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Luke
I close my eyes softly, inhaling slowly, letting the smoke filling my lungs, numbing my nerves wonderfully. I remove the cigarette from my swollen lips and watch the smoke curl as I exhale, spreading out through the air with a strange sense of satisfaction.
I rest my hands, crossed over each other, on the railing of the deck. My right fore and middle fingers hold the butt, which is shaking between them. I often smoke out here, on this small patio attached to my room. The large glass doors partitioning me from my room make certain the stink of my addiction never enters my immaculate abode. With this set up, me and my parents can have our own peace of mind.
It's early afternoon, sun starting to dip low in the sky, and the dance is a few hours away. I've just barely showered, as its hard to look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror on the best of days, let alone ones such as today. Seeing my bruised and swollen face causes nausea to overwhelm me, feeling weak that I let my physical appearance suffer at the hands of someone else.
So in my robe I remain, contemplating the complexities of life and my current state within it. I sigh, a tired and frustrated sound, bringing the cigarette to my lips once again.
What would my parents say if they saw me like this? Hanging by a thread, cancer in my lungs, completely lost in this great big world. I assume they'd be disappointed at the least, and enraged at the worst. I shiver as I imagine the words they would throw at me.
Failure.
Ungrateful.
Pathetic.
The words are familiar, but I know they would still sting if they were to be spit from their tongues. They've never understood my mind, how it's capable of more than conforming to what they want. I wish so desperately that I wasn't afraid of speaking to them.
I glance back into my room, and my heart falls as my gaze lands upon the painting Michael gave me this morning. The image brings tears to my eyes, so I look away, back out to the yard as the cigarette meets my lips once more.
My throat becomes tight as I exhale, and a rough cough escapes me. I grimace and decide to put out the cigarette, and walk back inside. The suit I'd bought, complete with light blue tie, is laying across my bed.
The thought of being alone with Kat is comforting, as she's been kindhearted towards me; if she has judgements, she's kept them in her heart.
The situation itself, though, worries me slightly. I'm nervous for her, knowing that, no matter how she may try to conceal them, her anxieties overwhelm her at times. I hope to make her senior prom a night to remember, no matter how cliché that may seem, but she deserves this. Granted, she deserves much more than someone like me, and I know I can't take her fears away. The least I can do is try to help her forget them temporarily.
