Light. Suck. Inhale. Blow. Frank repeats this about four or five times before I want to snatch that fucking cigarette out from between his lips. I haven't had a cigarette in twenty-five days, 6 hours, and forty two minutes and I want to suck in all the toxic chemicals.
I want to feel the familiar tingle of the menthol in my throat; I want to feel the smoke creeping into my lungs and the familiar taste of nicotine on my tongue.
I want to fucking feel it. I need to feel it and he knows it.
So he sucks on his cigarette with the most obnoxious look of pleasure, like the cigarette is helping him achieve one of the best orgasms ever. It takes all of my self control not to pull my fist back and punch him right in the face.
"You're such a dick, you know that?"
Frank looks at me with his dilated eyes as if he is truly hurt and perplexed that I would even say that to him.
"What did I do?"
"What did you do, seriously? You're flaunting your stupid smoke right in front of my face... more than usual." I pull at a piece of frayed fabric sticking off of my Misfits shirt.
"Nuh uh." Frank says before putting the cigarette to his lips again.
"Yeah huh. You mine as well be giving it a blow job."
"Woah ho ho! First of all, I don't give blow jobs... I receive them; you should know this by now." Smoke exits his mouth as he speaks and he gives me a suggestive look before continuing, "Second of all, don't get all bitchy with me cause you're fienin' for a ciggie, you're the one that chose to quit. It's not my fault. And thirdly, I'm just enjoying my cigarette after a hard day of work."
I start laughing, "What hard work are you even talking about, Frank? Getting high on drugs you bought with your trust fund money and being a jackass all day isn't what I would call hard work."
"Hey hey no need for name calling."
"Whatever dude, you haven't had to work hard a day in your life."
"I know that but it doesn't mean that I can't pretend." He says with a lopsided grin. He takes one more drag from his cigarette before flicking it off the balcony.
"I don't even know why I'm friends with you." I say and roll my eyes even though I know exactly why I'm friends with him.
"You are always acting like-" My sentence is cut off by Frank putting his mouth on mine and giving me a shotgun.
The overwhelming feeling of wanting more rushes over my body all at once and I can't stop myself from pushing my tongue into Frank's mouth. I explore the inside of his mouth tasting the cigarette and the dull mint flavor from the gum he's chewing.
Frank knows this is killing me and all he does is brush his tongue against mine wanting me to remember exactly what I am missing. Does this count as a relapse?
I pull away from him just in case it is. I'm feeling a little embarrassed at my lack of self-control.
"I... uh..." I don't know what to say.
"You're welcome." Frank smirks and walks back into his apartment.
"Thank you" I mumble.