Forgotten Promises

12 - n o w

Aubrey

Sometimes I forget I have a beating heart. One that keeps me breathing and alive. I stare at the tall apartment building in front of me. It's unmoving. Unspeaking. Unthinking.

I compare myself to it. I find no difference.

Except for the fact that I have a beating heart inside of my chest.

Odd, I think. It doesn't feel like it. I take in a breath. There's something more odd that I have to deal with, at the moment.

Like the fact that I'm parked outside of his apartment and yet he doesn't budge from next to me.

“Are you going to get out?” I snap, eyes fixed ahead and out the windshield instead of at his face.

The shower slowed to a light drizzle, before vanishing completely. Thick clouds frame the sky, no sun in sight.

“Not just yet.”

The nerve. I close my eyes, trying to keep myself calm. I can feel his eyes on me. “I'm trying my very best right now, Luca. I'm not known for being able to suppress my rage.”

“And of course, I respect that.” He nods and goes silent for a couple of seconds.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

I lose count of the seconds, mind gradually being fogged by impatience.

When I'm sure that this conversation is going nowhere and has ended, he speaks up again, “But—”

“Get out.” I inhale sharply, now looking him dead in the eye. “I'm not going to ask you again.”

“Why won't you listen to me?” His voice is soft. Too soft. So is his expression. His eyes. His face.

A stark and abrupt contrast to all of my own. Complete opposites. Day and night. Black and white. Luca and Aubrey.

The mere realization is like a punch to the gut.

“Don't ask questions you already know the answers to.” I reach for the key and kill the engine.

His sigh of resignation reaches my ears as I push open my door and jump out from the jeep. I don't even bother closing it or locking the vehicle.

I begin walking away, aimlessly, with the motive to put distance between him and me before I explode. And also to coax the red, hot anger and the dirty puddle of emotions bubbling inside of me.

My fingers work to pull out a packet situated in my back pocket. I slip out a weightless white stick from inside it. I desperately snap off the brown filter, tossing it away. In the next second, the cigarette rests between my lips, sans filter. Only to light it up do I stop my long strides. I shove the pack and the lighter back into my pocket and resume my steps.

I take a long drag, inhaling almost all the smoke into my lungs. Whatever of it is left leaves through my nose.

Almost instantly, the nicotine buzz spreads to every cell of my body. A surge of immense dopamine consumes my brain like a tsunami engulfing everything standing in its way. Despite the real fact that my lungs are drowning in thick, black, deadly smoke, I can actually breathe. How ironic.

Story of my life.

I'm gonna die one day either way. Nature won't care if I've smoked tobacco or have tar residing inside my system. It'll take me away regardless, my body hard and cold. In all honesty, though, I don't give a shit. I don't think about consequences. I have zero foresight. I don't care about the future, or what it holds for me.

I don't believe in possibility or the stupid concept of hope. I believe in the meticulously calculated art of rationality.

The sound of approaching footsteps yank me back into the present. I don't stop walking.