• She stepped out into the world paranoid that everyone was watching her. Fiddling with ther pockets, knowing what was in them--she knew it was wrong. She was dead set against it. Then why? Why did it feel like everyone was looking at her? "Why are they judging me?" she asked herself. She felt as if everyone knew what she was going to do, and that they knew what was in her pockets. She walked along the grassy path towards no set destination.

    "Anywhere but here. Anywhere alone, where no one is watching me. So no one knows." Aimlessly she stumbled about to find a place where no people could be found. She must have passed over a thousand faces on the way. At last she found a spot where she thought she could be safe. Alone. She took the things out of her pockets and started to work them. Unraveling the wrapping on the package and throwing it away, she was nervous. What would her family say? It had only been a month and a half since she started college and she was already doing this? When she finally took the thing she was after out from where it rested, people started to pour out of the building behind her.

    Class had just ended. Hurriedly she shoved the package in her back pocket and concealed the thing she took out of it in her hand. She walked with the flow of the crowd, and tried to find a new, safer place. She walked on for a few minutes and spotted a place where she knew no one could see her--a dumpster surrounded by brick walls. She walked toward it, all the while looking around to see if anyone could see where she was going. No questions asked. No one needs to know. When she finally reached the spot, she crouched down behind the dumpster to ensure that she couldnt be seen. She revealed the thing in her hand, pulled the object she was hiding in her other pocket out, and proceeded to work them again. She lifted the formerly concealed object to her lips and let it rest between them. Covering the tip while she worked the flame coming out of the spout, she made the end of the object glow an orangy-red. Immediately, a snake of smoke poured out of the tip of it.

    Inhale. Wait.
    Exhale. Repeat.

    She sat there doing the very thing she hated.

    Inhale. Wait.
    Exhale. Repeat.

    She knew how to hold it. She knew how to breathe. She grew up knowing the tricks.

    Inhale. Wait.
    Exhale. Repeat.

    No coughing. No watery eyes. Just a blank expression on her face.

    Inhale. Wait.
    Exhale. Repeat.

    The object grew smaller and smaller and it started to burn faster.

    As she finally finished, she stood up and looked around the dumpster to see if anyone was coming. She didn't feel sick or dizzy as she anticipated she might; maybe it had something to do with the fact that she grew up around a father who did the very same thing. She again concealed the object, but this time it was smaller and easier to hide. She walked with a quick step and her head down. As she passed the thousands of faces again, this time they all looked at her as she passed by. Could they smell it? It was as if she was an angel thrown from heaven, to be scorned by everyone that could see her. She stayed as far away from those faces as she could, hurrying to the place where she began. Nearer and nearer she approached the starting point, and yet, it seemed so far away.

    She finally reached the door she walked through to enter the world. Dropping the concealed object on the ground, she crushed it beneath her heel. "Never again..." She vowed. It was out of her system. No more wondering. No more urge. All that was to come was the guilt. What would he say? How would he react? She had been nagging him to quit for the past 3 days, and here she was doing the very thing she asked him to not to. She thought up a million excuses as to why, but she knew she had to tell him. She had never kept anything important from him, and never would. It would kill her from the inside out if she ever attempted to.

    The time approached. Her boyfriend called telling her of his accomplishment of only 4 for the day. 4! And she told him indirectly. The fear of confrontation was too great for her. He wasn't angry. He wasn't disappointed. He blamed himself and took the count to 5 as he talked to her. He sounded sad, mentally kicking himself for putting the idea in her head. She kept explaining to him that it wasn't his fault. The urge had always been there. It had, but he wouldn't listen. She almost cried. He made her promise to never do it again. She promised. He promised he would quit, and she trusted him. She didn't trust many. He told her her loved her and that the habit was like hell for him. He didn't want her to go through it like he was. She told him she loved him and that she knew what it was like. How could he even stand the smell of it on his hands afterward? How could he let it burn and fill his insides with the very smoke that came out of it? She wouldn't let this kill him slowly. It would ultimately kill her to see him suffer. He talked to her as he drove to the gas station to buy his last pack. It was an expensive one.

    20 to go.

    Can he make it? How will he act where there's no more?

    20 to go.

    I don't know how to take it. What will he feel when he's not smoking anymore?

    20 to go.


    I know he can do it. He's promised me he would.


    20 to go.


    We'll make it through this, without a fight. Like I know we should