Fuck - 1
“Sit tight, I’m gonna need you to keep time, come on, just snap, snap, snap your fingers for me. Good, good, now we’re making some progress, come on, just tap, tap, tap your toes to the beat.
And I believe, this may call for a proper introduction, well, don’t you see? I’m the narrator and this is just the prologue.” - The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage by Panic! At The Disco
The bus rolled down the highway, going over bumps that made me and the guy next to me jump involuntarily. He was smoking, and I was left to wonder how it would taste, if I ever got close enough to one to suck the weed out of it. Obviously not in my lifetime, since Mom and Dad had quit smoking. How was it that I wanted to start?
The guy turned to me, and let out a stream of white-gray smoke from his lips. He saw me looking at the butt of his cigarette, how it would light up every time he sucked from the other side. I wasn’t going to know how that felt like for a long time. Nope. Not until I turned 18 and moved far, far away from here and everyone. Maybe if somebody offered me one, but until people started talking to me, I wasn’t going to go near a cigarette for three years.
“Why are you staring?”
The guy was demanding my attention now. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? Answer him? Goddammit, I never knew riding the public transportation would be so stressful.
“I was staring at your cigarette.” I was satisfied with my answer, but the guy wouldn’t let me bask in the glory for just one second.
“Why?”
“Why what?” I answered automatically.
“Why are you staring at my cigarette?”
I frowned. “Why are you so nosy?”
“Just answer the fucking question,” he snapped.
“I’m curious.”
“About?”
There was an awkward pause of silence as I thought of an answer. “Um, about why you’re smoking inside a public bus.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Another pause. I didn’t know how to answer. Should I answer the question? Should I look away? Maybe change the subject? “You ask a lot of questions.”
He let out a ring of smoke above my head. “I want answers. Don’t tell me that’s a bad thing.”
“People usually say that when they want to hear the opposite.”
The guy’s eyes flickered down, and I forced myself to look away. Maybe I should change seats? Would that be rude? Or maybe I should make an excuse and step off the bus? I could catch the other one. I looked out the window to see the rain pouring down, making the pelt noises come frequently. Obviously that wasn’t going to happen. I was going to have to sit through this.
