Smokes And Hearts

02| Johnathon's Fire

 02| Johnathon's Fire

The office was pitch black when I arrived and while punching in my code at the door, I realized nobody was there either. I switched on the lights as I went. I stopped at the elevator that would take me up to the second floor, where my office was.

I clutched my briefcase in my hand, my mind filled with pictures of the cigarettes I'd be smoking later. It was more pleasure than addiction. It was almost like when I smoked, nothing else mattered. But I knew it was tearing Carrie apart and she hated nothing more than my smoking. I felt bad too, because she had a very good reason to feel that way.

I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. As the doors closed I breathed out, I knew I needed to do great today if I wanted to make up for yesterday--and many days before. I just couldn’t understand why there was a no smoking rule inside the building. I didn't have time to go outside every time I needed a smoke; it was a serious waste of time.

 The elevator beeped and the door opened. I sighed and stepped into the dark second floor. The large windows provided little light, but I switched the lights on anyway.

Looking at the empty space gave me an urge to pull out one of the cigarettes from the brand-new package, I didn't know why though. I guess in truth everything gave me the urge to smoke, what can I say? I'm past addicted.

I walked steadily to my desk, barely managing to keep my curious hands from my bag. They moved stealthily around the snaps, but I kept them away long enough to slide the bag under my desk. I sunk into my office chair and sighed looked at the stack of paper on my desk. I was the editor in the building, something I'd always been good at--on a computer. Here, however, I had to do it all by hand, scribbling out words as I go.

I waited a few minutes; I really was early, before pulling the pack of cigarettes out of my bag. Nobody would come for maybe another ten minutes, I could fit a quick smoke in before then.

My hands ventured back into the bag for my lighter and when they struck it, I pulled it out quickly. I ran thumb down the sleek red finish before setting it on my desk to pull out a smoke.

I ripped open the package and was taken aback when I looked inside. Instead of 25 perfect, upright cigarettes, I saw 25 pieces of tediously rolled up paper. I pulled out the far left one in the front row, the one I always took first.

I held it between my fingers, turning it around to inspect it. I found the end and unrolled it stiffly. I found the end of a word and kept unrolling until I soon had the entire sentence.

I'm sorry, but this is exactly what you need.