Portrait of a Bad Boy ✓

Chapter 3: Smoking

Leaning against the wall, Blake took another drag of his cigarette. Blowing out the smoke, he watched it rise and blend in with the grey sky.

"You're not supposed to smoke on school grounds." His gaze snapped to the voice. Lyla's brown eyes narrowed on him. "You know. The no smoking rule?"

"No smoking rule?" Blake's eyebrow rose. "What? Are you going to pull out the handbook and show me the section you highlighted in yellow?"

"No, I just..." Lyla's eyes narrowed before she lowered her gaze. As Blake watched her, she refused to look at him and instead, turned to the first drops of rain. When she turned back to him, the junior was flustered.

"Can I ask you a question?"

A question?

At her solemn expression, he nodded. "Sure."

"Why do you smoke?" Blake stiffened. He was used to that question a lot. The whole why smoke it'll ruin your lung speech they gave whenever they found out.

"Because I wanted to." The words can out sharper then he cared for. "Are you going to lecture me about how bad it is for my lungs?"

"No, no." She raised her hands. "I was just wondering." Lyla's gaze snapped to him. "Could you stop smoking if you wanted to?

Just like that?"

"I don't know. I never tried." His eyes narrowed. "What's with the questions anyways?"

His hand lifted the cigarette to his lips, before he paused and lowered it again.

Not while she's still here.

"I just..." Lyla avoided his gaze. "I just needed to know."

"Your father smokes?"

"Mother actually."

Oh. He licked his lips, grimacing at the familiar taste of the smoke. Crushing the bud in his hands, he tossed it into the trash can. "So, I'm guessing you're not exactly fond of the habit."

He brushed his hands off.

"Not really. It's more so that it gets everywhere and the smell is horrible."

He chuckled at her curled nose. "Well I make sure I don't smoke around people for that reason." He shrugged his shoulders. "And I make sure I don't stink."

"So you use perfume?"

"Colleen." He remarked, narrowing his eyes on her. "Why would I wear perfume? I'm not a girl, Lyla."

"For my mom, you idiot." She rolled her eyes. "I'm taking notes for her smoking habit"

Oh. "Well, yes I guess that works."

A buzz made Lyla grimaced. She pulled out her phone. "Speaking of mothers."

"Problem?"

"She can't pick me up." Her gaze snapped to the falling rain.

At her grimace, the words slipped from his lips. "You want me to take you home?"

She hesitated. "You'll do that?"

"Sure, I don't have anything better to do."

"Thanks," she deadpanned, earning a smirk from him. "Although, if you smoke-"

"I don't smoke in my car so you have nothing to worry about."

Her dark eyes searched his again, before she seemed to relax. "Alright, thanks."

Shrugging his shoulders, Blake shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's no problem."

****

Blake was sixteen when he stumbled across his father's smokes. His father has asked him to grab a folder: instead he found various women's numbers, emails, keys to an unknown place, jewelry and more.

To this day he still wasn't sure why he stole a smoke from his father's desk. Maybe he wanted to feel like a big shot, or maybe he was just hoping his father would pay more attention to the family he actually had.

Either way, he never noticed and Blake's smoking habit was born.

A bell chimed, signaling his arrival and bringing him out of his thoughts. Not even bothering to glance around, he headed straight to the front of the empty counter.

His fingers tapped against the counter as he waited.

Where was that annoying woman?

"Sorry! Sorry!" A new voice raced past him, before she ducked behind the counter. Instead of the old woman, Blake found himself looking at someone close to his age.

Her brunette hair was tied in a bun while her brown eyes regarded the counter for an item to scan. "Sorry, I was just restocking the back."

Seeing nothing, her gaze snapped to him. "Can I help you?"

"I....um...number 24," he remarked. As the woman's eyes widened in confusion, his jaw clenched.

Maybe I should have taken one of my fathers.

"Number twenty four." He pointed to the smoking cabinet. "I want a pack please."

As if it clicked, her eyes widened. "But you're so young." She snapped a hand to

her mouth as her cheeks turned a bright red. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"Just give me my pack." Blake demanded as he slid the money and ID to her. The lady

took them quickly, avoiding his gaze as she ranged the pack up. "Would you like a bag or-"

"No." He snapped. She flinched but Blake ignored it as he grabbed the pack and stormed out. His hands tightened around the box. Rounding a corner, he

pulled one open and lit it instantly, taking a drag of the familiar taste.

In his mind, he could almost hear Lyla's mocking laugh.