Hey lovely Gwuncan shippers! Thanks for reading c:
Chimneys
GWEN POV
I lit my cigarette carefully, trying not to burn my fingers again. I was still new to this. I put my lips on the flue and took a breath in, anticipating the reaction I had scientifically deduced from the last cigarette I'd smoked-currently ashes in the gravel behind me. I let the smoke hit the back of my throat until I was sure I had a decent lungful. As if on cue, I then retched and sputtered and hacked as my shoulders heaved rhythmically with my lungs and I had to steady myself against a tree to keep from falling to my knees.
Eventually I just sat down and puffed on the last of my cigarette, giving in to my fits of coughing. I watched the dwindling embers reach the blue smudge where my lips had been; it looked like a scene some poser wannabe kid would post on whatever social media they used, captioned with the lyrics of their favorite sad song. I threw the butt out into the river, mildly disgusted with the thought of being compared to someone like that.
It wasn't that I thought I was better than Starbucks loving, selfie taking, ponytail wearing, fake tanned cheerleaders; I just didn't like them. I didn't respect them, and I definitely didn't look up to them like everyone else seemed to do. This was based solely on my experiences with this type of female.
So there I sat, alone on the side of the river, pale as printer paper, skinny as a twig, boobs-perky as a hardwood floor, hacking on clove cigarettes next to a pile of melting snow. It was spring, and although I loved the barren wasteland winter delivered, I appreciated the rising temperatures.
Looking out at the icy river made me realize how badly my throat was hurting. I cursed myself for not grabbing a water bottle or something before walking all the way out here.
I know what you're thinking; why would a girl of average intelligence go running off blindly with only a pack of cancer sticks? Well I'll tell you. It was to stare blearily eyed out at the rushing river in solitude and do something self-destructive, because that's what people with broken hearts do.
DUNCAN POV
I ducked behind a building and waited, trying to keep control of my heavy breathing. I briefly considered joining the track team to get in better shape, but quickly shook the crazy thought from my head. Me? A jock? Yeah, right. I'd rather go back to juvie.
Speaking of good ol' juvenile detention, I stood motionless against the wall in hopes that I wouldn't be caught and actually sent back. I supposed being a jock wouldn't be that bad. I heard two pairs of feet clomp by, jingling keys accompanying their every step. Honestly, I was surprised that the janitors hadn't called the cops yet; I mean, I did spray paint a giant blue skull & crossbones on the side of the school. That shit wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon, without some serious elbow grease. Why would janitors be at school on a Sunday night anyway? They needed to form a union or something.
After a few more seconds, the footsteps seemed to have died away. Taking the opportunity, I launched off the side of the building and ran as quietly as I could manage to the parking lot, hiding amongst the cars. I skidded on the gravel and dropped to one knee, concealed by a giant, ugly orange Escalade. I knew if I could get through the soccer field, I could make it to the bridge and I'd be home free.
Suddenly, there was a beam of light next to my shoe. I quickly yanked my foot into the shadows.
" 'Oy! The kid's probably hiding in the car park!" a gruff voice called out.
And then it was time to run.
Pressing my hand to my pocket to stifle any metal clinking between the spray paint, my knife, and a handful of loose change, I pawed around the gravel with my other hand until I felt a sizable, sharp rock. I picked it up and chucked it to the right of where I was hiding, hoping it wouldn't seriously scrape a car.
"Did you hear that?" a muffled voice asked excitedly.
"Shaddup!" another voice hissed back, "Go check over there."
Taking advantage of my genius distraction, I ran off towards the soccer field. The worn down rubber soles of my shoes were soundless against the gravel. I felt as if I'd made it half way across the soggy field before I heard undistinguished yelling, although I swore I heard someone say 'bridge'.
Those pricks didn't give up easy. I decided to cut through the woods to the riverbank, hoping I could find a shallow place to cross instead of running all the way to the bridge. After that, it was just a short jog home. I pulled my hood up over my head and flew past bare branches, ignoring the tiny cuts I felt springing up on my hands. The woods were thin enough, but the ground was lumpy and I wasn't graceful. I tripped a few times and got a nice face full of dirt. I was spitting leaves out of my mouth when I saw the river; it looked shallow, but it was also quite the distance to safety.
God DAMN that water was freezing. I crossed in a few quick strides and leapt to the riverbank, splashing watery mud in all directions. I could feel the cold water sloshing around in my shoes. Starting the short hike up the hill between the river and the bike path, I patted my pockets to make sure all my belongings were in place. Spray paint? Check. Pocketknife? Check. Wallet? Phone? Lighter? Check, check, check. Juice box? Check. ...It's important to stay hydrated! Doing criminal stuff is hard work.
I walked to the top, squishing with every step, and looked around to make sure I hadn't been followed. Then, I heard it.
Coughing.
My heart picked up double time, and I slowly turned to see the janitors with angry faces and police officers with their heavy silver flashlights.
Only, it wasn't any of those dudes. It was just a girl, huddled against a tree, hacking on a cigarette. I could see short blue hair stuffed underneath her black knit cap, so I immediately had a connection with her-people with crazy hair colors stick together, and that's a fact.
And suddenly a flash overcame me, and all I could see was me, four years younger, huddled under the bridge up the road, trying, and failing, to smoke my first cigarette. I remembered how badly my throat had hurt and how, in a moment of panic, I'd scooped a mouthful of the murky water to drink. I remember why I'd been driven to smoke that first cigarette, and I figured that this girl was probably in a similar situation.
I started walking over, and she of course looked up because no one could possibly miss the loud, wet squelching of my steps. She made no move to leave, but she stared at me like a baby deer in approaching headlights. Had I really looked that scary? Awesome.
As I got closer, I inspected this girl a bit. She was tiny, and she was wearing a lot of makeup; her lips were painted blue and she was sporting raccoon eyeliner. I'd encountered a goth.
"What do you want?" she asked, frowning, when I was like ten feet away. Her voice cracked.
I put up my hands. "Whoa, take it easy, honey. I couldn't help but notice your sorry attempt at smoking and thought I'd offer some tips."
"Oh," was all she said.
I motioned to the spot beside her. "Can I sit?"
She shrugged. It seemed like she was trying to be nonchalant about my presence, but I definitely caught her checking me out as I took a seat next to her. The grass was surprisingly dry.
I pulled out a pack of my own and easily lit up a stog, breathing it in like it was air.
"How did you do that without coughing, and like, dying?" she asked.
"Practice," I said simply, taking another drag. I blew a warm puff of smoke in her direction, to which she made a face and flapped her hand in front of her nose. I showed her the proper way to hold her lighter and taught her a few rules. Don't get spit on the filter, don't wait until the dead end of the cigarette to put it out, and try to remember a drink if you're just a beginner because you WILL have a roasted throat.
"Here," I said, offering her my unopened juice box. I could tell she needed it.
She smiled, apparently bewildered by my choice of fluid, and accepted. After a few noisy slurps, she lowered the box from her mouth and held out her hand to me. "I'm Gwen," she said, trying to keep a serious face.
I grinned my best toothy grin and took her hand. "I'm Duncan."
GWEN POV
When I first set my eyes on Duncan, I could only see the silhouette of a man. My thoughts immediately jumped to the-boy-who-broke-my-heart (who will hence forth be abbreviated as TBWBMH), and how maybe he'd come home to find me to tell me that he was sorry and that he loved me, but I quickly closed the door on those thoughts. If my memory were laid out like a series of halls and rooms, there would be an entire neighborhood of connecting apartment buildings dedicated to TBWBMH alone. It was better to close that door than to get lost in those halls; the air in those apartments was full of poison, after all.
I dug my nails into the skin of my wrist to keep the terrible thoughts from pouring down my cheeks.
When Duncan came into clearer view, I could see that he was not, in fact, TBWBMH, but rather a grungy, dirty boy I'd never seen before with limp green hair dangling over his pierced face and pockets presumably bulging with spray paint cans and switchblades. Trouble seeped from his every pore.
But then he sat down next to me, showed me how to not burn my fingers on my lighter, and gave me a juice box to slake my burnt throat. Grape. Not my favorite, but still appreciated. I held out my hand and he shook it; there was something lovely about it.
"So, what are you doing out here anyway?" he asked, tapping ash from the tip of his cigarette. The way he asked made me think he already had an idea. He continued, "There's lots of other places for a minor to smoke, you know."
I didn't reply. I stared straight out at the rushing water and I thought about the day TBWBMH introduced me to hookah; he made smoking look like an art. He created cloudy ballerinas that danced circles around the room. It was beautiful. I snatched Duncan's cigarette from his fingers and took a long, angry drag. I wanted to cough, but I held it in behind a glare. Smoking wasn't pretty anymore.
Duncan nodded knowingly, letting me keep the steaming cigarette for myself. I felt a wave of selfishness, but I let it go. He's the one who sat by me.
"Someone broke your heart, huh?" he asked casually, like he'd just mentioned something arbitrary, like the weather.
"What?! No?!"
...I had never been very good at lying.
"I get it!" he said, pulling out another cigarette, "I've been there before."
"You have?" I asked skeptically. Maybe he once loved a piercing rack.
Duncan was quiet. I looked over, and clearly it was his turn to stare out at the river in deep thought. I started to rethink my judgmental thoughts when he spoke. "So, what do you wanna do about this person?"
"That person is a he, thank you very much!" I said. Duncan smiled mischievously. His eyes glowed orange from the lighter's glow.
"You never know," he said, shrugging. I grinned back at him, so he continued. "So are you going to win him back? Egg his house? Hold him hostage until he loves you? What's the plan, Pasty?" He was still smiling, and I began to chuckle. I'd never considered taking TBWBMH hostage; it seemed so absurd and opposite of my intentions I just had to laugh.
"Well?" Duncan prodded, stopping to suck another breath of smoke from his pipe. My laughter died. There was only one acceptable thing I could say.
"I...um," I stopped talking and sighed. Suddenly I was exhausted. "I just want to get over it," I said weakly, burying my head in my arms.
But, I didn't want to get over it. I wanted him to love me again. I wanted to feel the sugary warmth of catching myself smiling because of him. I wanted to feel his arms around me and his fingers curling into my sides. I wanted the words he had said to have meant something.
Duncan waited a few moments to speak, like he either zoned out of the conversation or he was actually thinking of a response. Out of the silence he said abruptly, "I don't think you can ever really get over someone. I think you just have to man up and push through it until it doesn't...hurt so bad." I peeked up from my arms to look at him; he was leaned back on the tree and looking up at the stars. He exhaled, and a stream of smoke poured from his lips.
All at once, I had an overwhelming need to get away from Duncan. He watched with a questioning look as I jumped to my feet. "I, um, I think, I, um, I need to go," I sputtered, turning to leave. Duncan ignored me and snapped around to look behind him, listening to something far beyond me.
"Wait!" he whispered sharply. He stood up, grabbed my upper arms, and pulled me back against the tree we had been sitting by. I was completely caught off guard.
"Duncan!" I cried, "What are you-"
"Shush!" he scolded. He was looking off behind me. I did not like being shushed.
"What the hell-" I started to yell; he clamped his hand over my mouth.
"I'm serious. Be quiet," he whispered. I began to hear voices off in the distance.
"Who's that?" I asked underneath his palm, a muffled sound. Duncan just moved into me, pinning me against the tree. He was surprisingly warm, with the exception of the bottom of his pants. Cold water dripped from his jeans and seeped through my tights. I ripped his hand away from my mouth, but he was too focused on whoever was coming to care. We stayed like that for thirty seconds, give or take, with only our breathing audible. Then I saw beams of light, and I heard the voices from before approaching.
Duncan stopped peering around the tree and brought his face centimeters away from mine. Our eyes locked. He looked so...protective. I was certain I looked positively terrified.
We waited another minute as the flashlight-wielding group went by, static radio chatter accompanying them. Duncan and I were paralyzed in place. I didn't feel so scared anymore, because watching Duncan was weirdly calming. It was obvious he was used to hiding, and he knew what he was doing. His eyes would flicker from my own to behind me at the people, who, by the way, were directly next to us at that point. I watched his sticky lips part open a tiny crack to let a silent breath of air out; it smelled like smoke and pink bubblegum. I counted the piercings on his face. One two three four. And his ears. One two three four five. I wondered if he had anything else pierced, or maybe tattooed.
Eventually, Duncan backed up from me, grinning ear to ear.
"Who were those people?" I hissed, shoving his shoulder with a shaky hand.
He continued to smile. "You didn't think you could hang out with a criminal and not face off with the cops once or twice, did you?"
I was speechless. We were almost caught by the cops for smoking, along with whatever else Duncan may have done, and he was just standing there, grinning like an idiot.
"You idiot!" I yelled.
His dark brows furrowed. "I just helped you not get caught, Sunshine, so you better change your tone." He looked at his palm and made a face when he saw my blue lipstick smeared there. He wiped it on the sleeve of his hoodie.
Again, I was speechless. Duncan just smirked and began walking backwards up the trail. "See ya around, Gwen." He turned around.
As I watched Duncan walk away, any feeling of anger or frustration left me and it was all I had not to run after him. "Duncan!" I froze. "...Goodbye!" I called pitifully, rooted to where I stood. But when he turned around to smile at me, I knew that it was not goodbye.