Opaque, grey wisps of smoke curl throughout the air and caress my cheeks, their bitter scent permeating and intoxicating my senses. Marid and his friends had recently picked up a smoking habit--as all the cool kids do it--so it has become a common occurrence to find our large group camped out back behind our school, sharing a battered pack of Marlboros some stupid kid must have found in his father's drawers.
That was how it started, at least. It's been a few weeks since the boys began, and I can practically see the addiction setting in. Each person has a fresh, crisp, box--usually half empty due to impromptu smoke breaks--of their own with a lighter shoved carelessly in their back pockets. The majority of the boys use the earnings they've saved from their jobs to pay for their newest habit, but some boys were born with a silver spoon in their mouth and insist on not abasing themselves with troublesome, minimum wage jobs.
Where was I in this mess, you may ask? I've become Marid's dog, fetching smokes and whatever else his heart desires from the local shop at the snap of his fingers. I don't know how this dynamic began, but I can only pray for it to end.
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//Re-writing the word Marlboro in that font was such a pain aUGH
YOU ARE READING
𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐆𝐚𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭
Romance❝ When I walk into a room full of people, I always look for you first ❞ ஐ In which Zaki Hadad, a gay Saudi Arabian teen, struggles to accept himself in an oppressive society and outlets his feelings into his journal.
