feel no shame [originally custom friends, now public]

[erika]

I sneak a cigarette from my parent's pack. Light it, carefully, with a match, making sure to burn the end evenly. A lot of things I haven't been noticing, now I notice—about the way my parents smoke, at least.

I make sure there's an ashtray near, and I light the cigarette and it burns evenly, and I inhale. I can't inhale off the end, I just inhale gently, catch the smoke in my mouth, then inhale fresh air and the smoke mixed, so that it hits my lungs, the tiniest high. Calm down, calm, calm down, relax.

It gives me a bit of a high, soothes my nerves. Good, good, relaxing now. Good.

I've a sore throat; I'm sure it's from smoking. My fingers are cold, and when I switch the cigarette to my left hand I almost burn myself, but not quite. So I'm safe for now, I suppose.

"Fuck you," I think. I'm not sure who I'm talking to—myself or the people who'd tell me never to smoke but turn a blind eye to the blade. Joe told me he'd break up with me if I smoked—so I don't tell him. At least understand it, it's not that I don't care, it's just it hurts, and fuck the hurt, fuck the pain.

If I had pot, I'd smoke that, but I don't—so here, I light another one.