Tainted Souls [ #wattys2015 ]

: nine

The door had barely a second to close before I was pushing it open again. You spun around, look of terror torn across your face, brown eyes marred with a familiar fear.

Your lips parted in a sigh, before your eyes dropped to your feet. "What the hell, are you doing here? It's bordering on stalking, you know?"

I shrugged limply, still eyeing you as you fixed yourself and walked to the other end of the roof, sitting down next to the edge. My heart fluttered in my chest, so fast I thought I'd simply leap out of my ribcage, but even though I was filled with panic - somehow I was terrified that you'd just throw yourself off the side of the building - my feet stayed still.

You pulled out a cigarette, not at all interested in the edge, except for a wary look over the side. You didn't strike me as the type to kill yourself, but I hardly knew you.

"You're just interesting," I replied weakly, forcing my limbs forward so that you'd hear my squeaky voice.

You scoffed, cigarette between your lips, lighting it with the snap of your lighter. Flame danced around the edge of the stick, and it flared with orange. I was, strangely, tantalised by it.

My mother had always said smoking was bad, and I'd always believed her, promising that I'd never in my life breathe from one of those.

The idea seemed so much more welcoming, now.

I loved it, terrfyingly. I loved the way that the smoke rose from your lips as you puffed on the end of that deadly, toxic stick that made your voice harsh and croaky and would no doubt be the death of you in a decade or so.

I loved it.

But not as much as I realised I loved you.