A filler until I start the sequel to Perfect Chemistry.
Basically, this is aone-shot of ideas that I got last night and I didn't want to make into a huge fan fiction.
You know who it is.
I suppose I started smoking about a month after we broke up. It was the nostalgia that drove me to it; I woke up to the wafting scent of your cigarettes every morning and fell asleep to it every nightback then.Our relationship strained you into regression of the habit. Now, in pathetic wallows, I sit on what was once our porch and take drag after drag. Each time I know it will never help me bring you back completely, but for one moment when the nicotine tingles the back of my throat and sends my mind into euphoria, I know I'm better off without you.
Our breakup was supposed to be something to feed the media. The new publicist, the one that convinced me to dye my hair brown, told us that we could get back together in a week or two andthe mediawould go crazy. We didn't have enough money to pay the mortgage. Our funds ran out and we were desperate; it was the only thing we could do.
It was very intense, very loud, very public, and very real. You started to pick at all the little things we had got into fights about before. You blamed me for our money problems; I couldn't take it. I started screaming at you for all the times I found hints of your infidelities. All along I knew you wouldn't be faithful, but I always had hope. I hoped that you had changed since your younger days; I hoped I was the one that would be enough to satisfy you; I hoped you would stop so I could ignore it all and just go on pretending it never happened.
Funny thing, huh? I wanted to pretend it never happened and I wasn't even in the wrong. Truthfully I knew that I would be nothing without you. But finally I snapped.
I confronted you about the late nights home, the sudden lack of interest in sex, the salty scent on your clothes, and all the numbers in your cell phone that belonged to girls I didn't know. You asked me, and I quote, 'You can't be serious?'
But I was. Oh, I was. I stormed out of the interview, sure that in two weeks, or even two years, I would not want to get back together with you. Now I defy my previous thoughts; sitting here only six months later, all I want is you.
You came to me multiple times after our breakup and opened up options that I promptly refused. Though I didn't refuse for long, and soon I became 'the other woman.' I read that you were dating that model, but I didn't care. Once every couple of weeks I forced myself to forget that you weren't single anymore, and we fell into the place of a very steamy affair.
I suppose smoking is a compensation for my addiction to you. Sure, you gave me a hit every once in a while, but it wasn't enough. The one-night stands weren't nearly enough.
It was just last night that you were here. I fell asleep to the wafting scent of your cigarettes and woke up to it this morning. Now you're gone.