Dark Blue | c h

2 |

"Canadian, you made it," he yelled enthusiastically as the girl dragged herself onto the balcony, still tired from her short snooze she had just taken. She yawned, rubbing her eyes. Her alarm had been set for 3:38, exactly enough time for her to crawl out of bed and grab her smokes and lighter from her jacket down stairs and make it up to her balcony to smoke and talk with her new friend.

"Yeah, yeah fruit. Shut it, I have a headache."

The boy frowned at her but it was too dark for her to see. The almost complete darkness was still only illuminated by the dim streetlights.

"What's wrong," he asked solemnly.

She sighed in the cool Sydney air and breathed out, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the waistband of her underwear. She took one out of the pack and placed it between her teeth.

"Withdrawal," she replied smugly.

She lit the cigarette and took a drag, immediately blowing the smoke out from her small mouth.

"Why do you smoke?"

The question hung in the air like the white wisps circling her. She knew it wasn't really any of his business but she wanted to tell him anyway, they started a friendship. A weird yet wonderful friendship. It was like one of those stupid ones in movies that little kids dream of having. However, she knew that children would not want to be her, the big fuck up that she was.

"I'll tell you Kiwi, if you tell me something first."

"Shoot," he replied quickly, strangely curious of the girl.

"Why were you in America," she asked, taking another puff. The question had plagued her mind since their chat last night.

It was silent for a moment. They both heard the crickets sounding from their backyards.

He didn't know if he should tell her the truth. What if she didn't believe him? But something inside him longed to continue to talk to her.

"I, um, was touring there with my band."

She rolled her eyes, smoke pouring out of her mouth.

"Don't tell me I am talking to a douchebag lead singer."

His mind went to his blonde headed best friend and he laughed immediately.

"No, I'm not the lead. But my friend isn't a douchebag."

"You sure about that?"

He nodded his head.

"I'm quite positive. Now answer my question."

She sat down to put out her cigarette.

"No need to be so damn pushy, Kiwi fruit."

"Stop calling me that," he whined sarcastically.

"No fucking chance."

She couldn't see the huge smile on his face, his eyes crinkling just a little, and his cheeks turning pink.

"Good, I kind of like it. So are you going to answer my question now?"

She rolled her eyes again, pulling down her Army PT shirt so it covered her cold legs. Her father had given it to her because he had an excess of them in their basement, no surprise since he was a sergeant in the Canadian Army. That was the reason why she was stuck in fucking Australia in the first place.

"Let me tell you a story Kiwi boy. Anything that kills me makes me feel alive. I smoke not to feel alive, but for it to eventually kill me."

His face turned to a serious expression, his arms resting on the guard rail in front of him. Her words were like sad poetry. They were perfect, yet they hid behind hurt and death.

"But they can give you cancer and stuff. They can fuck you up."

She sighed heavily, processing her thoughts.

"I sometimes wish there was something that was actually wrong with me so I had an excuse for being fucked up."

They stared at one another's shadows in silence.

"You're not fucked up," he whispered after a few seconds.

"Oh but I am," she replied dramatically.

He took her sarcastic remark as acceptability to ask a rhetorical question.

"So your reason for smoking is the fact that you want to get fucked up?"

She looked down at her feet, afraid to look back at the shadow.

"That, and it helps me deal," she whispered.

"Deal with what," he asked curiously.

Her mind raced back to the thoughts of him. Him. Somehow he always occupied her thoughts, leaving even more damage than the time before. It was him that had taken her heart, then it was shattered into pieces all in the matter of a night. He was everything she was looking for and more. Now he was gone. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the thoughts.

"That's a story for another night."

She jumped up and moved to her balcony door.

"Goodnight Kiwi fruit. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night."

She shut the door without hearing what he had to say.

"Night Canadian," he whispered to himself, and walked back into his eerily quiet bedroom.