No Love Attached

chapter twenty seven : cigarette daydreams

"Look, I know, I did things that were fucked up. And said things that were beyond fucked up. There's no excuse for any of it," she looked around the room uncomfortably. "But can we please move past this? I know this sounds like high school, but you're my best friend. I feel like shit for hurting you in any way. I'm really sorry."

     Once she was done with her monologue, she gave me one last sad smile before going back to her office. I was half-expecting her to sit there with her arms folded until I accepted her apology; and the fact that she didn't, made my stomach turn in agony.

The only things I had keeping me going were caffeine, knowing the F. Scott Fitzgerald publishing deal was mine, and that my "savior" Anthony would be here in a couple of hours. His term, not mine.

I believe his exact words were, "That's it. I'm booking a flight. You need a friend who isn't getting down and dirty with your stalker.  But don't worry, your savior is coming. I'm going to make sure you get retail therapy, physical therapy, and a whole lot of plain, old regular fucking therapy because you're unhinged, woman."

Maybe he was right. Was I unhinged? Have I become undone? I'd like to think that things could only go up from here but I'm not eleven years old. That pesky bastard called time, has proved over and over again that even when you think you've hit rock bottom, you still have got a few feet to go.

I stared at the email in my drafts for a long moment. My words were clear and concise with the sharpness of a double-edged sword. Despite knowing this was the best decision for my well-being and career, I couldn't help but feel like I was betraying Josh's dream if I sent this.

     After all, it was the two of us who had always planned on expanding the company overseas. Was I really going to give that up for some prick, boss who wants to play grab-ass? What sector of hell would that send me to?

My finger hovered over the "Send" button for a moment, before hastily exiting out of the browser completely.

To center myself, I closed my eyes and exhaled. In that serene moment, I muttered "damn it," through my teeth, and grabbed my black Chanel.

I left the office at an almost power-walk like speed, passing a confused Penney along the way. But I was too determined to care.

As I stepped outside, I realized the cold weather didn't phase me much anymore. In fact, I believe I could live in Antarctica now if needed based on my survival here. My heels clicked and clacked against the cobble stone walkway with an arrogance I despised. The sound almost didn't belong here. The pitter-patter of Louboutin's were meant for the dirty cement of New York City or the red carpets of Los Angeles. Not the uneven stone of most London streets. It just seemed unnatural.

Or it seemed like it could break my ankle.

Either way, I shook off the thought and hoped I didn't jinx myself. Although, a broken ankle could be nice. No walking, lots of laying in bed, and an excuse for people to send me "get well" cookie baskets. I caught myself shaking off that thought as well, before breaking my own ankle sounded too appealing.

My hand dug around the bottom of my black hole of a purse until I felt a small, worn out, paper box along with a lighter. The words "American Spirits", had faded almost completely into the yellow carton. In that box, were two cigarettes that were sort of crushed.

I had once read a story that said it probably stored, a cigarette could still be good ten years later. And this was only three since the last time I smoked.

There was a familiar burn that I welcomed once I lit it between my lips. Smoke filled my lungs yet I felt like I could finally breathe. It was as if an old friend had given me a hug after years of not seeing each other. Sure, maybe it was a stale, kind of bitter hug. But it was the most comforted I had been in a while.

      With each inhale came thoughts. Memories of Josh telling me how bad smoking was for me and all the times he'd follow me out on smoke breaks just to tell me how stupid I was, but he'd sit there with me anyway. There were also flashes of Leo and the way that the scent of tobacco and vanilla always followed him.

       I always remembered Penney and I smoking Camel Crushes in our dorm before dousing the room in cheap perfume to disguise the smell.

        I'm not sure if it was the thought of how fucked up everything was now or if it was just the wind blowing the smoke into my eye, but a tear fell down my cheek.

       Fuck.

       •••

Author's Note:
hey! Thanks for reading! Wow, the reads have really shot up. I'm so grateful. So this chapter may be boring. But I've just had the worst writer's block and wanted to get something out there. Please vote & comment if you liked!