Soon, My Friend (Currently Editing)

Addicted/Ashamed

After the interview, which in my experience felt like it lasted an eternity, Harry followed me out of the room. They still had several interviews to do left, and time was approaching half past twelve. 

I was completely sobered up, relieved that the interview went so well as it did. Now I planned to have something to eat, perhaps take a decent nap in our room, read a book on the sofa, dress up a little, perhaps. I could curl my hair or put on some red lipstick.

I was in fucking Paris, I was free and I had some lovely days ahead. I could relax. I could text the number Alice gave me, we had to get out and drink in the capital. At least pretty soon. Or maybe we could go up on the rooftop and enjoy the city's surface, sunbathe on loungers and enjoy a glass of French red wine.

Harry barely opened his mouth while we walked down the halls, and if I remember correctly, he didn't say anything at all, apart from this brief dialogue we had:

   "D'you think I'll get in some sort of trouble for saying that thing about you not stoning me after the interview?"

 "Dunno. Maybe they'll cut it away, or something."

I went a few feet behind him and studied his broad back under his shirt. I tilted my head, was about to say something, but then he stopped outside a lift I hadn't spotted. He pressed the lift's up-button and the doors settled open immediately.

 "I'll bring you up." he grunted, waiting for me to go into the big box. I stepped into it, searching his face. 

To my surprise, Harry didn't press the button that would lead us to the floor we stayed on. He pressed the button that would force the doors to close instead, and still kept pressing it.

I jerked slightly in confusion, and he noticed it.

"Erm, look, I dunno how to ask you this.. I could've said something before, but..."

 My mouth opened itself automatically.

  Oh, no, please don't. Don't hate me, please.

  I know my interview performance was shitty, but please don't...

Then his question came slowly: "Billie... d'you, like... d'you smoke?"

His eyes rose slowly from my shoes to my eyes. I closed my mouth, opened it, closed it. Was I supposed to cry or laugh? 

 "Weed?!" I exclaimed and frowned.

 "No! I mean just.. cigarettes." He shifted his weight awkwardly and crossed one booted foot over the other.

 "I... well.. Occasionally? Maybe?" I breathed, shifting my weight as well.

 It was like having to admit it out loud in front of your parents, or something. 

"Please don't." he pleaded quietly, it was closer to a whisper. He was absolutely serious - both in his eyes and in his voice.

 I was weak for Harry. I was tremendously weak for Harry. I could have said OK, I won't - and it was a close call I did. But it would've been wrong, it would've been a lie. It wouldn't have worked out. 

"I know." I said lightly. "But - "

"Please no but -"

"But I.." My voice was weird. I held the palms of my hands toward him in front of my face, then ran my fingers through my loose hair.

"I started smoking regularly when I was 16," I sighed introductory. 

"..mostly thanks to the influence by June after moving in together by ourselves, y'know, I learned how to behave like a 20 years old pretty early. Plus all of my friends are smoking. Like, c'mon! I wish I didn't. I mean it. But a little while ago I actually went through a shitty time and cigarettes were something I could lean on, y'know.. And now, When I'm alone in the hotel room and I know that something big is comin' up, j-just like this interview, for instance, then... I will always be dependent on some kind of support when somethin' - "

 The lift doors opened automatically, interrupting my damn speech, but there was no one waiting outside. Harry pushed at the button that closed them again, annoyed, and didn't look at me.

 "Please, please, please don't.." he said with his eyes closed. "I can't force you to anything. I just don't want you to be addicted to smoking."

 "I'm not addicted. I want to smoke."

"Yes, exactly! You're addicted!" Harry spat and laughed mockingly.

I hid away from him when he pounced his gaze. He wasn't my father, like, c'mon, he couldn't tell me what to do. The whole thing was really.. awkward. 

"I could quite easily sense that you'd smoked before the interview."

"So what, then, you're ashamed of me?"

"No! No, I am not ashamed!" he sputtered and had to push the button once again when the doors opened, this time in anger. His voice made an echo in the lift. I crossed my arms across my chest, as I was sheltering myself. 

Oh, God, I wished I could just disappear.

"You're part of me, you mean a lot to me. I would rather have you dyin' at, like, 90 than 70."

I scoffed weakly, but have to admit that his words touched me, although I didn't wanted to show him. 

"Fine." I sighed.

"You're quittin'?"

"I can't promise anythin'. I can't." I shook my head, watched the disappointment sweep over his face.

"But I'll try. That I can promise."

"Thank you. And.. one more thing."

 Oh, my God? What??!

"You don't need to drink during daytime, not that early, Billie... Not by yourself, alone, not like that. I could sense that too. I know you."

I know you..? Yeah, you know what my favourite things are, you know I love red wine, but you don't know me.

"Fine." I repeated, without protesting any more. 

I shrugged, he sighed.

"Fine." he concluded and pressed the button to the 6th floor.

Pause.

The lift began to rise, just a little buzzing sound confirmed that we were on our way up.

Still in silence.

"D'you have your key?" Harry finally asked, just before the doors opened. I lifted the neckline of my jumper, picked out the key card from the inside of my bra. 

He smirked at the sight, but didn't meet my eyes.

When I got into the hotel room, I looked around. It was as if something had changed in here. But no furniture was moved, not even the water bottles on the table by the big windows were touched. I sighed heavily with my eyes closed in a huffy.

I went into the bathroom, the makeup put on over an hour ago was still perfect as it had been. 

I was in a bad mood - pissed at everything. I hadn't done anything wrong in the first place, but now Harry had made me feel guilty for everything. 

Everything, everything, everything, everything. 

OK, so he didn't even talk about the interview, not even telling me what sort of sayings could have been avoided or what I did.. good. If I did say anything reasonable at all. 

He was just mad and basically.. nothing made sense. At least not to me, which was the worst kind of confusion.

It was almost making me leave, feeling I didn't fit in again, like I had the main role in God's chick-flick.