Cigarette Smoke // FILLIE

An Asshole Infatuation

f i n n

      Crouching to the ground with my guitar plucking the last notes, I gaze up at Jack and Ayla before jumping back up to my feet. The crowd cheers in approval of our performance, causing a smile to form on my face.

I raise my hand to wave but I'm stopped when Ayla's hand is on my shoulder and voice is whispering in my ear.

"Millie- she ran out and you're responsible, Finn. Fuck the Chemistry guy, she needs you. Go, we'll cover you."

My eyebrows furrow at her words as she pulls away, my eyes searching in hers for a spark of amusement but there truly is none to be found- she's dead serious.

I quickly throw off my guitar and set it on the ground, jumping of the stage to the floor and pushing through the crowd of drunk teenagers to get to the exit.

I rush outside into the dark night unaware of where she could be but knowing she is more than likely alone.

That was the last time I let myself fuck up and not fix it when I should've.

Scanning over the rows of cars I notice a familiar red Camaro that I've thought if keying this past week but decided against it.

In a full on sprint I slide over my own car's hood and rush across the street to the car, already noticing a figure inside with their forehead pressed against the windshield.

I slow down my pace as my heavy breath is forced out my nose to keep my heart rate at norm. If that's even possible right now.

I carefully open the door leading to the driver's seat and step inside, the door clicking closed when I shut it.

Her soft crying stops at the sound, her head lifting from her hands and turning towards the sound and therefore, me.

Her weary gasp is enough to tell me the cause of her tears.

"You're an asshole, Finn." She croaks, the sadness and hoarse in her voice enough to make tears well in my own eyes if it weren't for the rough exterior I forced myself to build over the years.

"I know," I say, remembering ur conversation in her room where I had told her how everyone, including myself, knows I'm an asshole, and just how sure she was that I'm not.

Look at you now, Brit. You've joined the crowd.

"You were already an asshole before, but then you go and write a whole fucking song about me?" She asks in disbelief while resting her head back on the leather seat, tear stains on her gentle cheeks.

I swallow, "Actually.. it's about me." I confess calmly as I stare at her, wishing for her eyes to look in mine at least one last time.

The brunette turns to face me as her brows furrow, in the process also doing my very request.

"What?"

"The song is from your point of view, not mine. I worked on it with Ayla and we used all my past relationships for the lyrics. Your's mainly, though." I admit, finding an uncomfortableness in confessing so much to her since I've grown the habit of keeping everything bottled up.