Short Stories

Smoke

    I had never liked the smell of smoke. In fact, I hated it. The smell made me sick to my stomach. That is, until he walked into my life.

    A cloud of smoke wrapped around him like the fog hanging over the mountains in the distance. I was so infatuated with everything about this moment. Everything somehow made sense as I sat on that little concrete wall with him as he smoked.

    This smell I had always hated was now somehow comforting to me. The way it mixed with the smell of his cologne was intoxicating. I had always hated the smell of smoke, but, dear god, he made it work.

    “How was your day, babygirl?” he asked, his blue green eyes staring right through me.

    “Well, pretty good,” I replied. I could feel my cheeks heating up. “How about you?”

    He threw his joint on the ground and pulled another out of his pocket. He lit it and the smoke encircled us once more.

    “Quite wonderful, actually,” he replied, grinning.

    He snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, his tattoos on full display in his black t-shirt.

    “Now this,” he began, blowing smoke from his nose, “is something I could get used to.”

    He pulled me onto his lap, wrapping one of his arms around me. He handed me the joint.

    Smoking was somewhat foreign to me, as I had only done it a handful of times. I took it and breathed in the smoke. I began to cough.

    “I love how you always get choked up. It’s cute.”

    I blushed.

    He took the joint back and kissed my neck.

    We sat there for what felt like hours, just enjoying each other's company, while watching the sunset over the mountains.

    He made me feel so safe. Everything was okay when I was with him. He never made me feel like I was not enough or that I couldn't do something. He was always right there, supporting me in everything I do, with pure love and affection.

    I may have hated the smell of smoke, but, god, he made me fall in love with it and him.