Okay, so this got written very quickly last night. If there are typos, forgive me. My beta is on vacation! (Hello, by the way - hope you're having a good time!)
Quitting doesn't always mean you've given up. A look at Jack and Sam's addictions...
Smoke
By: Mariel
He holds the cigarette up in front of him, examines its pristine condition, and then sighs. Anticipation runs through his veins. Reaching into his pocket, he rescues a lighter from its depths.
Slowly, savouring the act, he puts the cigarette between his lips and brings the lighter to its tip. Lighting it quickly, he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, enjoying the harshness of smoke rasping its way over the back of his throat and deep down into his lungs.
It feels good. Being here on the balcony, cool air brushing his face and the day behind him, feels good too, but not as good as the feel of nicotine curling into his system. He holds his breath for a brief moment, then opens his eyes and watches as he exhales a controlled stream of grey.
He'd bought the pack today. Just this one, he'd told himself. Just this one pack to get him through the next couple of days and he'd be okay.
Leaning on the edge of the balcony, he brings the cylinder to his lips and inhales again.
"What are you doing?!"
Jack starts slightly, but continues to stare ahead.
"What does it look like?" he asks gruffly.
"Jack, you haven't had a cigarette since..."
He almost smiles when her voice trails off into silence. Almost.
"I thought everyone went home," he says, still refusing to turn. He's trying to avoid thinking of past cigarettes.
"They have."
"Then what are you-" he stops abruptly. Sudden knowing makes him turn towards her. As soon as he sees her face, he is certain. "You're out here for a cigarette before you go meet up with Martin," he accuses.
He says Martin's name so easily she almost winces. Almost.
You made your bed, you lie in it.
She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out her own pack of cigs. Freeing one from it, she mutters, "So shoot me."
He grunts. "I won't have to. Those will kill you anyway."
"Ha, ha," she says, flicking her lighter expertly and inhaling deeply. Tilting her head back, she spews her own plume of smoke into the atmosphere. Moving to stand beside him at the balcony rail, she leans her elbows on it and examines the cigarette between her fingers. "I just bought this pack to get me through the next couple of days. I need something to help with the stress."
"Yeah," he says, unable to argue her reasoning.
They both take a drag from their cigarettes and then exhale slowly.
A surprisingly companionable silence settles over them.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Flick.
"They're very addictive," she finally says in a detached, matter-of-fact voice.
As she examines the burning tip of her cigarette, he stares down at the traffic below. "Sometimes I think all the good things are," he finally agrees. He lifts his wrist to examine his cigarette. "I miss them. I don't think I'll ever quite get over them."
Inhale.
Exhale.
Breath made visible in city air.
Continuing to examine the smoking cylinder, she flicks her ashes expertly, then says, "I know they're no good for me, but I can't help but want them sometimes."
She sounds almost sorrowful.
He knows just how she feels.
Inhale.
"I crave them, sometimes."
The words exhale in a smokey cloud past her lips and into the air.
Flick.
His voice is husky. "Yeah. Wanting them so bad makes it hard. It would be a lot easier if I didn't care for them so much. Then I wouldn't miss them the way I do."
He finally looks at her. And wonders at this weakness of theirs.
"When I want one, I don't remember the reasons I shouldn't have one," he says. "I just remember how good they were - how they felt against my lips, how they tasted, how good they made me feel." His eyes probe hers. "No matter what anyone says, there was good there," he continues.
"Comfort," she offers, her body remembering.
"Companionship," he adds, wanting to hold her.
"Satisfaction," she says, turning to look into the far distance.
There's nothing there.
"It's been hard, giving them up," she admits, her voice soft.
"I know," he says. "Me, too."
His voice sounds sad.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Flick.
"Quitting... I know it was the right thing to do, but sometimes..." Her voice trails off.
Again, he knows exactly how she feels.
They both nod, trying to convince themselves.
And they do.
Almost.
Silence.
She finds she can't leave the topic alone.
"It's a funny thing," she says. "The wanting never seems to go away." She flicks a quick glance in his direction, meets his dark stare, then looks away quickly. Resumes examining her burning cigarette instead. "It's always there, even when I think I've got it beat."
Flick.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Jack drops his cigarette and wordlessly grinds it under his heel.
She speaks again, wondering if he will understand. "Finding a substitute is hard, too," she offers. "People tell you to just quit and move on, to just find something else, but-"
She moves to grind her cigarette beneath her boot.
"But you can't, because there's nothing else out there quite like it. Never has been, never will be," Jack says, finishing her thought exactly. "It doesn't matter if it doesn't make sense. It's just the way it is."
And always will be.
She looks up as though hearing an unspoken thought. Their eyes meet and hold for a long, delicious moment.
"Yeah," she says softly. She can't look away, but she can resist the urge to reach out. "That's it exactly. It's hard for people to understand. They don't get it."
Silence.
The air is fresh. It feels good to be here.
"Want another before we go?" Jack asks, not wanting to leave.
She nods, unable to resist.
End.