***
Smoking should be definitely normalized.
I doubt there's any activity so calming as blowing tresses of greys into surroundings, dismissively. While one's assistant is going on and on about damned shared, before one's father pokes him from sleeping the slow afternoons off, there's -
I'm not good at explaining these things. It just happens.
Smoking is the highlight of my day.
Everyday at three, whether my schedule is clear as the sky or full as the sea, I loosen my tie a little, cast aside the files on my desk and with courage I pose :
"Father, can I be excused?"
"You may."
Generally, he doesn't bother with it.
He's either whisking away on business trips or making up to Tabitha, who by the way, still is a part of his chessboard. The most a woman has last for Jonathan Hamilton? 11 months. That was mom. I suppose the nine months I lounged in her womb made it harder to ditch sooner. That, or she had what it took.
Apparently? So does Tabitha.
"I'll be back in a few."
"I'm good," he responds monotonously.
I can't see his drained face but I try my best not to as I pluck the packet from grey coat and make my way down the hall. Sweet, sweet fragrance. And it isn't my stepsister's annoying perfume.
***
Dawn's taking a day off.
It meant if I wanted to have cheesecake for breakfast, I could. Without worrying I'm putting on weight. It isn't me so much so it is her that passes silent judgement.
No wonder she looks so stubby. Maybe she doesn't eat properly.
As for once I'm thinking of somebody other than me, I absentmindedly change the direction. Instead, I trudge towards wonderland. "Looky looky, she isn't home."
Aubrielle, Bri as most members of the family put it, is a loner baby.
She's going through some kind of goth phase where all she wants to do is hang out by herself. So, she visits the local library twice a day. Of course, she's her very own driver for that reason alone.
Father loves her or something.
The room is hedonistic.
All thirteen years olds on one side, my sister on the other.
Soft sunlight streamed through the ceiling window making me cover my head. Walls, I can barely seen them, for madam has had them covered to last inches. Morbid figures of Korean cover for the most parts, BTS... Monsta... Tomorrow something...
I strangely feel proud that I know the names to such indistinguishable bands.
Only last year we recarpeted the whole house. It was Tabitha's idea but I was really on board with it cause hell, the bachelor pad could be... beautified.
Though, Bri took it upon herself to stink hers. Strawberry wafted in air, either from her million sharpeners disposed into plain sight by the doorway (they should be over the desk, by the computer and opposite to the bedside) or the carpet.
As I tangled myself more and more into her web - I realised I could use her book collection. They looked interesting. Lolita, Mimes Of Courtesan, Playboy (we've the magazine thief), some DVDs of anime vampire placed adjacent to them, and -
I'm only here to smoke. Right.
***
By the balcony, I paint my heaven. Sighs into clouds, dreams into ashes.
Just as my light is almost extinguished, I catch movement in background and hastily, I turn on heel. "This is my bedroom," she says through haughty mouth.
"It was mine when I was six." I push a shrug. "But I must bid farewell. Cheerio."
I'm about to side step her when Bri, as in Aubrielle the looming cloud overhead, block my way. Her low cut sundress momentarily distract me. But not for long -
"Can I have a cigarette?"
Oh crap.
I disregard her small figure hugging herself, a display of nervousness on her part, or it could just be the wind. "You're thirteen," I scoff.
"As you fifteen."
"I'm almost sixteen. That's legally, nationally speaking."
Bri stops, only to focus on rolling her big beautiful eyes. Like that would help her case.
"Why do you care?"
I growl. "They're mine, well."
"Not if you take them without asking."
Her face scrunching up into that of displeasure annoys me to no end. Who does she think she is? Spying? Very mature.
If anything, I'm more pissed than scared.
"Oh shut up."
"Oh make me."
Brat.
"What's the big deal, Alexander?" Her tone, I don't like it. You must have heard many guys complain : "I don't like how you ask." Well, I mean it.
She steps into my personal space sooner than I can comprehend. My grip tightens over the malboro. She's so not getting it. She glares. "I'll tell Tabitha if you don't get the hell off."
Tabitha's name sure does wonders.
My wolfish dad is petrified of telling her no. The microexpression of wetting lip gives off the impression that little Bri is no different. Is she going to back out? Her reduced intimidation would say so! "Can't you have her but you a lighter or something? Or better, my daddy?" I take my time in messing up her head. "Isn't that why you're here? To have a roof? Now a stick? What else do you want, bitch?"
I only catch her muttering something before she left me.
A string of obscenity I will bet.
What a baby.
***
