Daedalus

ugh the cynicism

"Are you seriously letting Lent get away with this?" My head swivels to face the woman tucked into the rocking chair beside me, stuck to my face an expression that says, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Fleming mirrors my actions exactly. "Are you seriously still a Debby downer?"

Tired of the same title thrown constantly at me as if it's a valid argument, I roll my eyes, and lean back in my chair. "I don't think it's a negative quality to be concerned about your friends. Every elementary school teacher will tell you that it's an essential trait."

"You're in college, you fucking nut," Fleming counters.

"Yeah, but elementary school is the foundation for life, so what my kindergarten teacher says is what I adhere to."

A disbelieving laugh is coughed up from Fleming's throat, as bold as her character and as deprecating as I am to myself. "Your kindergarten teacher once sent a kid to the corner because he wrote in cursive instead of saving it for second grade."

"Yes, but I followed the rules, Fleming," I assure her jokingly. "I waited until second grade to start cursive, so good luck trying to find my responsible ass in the corner."

"I'd rather pour my energy into trying to get us back on topic." Fleming pauses to procure a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and a lighter to go along with it, then torching the stick of nicotine and tar. She waits to take a drag until after she's spoken these next words. "Lent is a touchy subject that you'd rather not dwell on for too long, yeah?"

Anyone who says that Fleming is not as keen as an eagle is worthy of being criticized for any comments they may make afterwards, as ignoring Fleming's intelligence renders one as stupid as they think she is, even more stupid, in fact. There's no doubting that Fleming can figure things out about you before you know them yourself, and she puts this to use many times. She's putting it to use right now, thus screwing me, and pushing me into the corner I thought I would never visit as the reserved person that I am.

"Damn you, Fleming," I curse, barely clamping my hands over the projectile cigarette and lighter that she's catapulted over towards me.

Fleming invites a quick puff of smoke into her lungs before removing the drug from between her lips in order to speak. "Look, it's not my fault you have the hots for him."

Halting the activity of sparking a fire on the end of my material demise, I childishly exclaim, "I do not!"

"I'm not judging you if you do," Fleming assures me, shrugging as if she's totally disinterested when, in reality, she is immediately intrigued when Lent and I even glance at each other by accident.

"Well, I don't," I mutter, pausing for a moment to contemplate if I really mean it but eventually pressing a river of smoke to my lips to forget about my ambivalence towards the topic, and we are then dunked into silence.

It's peaceful, this activity, although it is extremely detrimental to our health. That is the exact reason why we flee from the house in order to engage in it, because neither of us care about what happens to us, just as long as we're living life as obnoxious hedonists, and our friends absolutely despise such motives. Sybil married Fleming with the faith that they would be together forever, so Fleming dialed back her ambition to become a ruthless chain smoker, and although I have nothing to live for, I still dial back my ambition as well, and we sustain ourselves enough, but I doubt that's through a conscious decision to stay alive.

Lent has no idea that I smoke, and I doubt that he would be too happy about it, so I file this activity under the title of a secret that will never be released. I usually smoke in the mornings so that I can shower and change clothes without being interrogated for it by Sybil or her angelic brother, and the aroma of suicide will have vanished by the time I've finished with those tasks, leading Lent to suspect nothing. I can only imagine how heartbroken he would be to know that his best friend doesn't give a shit about living or dying, that his best friend is just a leaf traveling wherever the wind dictates. Fleming doesn't dare tell him, because she would then be a hypocrite, and especially because Sybil would probably find out about her crime as well, not to mention that Fleming has no desire to expose me when this is our most intimate time of bonding, so it is in this that we feel completely safe, despite being a species centered on selfishness.