Pursuing Nirvana.

s i x t e e n

The guards released Brayden simultaneously before marching off down the hall again. He stood there, not moving a muscle, he just stood and stared. Ever since this boy had come in to sight, he had been staring at me, hard.

"Cecelia," he sputtered, "I don't even know where to start."

I folded my arms across my chest defensively, "Save it, I don't want to hear it."

His eyes flickered to Jesse, who shrugged wordlessly.

"And just so you know," I approached Brayden, getting right up in his face with narrowed eyes, "I wasn't the one who bailed you out. Truthfully, I wanted you to serve your term for what you've done, trapped in that cell and inside your mind."

His jaw parted and his eyes glistened with hurt, the first time I have ever seen him show true remorse. I spun on my heel before my shock could release any of my emotion, heading for the doors of the prison.

"I'm leaving, and don't bother trying to visit me, Brayden Michael Coleman, you're dead to me."

Without another word, I pushed the immense doors open and headed out down the steps. I'm not sure what motivated me to do it, but I glanced over my shoulder. I glanced to see if he cared enough to give chase. If he cared enough about me to revive himself in my mind.

The boy in the jumpsuit remained still, watching me go with his jaw agape.

I quickly looked away and began hurrying down the sidewalk on Madison Avenue. Praying no one would stop me as a single tear rolled down my cheek.

........

Countless hours had passed, staring at the blank beige wall in my bedroom. The only movement that occurred in the whole room was my periodic blinking and the slow rise and fall of my chest.

Nothing else stirred; physically.

My mind was a maelstrom. The walls I had built up so well were under a siege of thoughts. This was nothing like I had ever experienced before. I was accustomed to casual stress induced turbulences, but this was entirely different. This was a turbulence amplified by ten thousand.

It seemed that every syllable Brayden had spoken in the past two days was playing on a loop, seeming too much like a horrific recording as if he were sitting right next to me.

His face was ingrained in my mind in almost photographic perfection. Every little detail, like the deep pacific blue of his irises and the little birthmark that lie underneath his left eye.

Like his black lip ring that he played with whenever he was nervous, and the way it contrasted his skin.

Like the way his multiple tattoos transformed a human being into a walking canvas, full of stories, and more importantly, full of secrets.

And his cigarettes, the way he was addicted. Mindlessly reaching for one after another and blowing curls of gray smoke into the atmosphere.

It occurred to me how much cigarettes related to Brayden himself. Each one could represent a girl he'd been with in the past: he reaches for them, he uses them till his satisfaction is filled, then he discards them and reaches for another.