Free Falling

15|Cigarettes and Kissing

    That night I couldn't sleep, so I threw on clothes and a jacket, grabbed my skateboard, and snuck out through the window, using the tree to scale down as I've done many times before.

    Memories of sneaking out to see Brent surfaced my mind. He would catch my skateboard when I'd thrown it to him so my hands would be free to grip onto the rough limbs. His blonde hair would spill around his shoulders as he stared up at me, his eyes filling up with concern each time my foot would slip off the bark.

    But I would catch myself and smile at him, easing his worries. Then, when I made it safely to the bottom, he would pull me against his chest and whisper, "You know I will always catch you if you fall."

    And he did, at least for a while, until one day he didn't.

    Shaking my head, I pillared off down the road listening to the soft thuds as the wheels of the skateboard rolled over the cracks and pebbles. It was quiet as usual, the only sound being that of a cricket's chirp and an owl's coo.

    There was a corner store that was open twenty-four hours of the day which I usually ignored considering they didn't sell much but packs of cigarettes, magazines, alcohol, and a few unbranded chips. But that night, I decided to walk inside.

    The cool AC blew against my face as I walked over to the counter where a boy around my age, maybe a bit older, sat flipping through pages of a magazine. His eyes flickered up at the sound of footsteps approaching and met my gaze.

    "What can I do you for?" he grunted in a low, unappealing voice.

    I tucked my skateboard underneath my arm and scanned the back wall filled with varieties of cigarette packs. I read the names of each one, but nothing stood out to me. It had been a while since I'd last smoked a cigarette, but I never bought one because I was underage. Sighing, I grabbed the lighter hanging off the small rack on the counter and slammed it down.

    "This and a pack of Newports," I said, crossing my fingers behind my back in hopes that he wouldn't harass me for an ID because I didn't have one. Besides, he looked like he hated his job so much that he did the bare minimum.

    The boy looked at me, shook his head, and grabbed the Newport off the top shelf. He rung the items up and bagged them for me. I tried not to let the surprise show up on my face, but I must have done a poor job because he said, "I don't usually let minors buy this s**t because it's store policy, but I'm too tired to ask you for your ID and have you lie to my face, then go back and forth until you convince me to sell it to you."

    I blinked. "Right..."

    He sighed and looked at the monitor. "That'll be four seventy."

    I gave him the exact amount and declined the receipt. With an unfriendly grunt, he shoved the bag in my hand and plopped back down on the stool. I raised a brow but didn't say anything.

    I left the store and didn't hesitate to unwrap the plastic concealing the carton. I smacked the bottom of the pack on the back of my hand for a couple of seconds before pulling a stick out. Someone I knew who smoked regularly told me that after buying a fresh pack of cigarettes, always smack the bottom on the back of your hand. Why? He never told me.

    I lit the cigarette, and smoke wafted into my nose and through my system, easing my nerves instantly. Clouds of smoke blew against my face as the wind pushed them back, burning my eyes. Once I was done, I flicked open the lid of the carton and pulled another stick out.

    But it wasn't enough. Halfway through the box, I realized that smoking away my lungs wasn't bringing me the satisfaction I needed. It didn't reduce the craving in my stomach or take away the numbness in my chest. If anything, it was subjecting me to lung failure in the long haul.

    I huffed frustratedly and discarded the half-empty carton of Newport and continued riding down the road.

    Even when he wasn't here, he was still f*****g with me.

    It'd been one year precisely since my relationship with Brent took a wrong turn. Today marked a year since Brent showed me his true colors, brandishing me of a naive, lovesick puppy.

    One year and I still couldn't get him out of my system.

    Pain ricocheted in my stomach, and I cried out into the quiet night. I stumbled on the board but caught myself before I toppled over. Tears that I didn't know had formed shed down my face, untangling the buried emotions I forced down every time the mere mention of Brent resurfaced.

    In a blink of an eye, I swiveled my skateboard around and rerouted to the one place I knew I could satisfy this urge to forget. Forget about loving Brent. Forget about him touching me.

    Forget that he almost killed me.

    Once I arrived, I gathered my skateboard in my arms and ascended the stairs quickly. Was it C204 or C205? I couldn't remember. All I remembered was that it was on the second floor.

    I stopped at the top of the stairs and squinted my eyes at the farthest door to the right. It had to be it because it was next to the balcony that overlooked the parking lot. I staggered to the door and knocked twice firmly, shifting my weight side to side with anticipation.

    When no one answered, my stomach plummeted.

    Was no one home? I didn't check to see if their car was parked. I took a quick glance at the parking lot and sighed in relief when I recognized a silver Nissan.

    I knocked again, putting extra force.

    This time the door swung open and a shirtless Eli stood in the doorway. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms. 

    "Cathy? What are you doing here?" he said groggily.

    Without a word, I flew towards him, crushing my lips against his in a desperate attempt to fill the void of Brent Carter.