FIGHTING FOR YOU

Chapter 1 - The red blur

-We are not going to the club again guys

Lana said. sounding sick of how the same routine happens always, the smell of her perfume, James constantly switching the songs while driving, driving faster and faster, I almost felt like i couldn't breathe.

- Seriously Lana you think she will change her mind, ABOUT THE CLUB... Thats insane.

He said it shouting and feeling confident, while recklessly driving.

- Gosh you guys are fucking lame, don't you guys ever get tired of drinking. Seriously ignoring real life this much is concerning.

She laid back to the car seat, disappointed, like her opinions didn't matter a bit.

- James
I said.
- Do you have any death sticks on you?

- You want to smoke, Hanny?

They both looked at me, surprised, almost too shocked.. I felt nerves in my chest i was lost in my thoughts.

- I do..?

- What, You never smoke in situations like this. Has she ever smoked after a match?

James said curiosity crossing his mind, it almost felt like i could read his thoughts, i was as surprised about myself as he was.

- Fuck no she hasn't, Its always drinking and fucking fusing, This is weird something probably has happened. She's probably depressed again or something.

Her feeling a bit of frustration, but sounding worried at the same time.

-I am fine, i swear. Do you have fucking cigarettes on you or not?

- No, But i can stop and get-
I interrupted him, not letting him to finish.
- Stop.

I felt strange, really strange i had this red blur of her in my vision, feeling like if i sat down and smoked.. the blur would go away with the smoke.
I have never felt like that about someone, like she was an energy pulling me in, I just felt like i had to impress her, I had a feeling that she would come back to another match again, "I didn't feel like ruining myself anymore, I wanted to do something else, I want to ruin her."
.
.

He stopped, he got out of the car, the weather felt different. He shut the door a little too hard, the sound cracking the air between us. The street was almost empty, washed in that dull yellow glow streetlights give when it's late enough for honesty to feel dangerous. The engine kept running behind him, a low, impatient growl, like the car itself was annoyed at being made to wait.

He walked toward the small shop on the corner, shoulders tense, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Every step felt heavier than it should've been, like the night was pressing down on him. The glass door chimed when he pushed it open, sharp and sudden, breaking whatever was going on in his head.

Inside, the air smelled like dust, old candy, and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, too bright, too clean for how he felt. He stood there for a second, staring at the wall of cigarettes like it was accusing him of something. Rows of identical boxes, different names, same promise. A pause—just long enough to regret agreeing.

He grabbed a pack without thinking, fingers shaking slightly as he set it on the counter. The cashier didn't look up, just scanned it, bored and distant, like this was the most normal thing in the world. Money exchanged hands. The receipt printed. Done.

When he stepped back outside, the cold hit harder. The night felt sharper now, more real. He turned the pack over in his hand once, then twice, like it might explain why things suddenly felt off. The car lights cut through the darkness ahead of him, waiting.