hate is a strong word (bxb)

1

"Ben, I swear to god, I saw it," Scar whispers loudly.

Ben loves his best friend; however, he can't say that he loves the way that his best friend gets so paranoid when they smoke. Every time they smoke, Scar begins to go off on some tangent about how "Ben's father is going to find out" or "it looks like there's someone in that car over there." Despite what Ben calls "Scar's frantic antics," there's never anything actually there and every time, they're fine. And even though Scar always got this way when they would smoke, he still insisted on continuing to smoke.

"You didn't see jack-shit," Ben muttered in response, "we're high. I told you that we should have smoked Indica, not Sativa. Sativa makes you so paranoid."

Though Ben attempts to seem annoyed, he can't help but find the situation to be somewhat amusing. There must be some irony behind the fact that a 6'2 guy with the nickname Scar is more of a scaredy-cat than a 5'8 twinky white boy. Scar looked rather intimidating, and Ben looked like he would be shy, but looks could be deceiving, as both of these boys were the very opposite of the personality that their outer-looks portrayed.

"Someone was just walking in the upstairs window," he reiterates, as he already did twice, "he looked like a man. He had light features and he, well, I don't know. I think we should really get out of here. Like, that was definitely just a ghost or something."

Scar and Ben had been smoking in the backyard of a vacant house that stood right next to Ben's house. It had been vacant for a good two or three years, and on account of that, the weeds were quite overgrown and the house didn't look to be in the best condition. The house is notoriously called "haunted," but really that's just because it's a big run-down place near the edge of the woods. Ben has lived right near there his entire life and not once has anything of a paranormal nature happen—and Ben would know because he's constantly smoking in the backyard of said property on account of the fact that his dad would absolutely murder him if he saw him smoking weed. So, this was simply the most convenient place to smoke without the fear of getting caught. After all, he could easily hop the fence. 

"Listen, I didn't see anything," Ben says as he takes another hit out of the blunt, quite carefree.

"Ben..." Scar draws out nervously.

"I'm telling you, this place isn't haunted," Ben had complete confidence in his tone as he spoke, but as the lights flickered on in the window closest to them, he wasn't as confident in himself. He even let out a small yelp. 

Ben would've felt a lot luckier if it had been a ghost, or a demon, or whatever people thought the entity that resides within that house to be. But the backdoor slid open and his eyes met a living, human being. This was far more of an issue than if it were to be a ghost. A ghost can't snitch and get someone into trouble with the law for trespassing. Although the person standing at the door was just a teenager, rather than the police, Ben still wasn't in the clear.

The teenaged boy was definitely somewhat taller than Ben but shorter than Scar. Ben figured that he must've stood around six feet. He was pretty, almost, or at least Ben thought that. But the beauty that once showed on his face faded as his mouth drew open angrily and he began to shout, "Hey, what the hell are you guys doing here?" As he yelled, he began to walk closer to the two boys who were trespassing.

Nobody lived here, so they figured that they couldn't be in too much trouble. Ben most likely would've came off as less defensive had he not been so stoned, but he couldn't help it. "Nothing; we're not doing anything. What're you doing here?"

Or maybe he did live here, "I live here now?" Yeah, so he did.

"What?" Ben questioned in what almost seemed to be an outrage, "nobody has lived here in years."