the marijuana, but every step I took felt deliberate, as if I were walking not just into a house, but into the unknown parts of reality.
The wooden floor groaned beneath our feet. The sound echoed through the empty rooms.
Maxwell led the way, his posture rigid.
I followed, my senses heightened.
The sound of drumming and chanting lured me forward.
When we approached the basement door, Maxwell stopped and turned to me. “So. . .”
I quirked my brows. “What?”
Maxwell gazed around as if making sure the space was empty. “Listen, man. We’re going to be a little unconventional right now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Frowning, he sighed. “Hold my hand.”
I sneered. “I am not holding your fucking hand.”
“Yo, I’m not going down that motherfucker unless you hold my hand—”
“Why would I hold your hand—”
“Because I don’t want to end up in another vault room with naked bitches and riches.”
Rage boiled within me. “Stop smoking marijuana.”
He held out his hands. “It’s not the weed, man. This is real shit I’m talking about. I had a messed up experience in this house before when I came here with the Butcher.”
“A room full of bitches and riches?” I shoved him to the side. “Come on, before I push you down the steps and tell my mouse you slipped and fell.”
Maxwell crossed his arms over his chest and stepped back from the door. “I’m not going down there unless you hold my hand.”
“Are you serious?”
“Serious as a newly-shoveled grave.”
Together, we stood at the threshold of the dimly lit basement. The drumming grew louder, sending sinister vibrations up through the soles of my shoes.
