Twelve

Four.

He probably knew, when they were in his room. One, himself, on the bed and the other on the ground. Constantly texting the girl. No, not the girl. A girl. It was just a girl. Nothing new, he himself did that but right now,he couldn't stand it, and he didn't even know why. Back then, at least. He got up and left, he couldn't remember what he said as an excuse. He sat by the lake and looked down at his hand. Down at the cigarette in his hands. He didn't smoke but his sister did and he once stole one from her, always too scared to actually light it. To actually smoke it. Until now. It wasn't even that good. But for a moment he felt... well he didn't actually know what he felt but maybe that was what made it kinda addicting. It was better than feeling raged and disappointed about something he couldn't even lay his finger on. But it didn't last long. The feelings got him again with their long lingering fingers that they wrapped around him and squeezed tight. He shuddered out of disgust about his own thoughts. Now, he at least knew what he was angry about. The cigarette. He shouldn't have done that. He went back and showered. He wished he could shower the inside of his body too. The inside of his head. Of course he couldn't.
Later he found out that 'just a girl' was, in fact, not only 'just a girl'. She was his girlfriend. And he didn't know how that should made him feel.