Fifteen | ✓

Bonus Chapter: Symbiosis (edited)

A/n: Written and Submitted as an assignment for university. This is set sometime during Christopher's missing 5 years in London.

SYMBIOSIS

It was a little foggy outside when Christopher came home late afternoon on Thursday, parking his old Toyota a couple of degrees askew like he always did. He didn't have most things in his life straight, and his driving was one of them. Walking up the porch steps and to the front door, he sighed, the cold November air visible as he breathed out puffs of white. Christopher searched his pockets for the house keys, eager to get inside already, but the pockets seemed endless and his fingers could not find the keys.

Letting out another sigh, and letting the air rattle around his ribs in a cold, dead sound, he tried again, this time succeeding, but then the keys fell onto the wooden porch with a clatter of metal.

"Damn," the word slipped past his lips, prickling with annoyance. He'd had a bad day. His head was pounding, his fingers were tired, and his back was stiff beyond repair, all consequences of his stupid job at the stupid supermarket; he did not deserve this unnecessary hassle in addition.

He bent to pick the keys and stuck it into the keyhole. He turned it once, twice, but it refused to budge. He didn't want to even consider the possibility of the keyhole being frozen again as a result of the frigid weather, so he blindly tried again, this time harder and more forceful, but the effort was futile.

After groaning loudly and pounding against the door for a fraction of time, he resolved that he would not and could not open this door, or at least, crash it down, without nicotine running through his veins. Fishing for his pack of Marlboro, he let out a sigh as soon as a stick was in his hands; it was the first sigh he'd produced that evening signifying relief.

The tip of the cigarette turned an envious green as he lit the white end hastily, before lighting up orange when he took a drag from the other end, which was a sallow brown.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. He rolled his shoulders languidly, feeling every bundled nerve in his body slowly loosen and untie. A slow warmness spread through his body, expanding from his chest and running through his blood like liquid fire.

Holding the cancer stick in the space between his teeth, he looked across the street to the house opposite his in the curve of the cul de sac. The rocking chair on its porch was empty, still bopping gently as if sat in by an invisible ghost who was considerate enough to warm up the chair for the neighbouring Mrs. Wesley who would always give him dirty looks whenever he smoked or drank outside. Thankfully, she was away tonight which meant he could act without judgement. The wooden floorboards on the porch let out a deep groan as he sauntered a little to the side. He contemplated on and then decided against resting his forearms against the metal railings.

Daylight slowly died away, just a few breaths away from nightfall, similar to the way that his lungs felt just a few breaths from utter darkness. The night was death and death was the night, but never was there a time that he had felt more alive.

"Kit?"

Christopher jumped in shock at the call of his name, turning to see his mother with her head sticking out of the door with a sense of detached curiosity. It almost seemed like it was a floating object, pale skin and light hair standing out against a cloak of dark black.

Christopher decided to comment on the absence of light first: "I forgot to change the porch bulb this morning. Sorry. I'll do it tonight."

The eyes of the phantom head squinted at him, and the head itself shook, blonde wisps of hair trailing after it. "Why are you outside? Did you forget your keys?"