Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud...
That's the rhythm of sounds that are floating around my head at this precise moment. In multiple forms, in fact. There's the beat of some offensive music that's blaring through the speaker inside the pub I'm currently stood outside of. The jack-hammer that's going off somewhere in the background, despite it being an ungodly time of the evening for them to be doing this kind of shit. The beating of my heart that so often runs on overdrive these days, struggling to keep going with the stress. Clara's words clanging around the empty void that has become my mind...
There's just too much sound. Far too much noise going on in this fucking city. Why can't it just be silent for a while? No cars, no people, no abuse or anything like that. Just silence. Is that too much to ask? Is it really that much to achieve?
Of course it is. Everything's too much to ask these days, isn't it? I can't walk through the streets without being noticed. I can't avoid the questions thrown at me in compulsory interviews about why my 'female companion' projectile vomited in front of fans and cameras. I can't stop seeing the sadness in my friend's eyes every time I walk into a room, knowing damn well that they want to say something to me and can't find the words any more. I can't halt the sheer hatred that crashes into me every time I step into the place that I once called 'home'...
My head hurts. Understatement of the century there. It fucking kills. I don't think I've felt anything like it. It's like someone's screaming right into my ear, but it's not registering as sound. I mean, I can hear everything around me. But the sensation is really what bothers me. That throbbing in your temple when you're surrounded by too much noise. Drumming against your skull, threatening to overload it to the point where it could actually explode...
There's only one thing for it.
I haven't smoked in years. Not since Clara asked me to stop. Not because it bothered her or offends her. Her family smokes, after all. Worse than I ever did and all. Chain smokers, the lot of them. You walk into her mother's house and bam. Wall of smoke smacks you in the face. It's quite daunting, even now. And being an ex smoker and all, it's even worse for me...
No. She isn't hypocritical at all. She simply asked because a family friend died recently of lung cancer. A heavy smoker. Can't remember the name of him. But Clara was pretty shook up. Especially since the moment she found out, I was out having a cigarette. So after rushing inside at the sound of her crying, I vowed never to smoke again. Never to give her a reason to feel that way about me. Never to worry that I would become this victim of cancer...
Shoes on the other foot now, huh?
My hands are shaking as I reach into my pocket, pulling the pack of cigarettes out. I guess I'd already known this would happen before I even got to the pub. I went and bought them, after all. Why would someone who didn't want to smoke go and buy the thing that causes them to smoke? Beats me. But I remember being confused as I handed over the money, that little niggling voice in my head questioning my actions. But the devil on my shoulder won. And now I'm breaking my vow.
The tip of the stick of death feels so familiar between my lips. It's been years, and yet it feels like my last drag was only yesterday. I can already taste the tobacco as I lift my hand up, ready with the flame to ignite the beginning of the end. But I stop, my conscience kicking in.
Don't do it, Dan. She wouldn't want this. You promised. You promised you would never smoke. What kind of person are you if you can't even keep the most basic promise? A coward, that's what you'd be. Believing that salvation is in the form of a puff...that's just pathetic. You would be the scum of the earth, a loser, a failure...
Fine by me.
Every taste bud on my tongue bursts to life as the smoke rolls against it, filling up my mouth with its glorious flavour. I hold it there for a few seconds, relishing the forgotten sensations before inhaling deeply. I'm immediately hit with the giddiness of the nicotine, washing through my stress and engulfing me in it's comfort. The tightness of my held in breath within my lungs forces my eyes closed, letting the full effect of the entire process take hold before I slowly exhale. Letting go of every toxic thought in my brain and replacing it instead with the possibility of lung cancer. And somehow, this feels less corrosive to me. I'd rather this than my current situation.
