Cigarettes and vodka.
Those two are my only companions. Tears ran down my cheeks while I sipped the liquor. I felt a weird sense of comfort when the familiar burning feeling scraped my throat. I stared at the empty pack of cigarette I've thrown across the rooftop and felt the sudden compulsion of smoking again.
Even vices can't get Ian out of my f*****g head. I feel stupid. It's been a month since Dad sent me to this wretched province yet I still feel as miserable as the day Ian gave up on me. I ruined myself. I put red streaks on my hair and I always apply thick black eyeliner that makes me look like a badass out-of-school emo rockstar.
I wonder what Ian's doing right now. Is he suffering the way I am, too? Has he moved on already? Has he really forgotten about me?
More tears trickled
