Save Me From My Self Destruction. (Frerard)

Chapter 9- More Or Less, Perfect.

More or Less, Perfect. -

I thought about quitting, but I couldn't. Every time I tried withdrawal would kick back in, my fingers would tremble and my thoughts would be clouded with the smoke I wasn't inhaling but should be. If I wasn't smoking I could still taste the flavor of nicotine on my lips, making me crave one more cigarette.

And that's all it ever was, just one more. I would eye the pack until I sighed and would give in. "Just one more," I would tell myself. Then, the next moment, before I knew it, I had smoked at least 5 more cigarettes.

The only reason I really wanted to quit was for Mikey's sake. That look he gave me, horrified, it was stuck in my memory. Mikey only had me, but I had let him down, by showing him my addiction, my weakness. I tried to stop, but I just couldn't. It's not like I didn't want to, I did, but I just couldn't. I was in too deep.

It could be worse, I admit. I can't, I don't want to imagine what Mikey's reaction would have been like if that simple was cigarette was the blunt I was currently hiding. At least Mikey only saw me smoking a cigarette, it could have been a glimpse at my old romance with alcohol. But no, it was just a cigarette.

Still, I was disappointed in myself. For years my goal and mission was to protect Mikey and I had failed. I was disgusted with myself, if I were to look in the mirror I'd probably smash it. I was angry with myself, I hated myself.

But despite my feelings, I still took a cigarette out of it's pack, stuck it between my lips , and lit it. I inhaled and closed my eyes,savoring the moment. I could feel the smoke destroying my lungs but I loved every second of the destruction.

I leaned back against my head board as I exhaled the cigarette smoke. The smoke rolled out of my mouth slowly and I felt myself choke up. I thought about all the never's in my life. I never got to have "the talk" with my parents, I never got a family dinner, I never got to cry on my mom's shoulder over a first heart-break, never.

There was no family Easter, Christmas, Trick-Or-Treating, family vacations to the beach during the summer, nothing. Mikey and I were always trapped here family-less. So, if I didn't get the chance to experience these things, neither did Mikey. What would happen when he needed someone to give him the talk? What would happen when he needed a shoulder to cry on when him and Kristin's relationship went to hell? I wouldn't know what to do, I never experienced these things. I was no mother, no father, hell I was a shitty brother.

The cigarette soon came to end, making me stare at the remains, wishing it was still a full cigarette. I sighed, maybe just one more. I extended my arm over to the night stand, picking up the pack of cigarettes and opening it for another. As I peered inside I groaned and swore to myself. Empty. I patted my pockets, clinging to the small shred of hope and chance that I would have a cigarette stuff away in my pocket.

As I felt around in my pocket I pulled out the single object. The blunt. My fingers were already trembling with withdrawal and my breath was getting ragged. My lungs craved the daily and very often dose of destruction they so deserved. I thought about it, saying fuck it and lighting the blunt. But I didn't, I just complained some more and got clothes on, needing to meet up with Zack.

I ran a hand over my face, leaning over the cheap plastic sinks in this damn place. I looked at myself in the mirror, taking in the red skin around my eyes from sleep deprivation. My hair was a mess, my tiny teeth were slightly discolored and I had realized I hadn't showered in at least a week.

I groaned, brushing my teeth, making the commitment that I wouldn't be eating breakfast. I threw on a jacket and walked out, catching a glimpse of my brother who was down the hallway. I sighed, wishing I could be stronger and a better sibling. 

I walked passed him, down the stairs and threw the kitchen. Adam turned in his bar stool, giving me a surprising smile. "Well, look who is out and about today. Breakfast?" He nudged a box of cereal in my direction. I glanced at the box and then to his face, "No, I'll be out if anyone needs me." I didn't wait for a response as I swiftly made my way to the door, exiting the foster facility. 

I walked down the sidewalk, playing with the ends of my jacket sleeves. I kept fidgeting due to the lack of nicotine I was facing. My addiction was getting so bad with cigarettes, my days just consisted of me chain smoking near a cracked open bedroom window in a shabby facility I refuse to call home. Not to mention constant and more recent arguments with my only sibling and some visits with a boy I met by breaking into a fair. 

I let out a refreshing breath as I rounded the street corner to see the familiar chipped brick building with smoke rolling out from behind it. A small smirk rose to my lips as I let my feet lead the way to my fix for nicotine. I could physically feel my body relaxing itself, my fingers stopped fidgeting, my breathing became normal, and the migraine that was starting to gnaw on my brain started to ease itself away. 

"Zack," I breathed out his name, looking at his usual grin on his own face. Like always, he held the blunt in his hand. He seemed so relaxed every time I saw him, I aspired to be that relaxed. He shook his head, fishing out 2 packs of cigarettes from his pocket. And in that moment, I wondered how he managed to pay for all my habits and his own habits. I didn't know what he did for a job, and in the moment as I thought about it, I didn't particularly care either. All I seemed to care about was wasting my life away one pack at a time. 

"How've ya been?" He asked, inhaling his weed smoke. I breathed it in, not liking the smell at first. I shrugged at him, "Things have been crazy I guess." I wanted to mention my thoughts on me quitting, but I was afraid to. I knew I wouldn't be able to actually quit and I was terrified that if I voiced my already disregarded idea he would try to make me quit. I needed his free supply of never ending smokes, they were what kept me sane all these years. 

Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guy. The one who handed me the blunt. "You smoke that yet, kid?" He added, noticing my glance towards him. I felt my pocket with a single finger, "No." And I didn't intend to smoke it, I had promised Frank I wouldn't. 

"Eh, you will." The guy added, bringing his own blunt to his lips. I was curious as to what it felt like, how it tasted. Did it give them that same decaying feeling like cigarettes did? But I shrugged my curiosity off. 

Soon the meeting with Zack ended with nothing more than a wave goodbye and a promise that I would take care of myself. I quickly tapped the pack of cigarettes against my palm, a habit I've picked up, unwrapping the plastic, and sticking one between my teeth. I sighed in content as I dug a lighter out of my pocket, igniting the end of my tobacco stick. 

I had a feeling of loneliness settling in. I was walking down the Jersey streets, unarmed, alone, with a cigarette dangling out of my mouth. Even in the summertime, Jersey's air was humid, like it was going to start pouring rain from the foggy clouds above. 

I slowly exhaled, looking over at the cemetery gates. Without thinking twice, I headed towards them, ready to swing them open in one swift motion. And that's what I did, I pushed them open forcefully, taking a step in the cemetery and breathing in the smell of different types of flowers that were surrounding various tombstones. 

I walked about 10 feet before a hand was laid on my shoulder. Instinctively I freaked out, it being Jersey and all. I quickly turned around with a fist balled, only for my fist to be slowly caught and put down by Frank who stood in front of me. "Hey, it's okay, it's only me." And with those words, I felt less lonely. 

However, though, those words sort of broke my heart. "It's only me," and I knew he was more than what those words led on. Frank was so much more, such a better person than me. He didn't disappoint people, he wasn't an addict to cigarettes, he wasn't a part of such a broken home with unanswered questions. He was perfect with every sense of the word. 

"Frank," I smiled.