Disclaimer: You know the drill. The brothers aren't mine. No suing.
Author's Note: All right. We're halfway to the end! And just for the record, I've never smoked a cigarette in my life, so I have no idea what withdrawal would really be like. I'm just kind of guessing. Hope it's effective. Thank you a hundredfold to my gorgeous reviewers. You are the best. :)
I'll let you in on a little secret, kids. My contribution to society. Philosophy According to Jack Mercer. Cold turkey's only pleasant the day after Thanksgiving. When it comes to breaking a nicotine addiction, it's a bitch of the worst variety.
After forty-eight hours without so much as a drag from a cigarette, I was ready to give up. Actually, that's a lie. I'd been ready to give up two hours into this cold turkey approach.
Nicotine withdrawal isn't really a pleasant experience. Definitely not something a sane man would voluntarily bring upon himself. But then, no one ever has been stupid enough to label me "sane."
Still, I don't recommend the cold turkey method. Sure, it sounds admirable. A sudden withdrawal. So noble. Instant detox. Yeah, right. Trust me, if you believe that, you're an idiot.
Between the constant pounding of my head and the way I couldn't seem to stop vibrating, it really was a nightmare. I couldn't sit still, and yet I had no energy to do anything. I alternated between wanting cigarettes and wanting to beat the stuffing out of my oldest brother, who I blamed whole-heartedly for my suffering.
As a means of self-preservation and to avoid turning my entire family against me, I had holed myself up in my room and was furiously working on my music. Anything to get my mind off smoking. It was barely working, though, and I was bordering on insanity.
It was about five o'clock in the evening when my peaceful reclusion was interrupted. "JACK!" Bobby thundered from the bottom of the stairs. "JACK!" I didn't say anything for a minute, and this time he had obviously climbed to the top of the stairs, because this repetition of my name nearly deafened me. "JACK!"
I knew he wouldn't stop until I answered, and it wasn't doing much for my throbbing head, so I got up off my bed, still clutching my guitar, and threw open my door. "WHAT?" I yelled back, about to march forward but stopping short with a squeak, a little surprised to find myself practically face-to-face with him.
Bobby didn't even blink. "Does it suck yet?"
"What." My tone was totally bored.
"The withdrawal, idiot."
"No, Bobby, it's like the biggest orgasm in the world."
"As if you'd know," he said. "Look, just wanted to see if you wanted some coffee or something."
"Gee, Bobby, thanks." I lifted my right hand to his eye level, arching a brow. Bobby smirked a little as he noticed how it trembled. I punched him in the shoulder before letting my hand fall, but Bobby didn't seem to care. "Yeah. Coffee. Get some caffeine in me. I'm sure that'll do wonders for my shakiness."
He pretended to be hurt. "Man, I'm just trying to help."
"Don't bother. You're the one who got me into this mess. I should have weaned myself off smoking little by little, you know. This cold turkey bullshit is the devil."
"You promis―"
"Yes!" I cut in. "I know! I promised Mom! God, Bobby, will you stop reminding me? You're like the world's most annoying broken record!"
"It'll get better," Bobby assured me with a shrug. "I swear it will. In the meantime, stop being such an asshole. We all kind of hate you right now."
For a minute, I entertained a fantasy of smashing my guitar into his head. He's lucky indeed that I love my instrument so much, or I might have fulfilled it. I was sorely tempted, but I settled instead for saying, "I'm not your biggest fan either."
"Whatever. Quit jackin' off in your room and come downstairs, would you?"
"Fine," I relented with a sigh, going back into my room and placing my guitar in its case.
"Your stupid guitar will be fine," my brother informed me from the doorway. "Could use a little fresh air, if you ask me."
"Shut up, Bobby," I said as I closed the case and latched it securely. I left it on the bed and followed him downstairs.
Family time and withdrawal. I had a feeling the two wouldn't mix well.
As it turns out, I was right.
I was so miserable from wanting a cigarette that I didn't seem to have a single nice thing to say, and Angel and Jerry looked ready to jump me. They were tiring of my attitude much faster than Bobby, who seemed amused by it. I wasn't sure which annoyed me more. Actually, it might be better to say what annoyed me most, because everything seemed to be pissing me off.
Jerry was cooking dinner for us tonight. I should have been relieved to be off kitchen duty for once, but I was too busy trying to remember if I'd hidden any cigarettes somewhere in the house. Normally, I'd keep a secret stash, but either I didn't have one this time, or I'd forgotten the location. Either way, it was irritating.
Ironically, after Bobby's insistence that I come down and complete the brotherly foursome, he spent about fifteen minutes in the kitchen reading the recipe out loud for Jerry and making snide remarks at Sofi, then retired into the living room and turned on the T.V.
Angel was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, Sofi on his lap, and they wouldn't stop whispering and nuzzling. I was doing everything I could to ignore them, and consequently was getting a little mad at Jerry for not even bothering to attempt conversation as he peeled potatoes nearby. So I made a few disgusted faces (which went unnoticed by the lovebirds but earned me a consolatory smirk from Jerry) from my seat on top of the kitchen table and tried to distract myself by listening to Bobby's play-by-play of the hockey game that was on, but soon couldn't stand it anymore. So I retreated into a sulking trance.
About thirty seconds went by before the image of a cigarette popped into my mind. It was perfect. All slender and white and...perfect. It beckoned to me. The craving came over me so fast, it left me reeling. I swear I tasted it. I smelled it. I heard myself release a deep, drawn-out sigh of longing, but no one commented. What I wouldn't give―
"Quit." Angel's voice startled me out of my daze.
Startled, I opened my eyes, finding him staring at me with a look that indicated he was about to smack me. Undeterred, I curled my upper lip at him. "Well, look who came up for air."
"Quit," he repeated.
I was genuinely confused. "Quit what?"
"Tapping your feet. It's fucking annoying."
"Oh," I replied lamely, suddenly aware that I was doing so. Stupid nervous habit. "Sorry. Didn't realize." I glared down at my worn-out red sneakers, hoping, I guess, to intimidate the shoes into knocking off the twitching. They apparently weren't easily frightened and merrily continued to drum away, even after I narrowed my eyes threateningly at them. Finally, I resorted to pressing my knees together and leaning on them with my elbows, balancing precariously on the edge of the table. I lowered my head, staring glumly at the floor as I lapsed into silence again.
Out of my peripheral vision,I saw Sofi pick her purse up off the floor and retrieve a slender tube. I rolled my eyes as she uncapped it. Lipstick. Great. The last thing she needed was more lipstick. Oblivious to my mental groaning, she applied it carefully, then pursed her reddened lips at Angel, who purred appreciatively. Disgusted, I made a face at Jerry, who chuckled understandingly as he stirred in a half-cup of some brown (and might I add, somewhat chunky) liquid that I'm pretty sure I'm better off not being able to identify.
Then came the magic words. "Want some gum?" Startled, I looked up at Sofi, who sported an inquiring but inviting expression.
This marked the first moment I didn't hate her. "That'd be great," I said with a little forced bravado, but I offered her what I hoped was a kind smile to make up for it.
She rifled through the contents for a minute, then pulled out a pack of Big Red. Delighted, I accepted the whole thing. Anything to keep my mouth busy. She didn't complain that I had gotten greedy. I'm sure she was just glad that I'd shut up for awhile.
Seventeen sticks later, my withdrawal had not improved. Neither had my attitude.
Jerry groaned after I made a particularly smart-ass comment about his magenta sweater. He'd finally had enough. "Okay, Jackie, tomorrow you're trying the nicotine gum. This cold turkey thing is making us as miserable as you."
"Oh, yeah?" I challenged.
Everyone in the house sounded equally frustrated as they chorused, "Yeah!"
All right. The people have spoken. Starting tomorrow, nicotine gum it is. Majority rules around the Mercer house.
To be continued...