(Eng) Broken - Riverdale FF

05

I didn't feel like going to school the next day. I woke up sometime around three thirty on the doormat behind the front door. Cold, with a twisted neck and aching muscles. I had taken a hot shower. One of the few advantages of having no one around to disturb at this time of day. But it didn't help.

Looking ahead, I had already put on jeans and a sweater before I crawled into bed. It wasn't any more uncomfortable than on the floor. At least it was warmer. I had the covers pulled up to my nose, but once you let in the cold it was hard to get rid of.

One step forward, ten back, I thought, angry at myself.
Hadn't I proudly made an album full of friendly pictures a few hours earlier? I knew I wouldn't sleep and still I didn't want to get up. My therapist would be disappointed in me - if I came back often enough to tell her about it.

Behind the thin curtains, the first rays of sun shyly dared to enter. Carefully asked if it was okay if the day started now, even if I wasn't ready. Sighing, I rolled out of bed.

My throat was scratchy and I vowed to myself for the hundredth time to quit smoking - only to grab a pack of orange juice for breakfast and go out onto the back porch with the pack of cigarettes.

With my legs drawn up, I drank the juice straight from the pack. It was still so early that there was a fine dew on everything. Even the bench felt clammy under my fingertips. I enjoyed the cold, comforting air on my skin. It felt a bit like nature had shed those tears that I no longer had.

But the first cigarette drove away the gentle thoughts like a farmer with a pitchfork. Rough and loud and angry. Today I couldn't endure gentle and comforting.

With the greatest effort I had resisted the urge to just lie down on the floor again. You can't explain it to someone who isn't sick. That constant need to rest. This exhaustion, which ate right into the very core of one's being, until one consisted of nothing more than all-consuming powerlessness.

And this constant cold. It was late summer. Others were walking around in shorts and t-shirts and I wore a jacket over my knitted sweater. I reached for my bag and put my camera in it. The one thing that kept me holding on to the here and now.

Pops wasn't awake yet, but he was never awake at this time. He got up early, but he didn't jump out of bed with the first rays of sunshine. I threw the key in the mailbox for him and, like every day, I thought that it was a clever tactic of him to have me lock up his diner. This gave me a reason to leave the house in the morning and couldn't just spend the day in my room as before. Lost somewhere between day and night and light and dark and far from any time.

Even if I don't like to admit it. This forced structure was good for me. I felt a lot better than I did a few months ago. I mean - I got up, left the house and tried to go to school. If I were to eat regularly and sensibly now, I might be on the right track. But I wasn't there yet. I was glad I ate at all.

As I did every morning, I stopped at the small, greasy kiosk that belonged more to the Southside than the Northside. It was a detour, but the only accessible place where I was sold cigarettes.
I also bought some pre-packaged snacks, like every morning, and the woman behind the cash register didn't even have to look at her screen to know how much I had to pay.

I put the full pack of cigarettes in the inside pocket of my jacket. If one of the teachers took one of my packs from me, I would at least have a second one.

One step out of the door I put a cigarette between my lips. I had barely lit it when two fingers pulled it out of my mouth.

"Hey!" I protested, ready to defend myself against any moralist. But the guy who showed up next to me didn't look like someone who would tell me about decency and morality. "This is mine," I growled.

He looked dangerous. Shaggy brown hair, a worn jacket, and fingerless gloves. Did I mention, that it was still late summer?

"Come and get it," he laughed condescendingly and took a long drag.

The thing with danger is that people like me are looking for it. A little risk. Either because we want to feel alive through fear. Or - and that was the worse possibility - because we hoped deep down that it would consume us. Devour us like a hungry wolf a lamb.

So I reached for the cigarette. Prepared to feel his fist.

And I felt his fingers. But no pain.
He had grabbed my face and leaned down menacingly. Smoke rolling over his slightly parted lips. It took me seconds to understand even though I had done this before. Back at the hospital. With the other kids sent their by worried parents.

I leaned forward with one hand on his shoulder. Only millimeters between our lips when I felt his breath. Hungry, I sucked the smoke out of his lungs. That was a kind of danger I didn't know about.

Dark. Tempting.

He had to recognize my reaction because he gave a satisfied chuckle. "See you next time, Princess."

"My name is Yasmin," I replied confused and only now realized that he had actually given me the cigarette back.

A deep, throaty chuckle, but he didn't turn around.

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I'm really sorry that the english version is taking so long. Translating is so hard since there are a lot of words with no direct translation.... I'm trying hard to keep up with the other version.