The Way We Get By

7 // Ramona

I breathe in another puff of my cigarette and relax as the fuzzy, warm cloud falls over my mind. It's a quiet, chilly night, and the smoke mixes with the clouds of my breath as I exhale into the dark, January air.

Liam is downstairs finishing up a last-minute work project before he comes up to bed, but if he knew what I was doing out here on our bedroom balcony, he'd probably have a cow.

Thing is, I'm an addict—cocaine and Oxy, to be exact. Needless to say, I fell into bad habits back in college. I'm eight years sober now, unless this new cigarette addiction counts. But last time I checked, people who smoke aren't referred to as serious addicts.

The second I hear our bedroom door open from back inside the house, I toss my cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony.

I usually have time to put out the butts and bury them in the trash, but I most definitely wasn't expecting Liam to walk in so suddenly. I thought I had another five minutes, at least.

I'll just have to resort to plan B by remembering to pick it out of the snow tomorrow morning. The last thing I need is for Liam to find that outside.

Liam notices me sitting outside, and before he has the chance to come out on our balcony and see what I'm up to, I step back inside to our room.

If he goes outside he'll smell it in the air, and if he gets too close to me he'll smell it on me. For that exact reason, I make sure to change my shirt the second I get back inside.

Liam falls onto our bed with a sigh while I slip on a new shirt, and after a quick spray of perfume, I lay down beside him.

He never has to know.

"What were you doing outside?" he mumbles without bothering to open his eyes.

"Just getting some air." I relax into the comfort of our bed once I realize that he doesn't seem to smell the cigarette smoke on me. "It helps clear my head."

"Does it?"

His eyes are still closed, and I feel my body lean away from him ever so slightly. I mean, what if he can smell it? He doesn't seem to be too happy right now, from his frown to his baggy eyes, and I can't tell if it has something to do with me or not.

"Yeah, it does."

I watch as he sighs, slowly peeling open his tired, brown eyes.

"You look exhausted."

He groans, pushing his body up and forcing himself to sit upright. I do the same, sensing his sad composure and letting him know I'm willing to talk by turning towards him.

At this point, I'm feeling relatively confident that he can't smell it, and I allow myself to move closer to him.

"What is it?" I ask, reaching over and placing my hand on his chest.

The scruff on his cheeks has begun to poke through, and his dark brown hair remains fluffy and thick on top of his head.

"I don't know what to do," he begins, his voice breathless and his words cutting through the air like soft clouds of uncertainty.

"Lucy's been gone for four days. Something's wrong with Alex, and—"

"Nothing's wrong with Alex," I interrupt.

He doesn't realize the mindset he has can be hurtful and destructive, and I've got to be the one to stop it.

"Alex is just going through some stuff. There's nothing wrong with him."

"Right, I know. I mean, I didn't mean it like that."

He shakes his head, reaching up to hold my hand, which is still resting comfortably on his chest.