Demon Stories

Beau: I Hate Your Cigarette, 1999, Japan

Beau

I Hate Your Cigarette

1999, Japan

The noises of the city were alive in cacophony. Here we were standing in front of a bar at closing, deciding if we should get a cab or just walk. 

"If we pool our money we-- hey!!" Saya was saying. He cleared his throat, giving me a meaningful look, then continued on. "Give me your five hundred yen coins so its easi-- stop that!!" He stared at me as a parent would to a misbehaving child. I looked in the other direction as if something caught my attention. He continued on.

"Are you hungry? If we spend this to get home then-- you! What is your problem!!" he was now staring at me. He came forward to me, and folded his body over a little to be face to face, his face inches from mine in an angry manner, yet curious at the same time. 

I gave him a petulant pout. 

"Come on, what?" he asked. He sighed, then leaned back onto the building and put a cigarette into his mouth. He lit it with his Zippo, and just as before, I batted it from his mouth to the ground with a quick pawing like a kitten before he could take one puff. He stared down at the burning cigarette on the ground with disbelief. "Why are you doing that?!"

I crossed my arms and extended the pout. 

"Beauty, what's wrong?" he asked sweetly, twisting a curl near my waist as I like to get my attention.

I looked back at him, still pouting. Then looked away again.

"I don't like your cigarettes. They make you smell bad," I said plainly.

"They calm me down," he tried to explain again. 

I began to walk away. He followed me. I kept walking even though these witch pointed high heel boots were killing my feet. All the while, he kept talking.

"Do you see how selfish it is to make me stop smoking when clearly its something I enjoy doing and something I need? Just because they make me smell bad, you want me to stop even though I've been doing it for how many years now? Why are you still walking away?"

But as long as he kept defending his addiction, I would walk. I didn't care if we had to walk all over Japan and my feet became two bloody stubs from these goddamn shoes. Had he really forgotten? Really?

I didn't even hear his talking anymore. He was just repeating the same things I had heard a million times. I had no patience for it. And I also had no way of explaining how I felt about it. Really, my reasons did sound selfish. But all I wanted was for him to understand. 

Eventually, his talking turned to a begging tone. I opened my ears again.

"Okay, I'll cut down. Is that what you want? That's all I'm able to do. Can I smoke after meals? How about after sex? Just when I feel too stressed out. Tell me something."