Bitches and Jerks

Smoke My Heart Away

Nayla's Journal

....Mister K,

Silver. Silver was the color of the fumes from the red glowing flames that danced on the edge of my cigarette. It scent was like a herb, an addicting toxic herb that purged all the impurities of my insides...both mentally and physiologically. How ironic it was to happen, as if its the reality of any unstable being, even though that kind of reality didn't exist. But then Mr. K existed. Like the smoke, he was comforting. Like the nicotine, he was addicting. Like the sparks of flame, he shone, and like the silvery color of its vapor, he was precious. However, as good as he could be, he was deadly. I could die by always being with him, like the ways of the cigarette in giving its victim a terrible sickness. It was bad. I was bad. But he was so bad, so bad that it hurts because I liked it, even though I knew that it could lead me to my downfall. He was a disease which made my heart weak. People tried to offer me help but I declined each one of them. I didn't want to be cured because I was willing to be the victim for this kind of sickness. A sickness for him. I wanted the infection of his lust, the pain of his loving, everything that could corrupt me. I would gladly accept it with open arms, as long as it's him. I knew the consequences of course. I wasnt that stupid at all to just ignore it. Although, he held no future for me, I was still happy, for he gave each of my days meaning which made every today more important than tomorrow. So, I continued to smoke, as I continued to love him...hopelessly. Now my heart was slowly adapting to its irrational, barbaric environment that I intensely chose. The rough path to the burning pit of hell.

I was a bitch, he was a jerk. We fit together perfectly, just like a jigsaw puzzle, so perfectly shaped for each other. Maybe it's the reason why all the "bad" seemed likable and normal for us. It's a complete mystery, but we all get it.

Mr. K's every letter of his name was a music note to my ears, giving enthusiasm of such musician like me. A musician that was consumed by the fascination of bizarre symphony of his mystique tone. As much as Mr. K held a huge impact on me like the cigarette and the feverous feeling of music, he was literally by my side when everyone abandoned me and caught me with an open arms when the person from all the people whom I believed would save me - pushed me off the edge. He was there to remind me that I wouldn't meet someone great if I remained to cling with my past lover. He vouched that and stood corrected...and now I couldn't be more happier with him smoking my heart away.

"I like you very much." He murmured on my ear as he pressed his jaw on my cheek.

I frowned. "Why would you like a broken thing?"

...Broken. That's what I was after being crushed by her faded feelings, stomping on my heart with her killer red stilettos as she walked out on me.

Mr. K brushed a single strand of my hair behind my ear. "Because broken things were brave enough to show their limits."

I shook my head then looked down. "Are you gonna try to fix me up like everyone else did?"

"No." Was his answer.

I returned my gaze at his emerald eyes, finding for a meaning. "Why?"

"I like you just the way you are." He replied. "You see..." His hands were sauntering to my shoulders up to my neck. "Your pain is what made you stronger, made you who you are now." Gaze of smoldering admiration were apparent in his expression and I couldn't help but feel...valued. "And your scars just make you beautiful. Don't ever hide it or be ashamed of it because it's one of the million reasons why I love you."

I smiled at him and closed the gap between us by touching each other's lips. No need to say I love you too, he already knew it.

Nayla.

_

Be proud of what you have been through, for it's your trophy of being tough.

~Yours truly,
Nicole.