After muttering a quick thanks to the judgmental woman at the checkout counter of the 7-Eleven mini-mart, I soon find myself shivering outside in the freezing night, doing the one thing I thought I'd never do.
Looking for that red bandanna.
But there is not a car, nor is there a shadow or a trace of any kind that could point to its, or Ashton's, whereabouts.
Nothing.
Ready to give up, I sigh and turn towards the direction of my own car, when suddenly a raspy voice sounds out from somewhere in the darkness surrounding me.
"What do you want?"
I instantly know it's the bandanna kid.
Ashton Irwin.
I stay quiet as I follow the sound of his voice, soon finding myself face-to-face with a familiar shadow. I look up and meet his gaze, just observing.
Ashton's back lies against the bricks along the side of the small store, his sneakers tracing the concrete below. His overall expression is defeated, exhausted. But he even so he still glares at me with what I assume is hatred, due to the fact that one of the reasons he couldn't buy his cigarettes without an ID was because of me.
"Do you have a lighter, Irwin?" I ask him, mustering up all the confidence I can.
Ashton, clearly taken by surprise, squints at me in the darkness. His eyes finally find the pack of cigarettes in my hands, and he stares at them in disbelief. "You smoke?"
"Bad habit," I shrug hopelessly, he continues to stare. "I'm trying to stop, honestly."
"Honestly, I'm not." Ashton replies, suddenly snapping back to reality. "I plan on smoking 'til I die."
Despite this strange comment, I hesitantly offer my new cigarette pack up to Ashton. He takes one out of the box quickly, avoiding my eyes.
Seconds later he passes me a lighter, something he took from one of the many pockets of his ripped, faded blue jeans. I accept it, and within moments we're both engulfed in smoke.
"Thanks." Ashton exhales from next to me, his eyes slowly closing. "I really needed this."
I nod once, even though he probably can't see me. But then again, my eyes have started to readjust to the dim light, making it easier to pick out Ashton's features from the brick wall. And he's been out here longer than I have.
If I can see him, he can certainly see me.
"No problem." I add, just in case he can't. I want him to know it really wasn't a problem--I'm glad to help.
We stay like this for awhile, jeans against the cool brick and lungs filled with smoke. I take one last puff of my cigarette as it sparks, then drop the butt onto the pavement below.
I sigh as I stare down at it, then crush it with the heel of my Converse.
Another promise, down the drain.
I always end up doing this: breaking the rules, breaking my own bets. Everything I touch seems to crumble and fall apart over time, which somewhat explains my current situation.
I have no life outside my studies, no money outside of my parents' bank account, and no promises I can seem to keep.
But standing here with Ashton in the silent night, I can't help but remember why I came to the convenience store in the first place.
Food.
Setting aside my troubling thoughts, I fumble with my bag nervously, tugging open the zipper to reach the pack of Oreos I bought earlier.
