Strawberries, Cigarettes and Soulmates

sleepless confessions

There is a restlessness that rattles in Lisa's ribcage and it keeps her from falling asleep.

It's 12:34 am, and the most of Seoul is already sleeping quietly. She looks to the side of the room and sees her cats' chest rise and fall evenly, illuminated by the soft light of a little lamp she kept on to help her navigate her room in the dark.

She feels envy sit at her throat, wishing for the same peace and quiet her pets enjoyed. There are three of them now - Leo, her firstborn and favorite, Luca who is her handsome posterboy, and now her little Lily, Luca's daughter who looks like she'll be dethroning her father as prettiest cat soon enough.

She feels love and adoration flutter its wispy wings in her heart. She thinks of how she'll probably only ever feel love this true for her cats and embraces that fact wholeheartedly.

She won't mind growing old and loving only them. They love her just as much, anyway.

But the dark seems determined to keep rest away from her. She wonders if the sandman forgot to stop by. She pushes her sheets away from her body, swings legs down over the edge of her bed - left first then right - feels the cold wooden floor underneath the pads of her feet.

She takes quiet steps, making sure not to wake the cats. She carefully opens her dresser, reaching for the pack of cigarettes and the plastic lighter she keeps hidden under her sleep shirts.

It's a filthy habit and she's tried to quit many times before, but it's true what they say about smoking - there's no quitting once you start.

She leaves her room barefoot and trying her best to be sneaky. She doesn't want to alert the other three girls she's living with, of what she's about to do.

Jennie would scrunch her nose up in disgust. Jisoo would shake her head and give her the heaviest disapproving stare. And Rosie would never let her hear the end of it.

She opens the door to their veranda and steps out into the hot, humid night.

She opens the pack and pulls out a stick. The soft filter feels familiar to her fingertips. She rolls it around between her thumb and forefinger out of habit then puts it between her lips. She holds the lighter up and flicks the sparkwheel, touches the end of the little flame to the cigarette and puffs to light it up.

She inhales smoke into her lungs and lets it settle there before she lets it escape back out of her mouth. She watches it billow in front of her, thinks of flimsy white lace, watches it dance in the barely-there breeze before it dissipates.

At least now there's smoke to keep the restlessness in her chest company, there's nicotine to justify the inability to sleep of her brain.

"Lisa?"

Lisa jumps at the sound, almost dropping her cigarette. When she realizes whose voice it was that she heard, she thinks of throwing the stick, her pack, and the lighter out to the street.

The veranda door opens and out steps Rosie, also barefoot rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Lisa tries to hide the stick behind her but the smoke is too obvious.

Rosie chuckles.

"I caught you. I know you're smoking. There's no point in hiding it now."

Lisa sighs surrender and defeat, holds her hands up to come clean. Her shoulders sag and so do the corners of her lips.

"I'll throw it away." She sighs.

Rosie shakes her head, moves to stand beside her friend and lean back against the metal railing.