Your Smoke

Last night the rain was whispering on your cheap, leaking roof with the unstable tiles, and you and your cigarette were whispering against my neck. I could feel your hot breath and the burning smoke and I wanted to move away from you on the couch. It was getting stuffy in there, but you hated it when I opened windows at night. I don't know why; I loved looking out at the darkness and feeling it playing on my face. It felt so good after the heat of your words, breath, skin.

After a while my throat started tickling with all the peppery smoke I was breathing in. I didn't want to cough, because that would make you ask me questions, and I didn't want to say it was your smoke that was making me cough. God knows what you would say to that.

My eyes started to water and I wasn't sure if I should move away from you or just sit there in my uncomfortable agony. Finally, I didn't think I could stand it any longer. My throat was stratching like hell and my eyes were close to flooding. I stood up and said I had to use the bathroom. It was cool among the soft blue tiles that your parents had chosen. I breathed in the fresh air like I had never breathed before. Usually I could put up with clouds and clouds of the densest cigarette smoke, but it was different with you. You wanted to breathe the pollution into my neck, as if you were tempting me to start again, when I hadn't smoked for months.

When I first kissed you, and your mouth was overloaded with nicotine, I thought it tasted beautiful, all mixed up with the hot scents of your breath and teeth, and I sucked it in like it was chocolate cake. But as the time rolled by, I started to get sick of your smoke, and I would try to avoid you when I knew you'd been smoking, and kiss you so utterly when I knew you hadn't. That's why everyone shook our heads at us pashing in the middle of school, because you weren't allowed to smoke there. You were always pretty good about not breaking the rules, because you hated to think of being caged up in a classroom on detention. When we stayed after school together a couple of times, with Mrs Robinson, I could see you itching at the desk next to me, fidgeting and gritting your teeth. You weren't meant to be locked up inside, but somehow that never stopped you from keeping me in one room, in one place, while you just held onto me.

Last night, I came back from the bathroom and told you I wanted to go outside for a breath of the cool night air, but you yanked my arm and made me fall onto the couch next to you. I dug my nails into the flesh of my arm, but you didn't notice. I was hoping you wouldn't try to kiss me, but I knew that was hoping against hope. Whenever your parents were out, you had to make the most of the empty house. That always involved me.

You put your mouth on mine and whispered inside my lips that you loved me. I could feel your warm tongue moving as you conveyed this, and I felt a shiver run down my spine, despite the fact that my face was flushed from all the heat. You brushed a stray piece of hair from my face, and I felt confused. I wanted to answer you, tell you that I loved you as well, but I wasn't sure if I would be lying. All those other times I'd said it, I knew I was being truthful, but time just slipped past me sometimes, and left my emotions all jumbled. So I just put my hand under your shirt, and felt you suck in your breath because my fingers were freezing cold.

written: Monday 13th September 2004, 4:34pm