Guns & Roses (WATTYS 2017)

five - conversations & cigarettes

Are you fucking kidding me?

"I swear to god, puta, you really are obsessed with me." He smirks. 

I, like a responsible person, ignore him with a pout, and settle in a seat in the back right corner. Aka, as far away from Churro as possible. 

What the hell is wrong with my life, seriously does the big guy up there hate me or something? Maybe this is all those times I filled a water cup with sprite coming back to bite me in the ass. Damn you 3$ soda cups. 

I look around me for a teacher or a counselor, but I don't see anyone. I am alone with this school's resident douchebag. 

"Mr. Freeman stepped out. He never stays more than two minutes." I look up from my hands to see Luka, who has turned around in his chair and is staring right at me. I can't tell what the emotion on his face is. 

"How did you-"

"You're a goodie-goodie, always looking for a teacher to save you." He smiles cockily, and I just roll my eyes at him, trying to pretend that I'm not impressed and a little offended.

"What, no comeback?" He pushes, and I can hear mischief dripping from his voice. 

Don't give in, Katya. 

Come on, Katya.

"I'm not a goodie-goodie, churro. Just because someone doesn't threaten someone right after meeting thing, and doesn't smoke 24/7, doesn't mean they're a goodie-goodie." I snap, running a hand through my hair. 

He's silent for a moment and a sense of pride grows in my chest. 

"So, tell me, gringita, how are you not a goodie?" He whispers, his eyes growing curious and dangerous at the same time. 

Fuck.

"Why can't you just leave me be?" I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. I want to hate him, but something inside me craves this, this attention that he gives me, someone so different from me taking such an interest. "Why?" I repeat angrily when he doesn't respond. 

He leans back against the edge of the table, putting a hand to his chin in thought. For the first time, I notice a golden ring on his middle finger. It has something etched in it but he drops his hand once he sees me staring. 

"Why not?" He responds, apparently pleased with his own answer. Talk about narcissism. 

"Wow, answering a question with an even vaguer question." I drone sarcastically, leaning back in my chair. 

I hear the squeak of chair legs and I raise my head quickly to see that Luka has dragged his chair over to my table, way too close to me. Or maybe not close enough. 

"You really want to know?" He whispers, lifting a hand to twirl a lock of my hair around his finger. I can only stare at his fingers, long and slim, with small scars around his knuckles. He fights, a lot. But the scars only serve to make him rougher, more mysterious. 

"Because you're not scared of me." He murmurs, almost too quiet for me to hear. 

I open my mouth to respond, but he interrupts:

"Yet." 

I yank my hair back from his grip, scooting my chair away from him. 

"Good luck with that, churro." I snap, squinting at him and making myself as tall as I can. I'm not afraid of him, and I never will be. 

My mother raised me to defend myself against anyone, no matter how much of a douche they were. 

"Don't call me that." He quips, flicking his dark hair out of his eyes. I almost want to touch it.. No, Katya. Control yourself. 

Damn my teenage hormones. 

Damn how hot he is.

DAMN.

...

I'm outside the school, leaning against a brick pillar waiting for West to come get me. I highly doubt he'll even show up, he sounded completely stoned on the phone. 

I hear the door open behind me but I don't turn around to see who it is. I'm too lost in my own annoyance. That is, until I feel someone shoving against my shoulder lightly and I whirl around. 

It's Luka.

His hand reaches for his jacket pocket, and I stiffen. My first thought is: gun. Run. 

He grins at my expression, the corner of his mouth tilted into a smug expression. His fingers emerge from his pocket, revealing: a cigarette. I let out a silent sigh of relief but then frown when I realize he's freaking lighting the cigarette. 

The lit cigarette hangs from his mouth and I freeze. 

"Seriously, Luka you're going to get lung cancer by the time you're 20." I scoff, leaning against the pillar again.

Fuck.

"Don't call me that. Ever. Or I swear to god it will be the last thing you ever say." His eyes are dead set, serious without a hint of humor. 

I wouldn't put it past him to light me on fire with the blue lighter clutched in his white knuckles. 

I don't respond, looking down at my hands in my lap. 

The air fills quickly with the smell of nicotine, but it's not the soaked smell that pervades my father's clothes, it's oddly calming. Like how the smell of gasoline is weirdly pleasant, I find myself taking deep breathes of the smell. 

"Want one?" I open my eyes and see that Luka...Churro is holding out a new cigarette to me. I look from his eyes, to the cigarette and back. 

Is he serious?

"No." I say with a slight chuckle. 

"Goodie goodie." He mumbles, slipping the cigarette back into his pocket. 

"Fine, give me the damn cigarette." I say impulsively, the anger in my chest building at his words. I am not a rebel but I am not a goodie two shoes. 

I'm just me. 

"Don't choke." He winks, and I scoff as I snatch the cigarette from his hand. He holds the lighter out to me and I grab it, holding eye contact with him deliberately. 

"Well? Light it." He pushes, a wide and taunting grin on his lips, as he prepares for me to cough like crazy on the cigarette. 

He's about to get the surprise of his life. 

I place the cigarette between my lips, and, with an expert flick of my thumb, I turn the lighter on, lighting it, and taking a small drag. 

His eyes watch me intently, waiting for me to cough. Good luck with that Churro. I used to smoke on holidays with my uncle Antonio, I never got addicted but I loved the smell of it in the warm air. 

I blow out the smoke, purposely directing the cloud into his face. He doesn't even flinch but I watch as a muscle in his jaw jumps in anger. 

Take that, Churro. 

I smile at him, a fake sweetness dripping from my lips. I drop the cigarette to the ground, smashing it under my feet. 

"Oh, here." I say with a fake politeness, handing him back his lighter. 

He's still just staring at me, this expression on his face that I can't decipher for the life of me. 

Finally he opens his mouth to speak, but just shuts it again. 

I hear the sound of wheels crunching on pavement and I turn to see my father's car behind me, and my father honks loudly at me. 

"Thanks for the drag." I wink at Luka before I hurry into my father's car. 

He's still staring at me as I drive away. 

Hope you guys liked it! 

p.s. I am in no way endorsing the use of cigarettes or commercial drugs. And I also mean no offense to those who use these.