𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎

Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ４

> ᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴀʟʟ ɢʟᴀss ᴏғ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ...?

"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭. 𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘮𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭."

Another drag out of your cigarette intoxicated your throat. Holding the cancer stick with your index and middle finger with a hot cup of coffee in the other. You looked blankly out of your balcony, the crisp morning air nipping at your cheeks.

You fought back a shudder, drawing the cup to your lips to warm your bumpy chicken skin. The sunrise was just about three-quarters done. The warm colour-coded hues kissed the surfaces of your apartment, welcoming itself like an old friend. Not a single cloud in sight to block the ball of fire's warm embrace.

It's been six years since you've picked up the habit. Your father offered you one when you turned eighteen. Younger you were shocked when he pressed it against his lips, taking a long drag. The smoke from his mouth filled your nostrils, a light but deadly mixture. You've never seen him smoke, he was never the type to but he was oddly familiar with lighting his and yours with his worn-out lighter.

In his words, he said something along the lines of "a way to ease the nerves." as he handed you a pre-rolled joint. He'd laughed at your face when you ended up in a massive coughing fit, tears burning in your eyes. But after a few more puffs you, unfortunately, got the hang of it.

It was obvious that your mother divorced him when you were thirteen. That talk of him back at that one park in your hometown made so much sense to you when you heard the news. That night, when you heard yelling in your kitchen, little you were so curious. At first, the loud wail erupting in the house was some sort of burglary.

Once you tiptoed to the designated area, you peered behind the wall. A tiny audible gasp caught your throat but another fit of cries masked yours. At the centre of the crime scene, your mother was crying in her arms at the dinner table. Her head was buried and her hair stuck to the side of her cheeks. Just behind her was your father. Stern. Unmoving and unblinking, as if he was nonchalant to the whole disaster before your eyes. But you saw chips of his stoic mask slip, afraid to keep his eyes on your weeping mother.

He was terrified to lose you.

He was terrified that he'd never see you again.

He was terrified of what would happen to you.

You thought they would stay together for your sake, helping to raise you. Being young made you too hopeful, maybe delusional as you believed he was coming back. You prayed from the bottom of your heart they would end up back together because of their love. That this whole fiasco was just another lover's quarrel and they would snap back to their senses to run into each other's arms. But perhaps the love you grasped for them was extinguished long ago.

You took another drag, the burning sensation tingled at your lips.

Every time you smelt the faint smell of smoke, you were transported back in time to see your father's grinning face.

"You're old enough to make your own decisions, angel. Just don't don't smoke in the house, it smells awful."

His voice plagued your mind, echoing into the void of your unless worries when you pressed the end against your lips.