ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰɪɴᴇ // 𝐦𝐠𝐜 - 𝐚𝐟𝐢

CIGARETTE 21

CIGARETTE 21

The big windows give access to one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen. Manhattan's skyline. The sky pitch black and all the lights coming from the tall buildings makes such a breathtaking sight.

I'm sat on the floor in front the window. My arms around my knees as I contemplate the wonderful view.

Two weeks. It has been two weeks since I said Ashton goodbye, since I came to Michael crying for help and a place to stay. Two fucking weeks since I've been living in Michael's apartment that he calls studio.

Two weeks and I haven't had the guts to go over Ashton's apartment to pick the rest of my things up. I've been borrowing Elle's jeans and some Michael's shirts because I only bought with me three shirts and one pair of jeans with me.

The apartment is even bigger than it seems. Apart from the giant living room with the magnificent windows, it has a wide kitchen that's connected with a dining room, a master room with a big bathroom as well and a guest room. Both rooms are enormous. And to finished has the bathroom I went to the first time Mike took me here.

The living room is the only room without furniture I don't know the reason Michael wanted to keep it that way. It has nothing apart from the old three seats couch and a bunch of art supplies spread around and two tables.

Even tho the two bedrooms have a bed and Michael told me to take the master bedroom, I've been sleeping on the couch. The apartment is too big and sleeping around Michael's paintings makes me feel less lonely.

No wonder why Michael doesn't live here.

When he showed me the whole apartment that day I came to him crying, I asked why he still lived with Luke when he could live here. It's too big for only one person. He's right.

I feel lonely here.

The white tile is cold against my feet. I like the feeling of the ice cold surface against my skin. Beside me, is an ashtray full of cigarette butts and an half empty bottle of vodka. I'm sorry Michael, for smoking in your living room instead of in the kitchen's balcony and for drinking the vodka that was hidden behind a bunch of pans. I just wanted a kettle to make some tea.

My eyes are fixed in the building ahead and I drink some more of vodka. I can feel the dried tears mixed with mascara on my cheeks. Before lighting up another cigarette, I let out a sigh.

I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed at myself for not knowing how to deal with my feelings, loneliness and issues without getting wasted to forget about everything tormenting me.

Why does everything always seems too much for me to handle?

The clock in my phone says its 9:27pm and I'm already pissed drunk.

With the phone in my hand, fresh tears run down my face again and my thumb hovers Ashton's blocked number. I had to block him. I couldn't handle the constant texts and calls I was receiving from him.

The tuesday after I left the Bronx, Ashton approached me while I was leaving the Psychology Building. He said he just wanted to talk, but I knew if I spent one more minute with him, I would give in and go back to his arms. I couldn't. I can't.