Cigarette Smoke V.II // FILLIE

Dumb Grade

f i n n

Her shining caramel and eyes, the clear whites proving her fairly well obtained sleep schedule, gaze at me in an almost unsteady manner. As if we're she to look away, I'd pull a slight of hand on her.

"Don't look so scared, Brit. This was you're idea, wasn't it?" I remark slyly, watching as she hesitantly adverts her gaze to the run down streets and unkept lawns that surround the dark lowrider- the only partially clean thing in the whole damn neighborhood.

With a lazy snicker I finally roll into my own driveway to the vacant two story, shed-like home. Where the wooden panels are practically peeling off the sides of the house and damaged with dirt; two or three shingles lying still on the uneven, grassy ground beside the "house".

I swiftly take a turn around my challenger as to grab our belongings, grabbing my old tattered bag along with her black leathered one- handing the black to her as I stand at her side.

I look at the home with a dreary sigh, running a hand through my thick locks before turning to catch her reaction to my living situation.

To my surprise, she simply takes a two second scan of the building before instantly starting for the front door as her eyes wander about her surroundings, as if she wasn't disgusted or displeased whatsoever.

I find myself raising a brow her way, intrigued by the unfamiliar reaction to my "humble abode," emphasis on the "humble."

Her shoulder-length, light brown waves wash over her shoulder as she turns back to face me once reaching the porch.

"You just going to stand there all day or give me a house tour?" Millie queries through a slight smile.

Her dimples deepen as I simply raise my brows with the soft click of my tongue, quickly following her as I shove my hands deep into my jeans.

Allowing me to walk in front of her, I approach the familiar front, wooden door that hangs on the rusted hinges with the strength similar of a thin string tied to an anvil.

"After you, Brit." I direct while stepping inside, holding open the door as I enter.

She smiles, pleased with my simple act as she whispers a posh thank you while her eyes venture deeper into my home, still stained with the stench of David's unfinished beers and cigarettes stomped into the carpet.

"Fair warning, it looks horrible- and smells even worse." I advise, closing the door behind her as I patiently watch her walk around the living room and inspect every inch of it with her curious eyes.

Reaching the wooden table pushed against the wall, her soft finger tips graze over a fairly new splint in the old wood- a show of the abuse that once lived within these walls.

Her eyes furrow before realization widens them, her silent swallow enough to prove she's put two and two together.

With a shallow breath, her eyes abruptly gaze up at me curiously, "Where's your room?"

I take a deep breath as I start past her, shuffling up the short lived staircase and a little ways down the sideways "L" shaped hallway before reaching the dark wooden door, complimented with punch marks dented in from both sides; exterior and interior.

I suddenly become aware of the characteristics of the door as I uncomfortably swallow, only imaging what could be going through her kind mind right now as I turn the knob, knowing she'll curiously follow behind.

"This is it." I admit restlessly, turning to watch her gaze shift from every corner of my bedroom.

My unmade queen-sized bed I inherited from my grandparents passing, the clutter of boots and vans at the foot of it, the scattered clothing among my floor, my creaked open window that reveals the cigarette burns printed into the wooden frame, and to top it off- a ceiling fan with one significantly bent blade.