Strangeness and Charm

Addicted to You

A/N:

Prompt: "(Angst) one of them is caught smoking a cigarette in order to get over it, the other expresses her strong disapproval towards the other smoking."

I just focused on the word smoking and addiction and built my story around that.

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Lauren's PoV

I'm so fucking weak.

The thought of your sweet scent invades my mind - inescapable, addicting. I crave for you. Your taste lingers in my mouth, making my throat constrict with longing and want; the memories of your essence filling me up as I take a hit from you clouds my judgment, seeing you light up as I inhale all of you, devouring everything - it makes me so damn weak.

Why do I miss you so much?

I know you're bad for me. You and I aren't meant to be together. But why do I crave you? Why does my heart clench painfully whenever I think of you?

You'll be the death of me, we both know that, and yet, here I am, admitting that I'm utterly and unquestionably dependent on you.

Fuck you.

I sit here, in the middle of a crowded cafe, sun rays through the glass windows brightening up the whole place; people all around me doing their own business, faceless strangers occasionally glancing at me. The glaring contradiction makes me wanna laugh out loud - that despite the fact that I am drowning amidst a sea of nameless people, most of which are probably wondering why someone like me is sitting here looking desperately miserable, still, I am alone in a crowd.

So why do I even try, right? Why do I rob myself of the satisfaction of your company? Fear of death? We're all gonna die anyway.

Fuck it.

I don't care anymore.

I miss it.

I miss you.

Playing with you with my fingers, twirling you around, smelling your intoxicating scent before finally putting you in my mouth and igniting you. It's the ultimate satisfaction.

I give in to my desires and you fulfill your purpose; to be devoured by me because you are made for me. I light you up, inhaling so deeply the cool smoke snaking through my throat to my lungs and back out through my nostrils and mouth - damn, what a spiritual experience. It's like incense, cleansing my entire body, releasing all my stress and anxiety.

I stare at my menthol cigarette in between my fingers, my trusty friend, always here for me during my darkest moments. You're my bestfriend, I whisper to it, half-wishing it will answer back.

You make me forget.

You make me forget about her...

I'm still sitting here, in the middle of this cafe, this time there are less people, less noise, less judging eyes thrown my way. It's getting darker outside, mirroring the darkness inside my mind. The waiter stops by my table to refill my coffee and give me an empty ashtray. I've lost count how many times he has taken away all my dead cigarette butts. I did that. I killed all of those cigarette sticks, snuffed out their short-lived existence because I'm a miserable person who is dependent on a pack of poison and a girl that I wish I could forget about.

It's just a temporary fix, sad to say. My craving for cigarettes to try to satiate my hunger for Camila is comparable to eating junk food; the satisfaction is temporary. Fake. It dupes me into thinking that I'm fulfilled, but in reality, I'm utterly empty.