i love you, nora jane [h.s.]

2.

"One drink, and then another. Intoxication floods every sense until I can't remember my own name. We call this fun. But when does the fun end?" -Harry's journal.

.....

"What do you think about that one?"

"I'm not sure," I admitted, brushing Felix's hand off my shoulder. I concentrated on the glass of bronze liquid before me. Two ice cubes, a bitter taste. The coffee from that morning was sweeter and that comparison made me remember those girls from the bakery. This alcohol would make me want new girls, but for a moment I confided in myself and thought, maybe I didn't want to forget about them.

"Look," Felix took his finger and led my eyes to a redhead sitting alone on a busted bar stool. "She's so lonely over there, wouldn't you say so?"

I frowned suddenly, pushing the liquor away. "Maybe she should try eHarmony," I mumbled. Felix folded his arms across his chest, leaning back against the chair.

"And what's your problem?" He stared as I stood from our usual table. The music was booming; practically shaking the entire building. I could hardly see through the crowd of swaying, intoxicated bodies, and the only place I wanted to go was home. I shook my head at him, reaching into the pocket of my jacket. My fingers clenched tightly around the pack of cigarettes as I pulled them out.

"I'm not in the mood for this," I said, gesturing at the scene before us. It was the same scene every night. Sweating drunks, loose girls, and bad decisions. To Felix, this was the good life. He had talked about this all throughout our college years, promising the best of times when we were finally free to be free.

But God, this wasn't freedom. This was my own private hell. Endless days of finding nothing better to do than get wasted, and smoking stick after stick to taste something other than loneliness. Felix sought freedom through these meaningless things. I sought destruction.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he nodded me off, resting his forearms upon the table. I took a stick between my teeth and headed out before I had given myself a chance to say goodbye.

.....

When my body jolted itself awake, it was four in the morning. My shirt was drenched in sweat that beaded down my spine. The room was too hot, too small, and I couldn't breathe.

I pulled myself from the mattress, pacing around the room. These nightmares, or terrors, were common and reoccurring. They would appear so vividly in my head only to vanish when my eyes opened. I could never remember what they were about, and I figured that it was my mind's instinct to forget about them completely, or else I'd lose my sanity. But even though I couldn't pinpoint what they were specifically about, the dreaded feelings they gave me in my unconscious state would hover over me for weeks.

My hands were trembling on their own, and I began to panic when my trusty pack of sticks weren't resting on my nightstand. I needed a drag to reduce the stress; the taste of nicotine could push the nightmares and thoughts away for now.

In the pitch black, I tripped over my own feet and other obstacles sprawled across the floor. The light switch appeared miles away, and I could feel my throat threatening to close up.

No, not now. I felt around in the dark with my fingertips, finally brushing the denim of my jeans. The pack was tucked into the back pocket, along with a lighter, which my thumb hurriedly flicked.

The smoke puffed out into the air in a cloud of white, calming my nerves. I focused on each exhaled breath, the smoke resembling the warning sky when a thunderstorm brews from above. In a way, I felt as though my own personal storm was brewing. I stood in the middle of my room, observing.

Every night was the same. I would either feel the pressure of guilt sit on my chest after meaningless sex with a forgettable girl, or smoke nearly an entire pack of cigarettes to kill the demons.

Every night was the same.

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More chapters coming soon.
This is a glimpse of my new story, and I hope you like it.

- H xx