WARNING homophobic slurs are used in this chapter (as sparingly as possible but still present); if you're sensitive to this sort of content please reconsider reading this, your mental health is more important than a wattpad fanfic
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Leaning her head against the bathroom wall, feet propped up on the opposite side, Chris watched the puffs of smoke leave her mouth and waft up toward the ceiling.
The smell made her cringe, and the burning that was left in the back of her throat was less than favorable. But after the first few weeks after picking it up behind her parents' backs, it had slowly become a comfort. Not that they would care anyway. If they had taken notice (and she didn't doubt that they had - she was squirrelling away cigarettes from her mother's own packs and the woman had the eyes of a hawk), they were keeping their mouths shut. Maybe they had hoped she would drop it, that it was 'just a phase' and if her father clutched his rosary hard enough she'd magically change her mind. As if.
Twirling her knife absentmindedly in her hand, she etched another crooked line in the graffiti-ridden stall door.
With a creak, the bathroom door opened, and the sound of footsteps filled the previously silent room. Chris folded her knife, stuffing it back into her boot.
Whoever it was walked over to the sink, placing their backpack at their feet. As Chris peeked through the stall's thin open space, she could barely make out the figure of someone looking into one of the mirrors. They were fixing their ponytail, running their fingers through their long red hair before turning around. Chris dipped away from the space, feeling a light blush warm her cheeks as she took another puff from the cigarette between her teeth. It was Beverly Marsh.
There was a knock on the door.
"Mind if I take a drag?"
Chris sat there for a second, considering. She was never one to share, but maybe it was the high of the last day of school that made her pass the cigarette underneath the stall door.
"Knock yourself out." she said, blowing out a thin trail of smoke through her nostrils.
The other girl's hand reached underneath the stall, and Chris wasn't sure if it was just a trick of the light, but she knew faded bruises when she saw one. She shifted in her seat, wordlessly crossing her arms as Beverly stepped into the stall beside her, locking the door.
"You're...Oakley, right?" she let out a smoky sigh before passing it back. "From gym?"
Chris hummed in confirmation. "Just Chris is fine."
They passed it between them in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the smoke trails disappear into the vents in the ceiling. Until two girls walked in, disrupting the peace with their giggles and shushing. Chris rolled her eyes, thankful that the sink they turned on drowned out their voices.
