Slow Suicide

[4]

It was another day but it felt the same to her.

He was sitting in front of her.

She was sitting with her book.

He continued to smoke.

She continued to smile.

Yesterday, during the rain, she felt like she had gotten closer to the boy. And quite frankly, she was happy about it. She thought it was stupid.

How could he, the mysterious boy who never spoke a word, make her happy?

It honestly confused her. But what could she do? Not many things made her happy, so if he did, she planned on holding on to him.

She froze suddenly.

Her heart was beating rapidly.

Her mind was swirling uncontrollably.

All because...he was looking at her. Looking directly into her eyes. Staring. Gazing. Searching.

He never truly looked at her before. Maybe the occasional glance but definitely nothing like this. The way he looked at her was so captivating.

She was trapped.

And she didn't want to escape.

That is, until smoke was blown onto her face and she began coughing. Her book fell to the side as she covered her mouth with her arm.

She lifted her eyes up to him. "Why'd you do that?"

He blinked.

And she lost hope that he would finally speak. Truthfully, she was anxious for him to speak. She wanted to hear his voice. Quite often she pondered how his voice sounded but nothing ever stuck in her mind.

"Fine, " she huffed. "Don't answer me. Just don't smoke towards me again."

Frustrated, she grabbed her book and flipped to her page. Then, suddenly, it wasn't like any other day.

  "What are you doing?" he asked.

  She was in shock. He finally spoke! His voice wasn't what she predicted at all. It was rough and low while she suspected it to be raspy since he was a smoker.

  "I–I'm reading, " she responded and he shook his head.

  "No, you're not, " he glanced at her book before looking back up at her. "You're skimming."

  Her eyebrows furrowed. "How do you know that?"

  "Your eyes, " he said curtly. "Why do you skim?"

  "Um, because I like to get a peek before I start reading."

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Doesn't that ruin the story?"

  "Not really, " she shrugged. He watched her fidget with her hands.

  "Are you uncomfortable?"

  She gaped at his bluntness. "Uh, no."

  "Then why are you fidgeting?" he questioned and she hid her hands away from him.

  "Habit, " she said, nodding at his cigarette. "Like you smoking."

  He pursed his lips. "It's an addiction."

  "Right, sorry."

  "Don't be."

  For a moment, she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

  She realized she had lots of questions for him. Why didn't he ever speak? Why did he smoke? Why did he only leave after she did? Why did he sit in front of her everyday doing nothing except smoke?

  But, instead, she asked him: "What's your name?"

  His eyes shot up to hers. She eagerly waited for his answer.

  He hesitated. "You can call me Cig."

  "Cig?" she repeated. "As in cigarette?"

  "It's a nickname."

  "So...people call you that?"

  "No, " he said. "You're the only one."

  That brought a smile to her face. "Okay. And you can call me...Rainy."

  "Rainy."

  "Cig."

  For the first time, she was excited for all the other days to come.

  Now, so was Cig.