❝she was the girl, who bit the horizon, who peeled the stars from the sky and put them on her tongue, the girl who was hungry for the universe, who craved magic and saw the broken boy for who he truly was- a broken boy.❞
Beca...
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Chapter 20
In Love With Places I've Never been
Jem
I shouldered my duffel bag, hands fumbling for the straps and trembling with incredulity and trepidation of actually leaving this goddamn place for once- and even if it was momentary, my suspension of disbelief could not withstand my crippling scepticism.
It was still a few minutes before Heath would come, chugging up the streets with his precious Roxanne and bored, I was itching for a cigarette so I snatched my pack off the nightstand but then an incessantly nagging voice resounded in my head, "Jem! You're only allowed to smoke once a day! Save one for later."
But I ignored the voice as my instincts combated by arguing that I would be stuck in a cylindrical tube, flying thousands of feet above the ground for at least twelve hours. It was a good reason for me to break out a new pack, snuck off to the cement courtyard of dying lilies and smoke.
The lilies were dead and gone, wilted into stumps of ugly poop brown petals because my mother was no longer there to care for them so nobody did and they eventually died. The bitter reminder of my mum emphasised the greater need of a cigarette. I ensconced myself on a rusty garden chair and there was a sharp click of the lighter kindling a brand new cigarette. My hair got damp from the rain but as soon as I took the first real drag, I barely noticed anything else.
With the wind rippling through the garden, the silver sky above and the rusty chair underneath, it was like my first cigarette all over again. When I exhaled, I felt lightheaded. The intricate white smoke assimilated into the cloudy air I breathed. As I returned the cigarette back to my lips, it seemed like the only colour in the world was the orange ember at the end of the light and it became black as I inhaled again.
I burned through the first much quicker than I thought I was and as I was about to reach for a second one, there was a precise clatter of the front door being shut.
My heart squelched against its strings. Dad was home.
I stood up and hastily disposed of the cigarette by using the heel of my converses to smash it into ash and smithereens, indistinguishable within the cement floor. I sprayed myself down with a backup cologne to get rid of that cigarette smell and cautiously strode towards the back door, peering through the glass as I saw my dad careening off his trail, drunk. Again.
"Dad?" I softly sounded. His neck jerked to me and his bloodshot, hazy gaze tapered, regarding me without recognition. He didn't even know me. "You know I'll be gone for the whole week?"
"You are?" The words spat out were devoid of any emotion, dethatched and tinny, metal scratching against metal. He hadn't hit me at all after he realised he was taking it out on me. He was afraid he'd break me so he's been keeping it all in- literally. I haven't seen him smile or put a hole through the wall in weeks, I hadn't seen him expressed anything especially after Mom's lawyer slipped him the second notice for their divorce.
